faced each other over an inlaid wood table.
Clay guided her into the second set of seats so she’d be sitting with her back to the rest of the plane. Then he nudged her over so that she was trapped between the bulkhead and...him. He slipped her bag off her shoulder and tossed it into one of the facing seats.
“Sit, Georgie. And buckle in. We need to take off.”
A few moments later the Rolls Royce engines on the Gulfstream whined to full-throated life and the plane eased onto the apron headed toward the runway. Within minutes they’d lifted off and were at cruising altitude. A vanilla latte appeared in front of her while a cup of black coffee was delivered to Clay. He waited until she took her first swallow before opening the conversation.
“You’ve been avoiding me. I want to know why.”
Georgie grimaced and swallowed hard. He shifted in his seat so he could watch her. A surge of color stained her throat and he wondered about the reason for it. No matter what she did or said, he worried this might not end well. She couldn’t stall him. He was determined to find out what was going on in her head, becoming even more curious when she curled her lips between her teeth, pursed them then chewed on them again as she evidently marshaled her thoughts.
She stared into his eyes then glanced away. “I’m a little embarrassed, Senator.”
“Embarrassed.” Why would the girl—woman—be embarrassed?
“Well, yes. Embarrassed.” Though everyone else sat at the rear of the cabin, she dropped her voice. “Last night. In the bathroom.”
“Why should you be embarrassed?”
Georgie gave him a scathing look. “Why? Oh, let’s recap the situation. I trip and almost fall on my face, only my boss snatches me in mid face-plant and carries me up to his suite. Then I go into full panic mode, while wearing only my underwear, with said boss present to witness said meltdown. I end up in a puddle of tears, and then we make national news. You’re right. Why in bloody blue blazes should I be embarrassed?”
Clay was a consummate politician. He knew how to camouflage his emotions. Georgie didn’t realize her voice had risen in volume and that everyone on the plane, except maybe the pilots, now knew what had happened in his bathroom. With a supreme effort, he swallowed his laughter.
“Precisely. I see no reason for embarrassment.”
“Argh!” She threw up her hands and almost knocked over her latte. He grabbed it and held it out as a peace offering even as she muttered, “Men!” under her breath and gripped the edge of the table.
With gentle pressure, he pried her fingers loose, placed the cup between them and curled her fingers around the porcelain mug. He studied her again as she drank.
She was his communications director. She literally put words in his mouth. His thumb traced lazy circles on the table and a part of him wished it was her skin he touched.
“There’s no need to be upset, especially since I...since we owe you an apology.” She opened her mouth to refute, but he silenced her with a finger touching her lips as he continued. “I personally promise it won’t happen again. From now on, Glen will be your shadow whenever we’re at a function. He’ll protect you.” His gaze caught and held hers. “I’m sorry, Georgie. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you.”
* * *
Georgie couldn’t look away from the sincerity in his gaze. She swiveled in her seat so she could face him. His expression stunned her. She’d seen him determined, angry, sad, happy, disgusted...but she’d never seen him like this. Her stomach lurched as her pulse sped up. Georgie couldn’t name the emotion in his eyes with their thick, dark lashes the color of his ebony hair. In her imagination, where her fantasies lived, she described his hair in romance-novel terms—as glossy as a raven’s wing. And his eyes—burnt umber, even if she didn’t really know what burnt umber looked like. It sounded sexy and that term definitely fit Clay. Or cognac. Yes, that was the color. She knew what cognac looked like in a leaded glass tumbler and his eyes looked like that—smoky, swirling brown with glinting lights. Lost in his gaze, she simply took him in, letting him fill her up. The force of him edged into the empty places she’d ignored her whole life, the places where her hopes and dreams lived.
I’m in so much trouble now. Having a crush on the man was one thing, but she feared that after this trip, she’d fallen way over her head in love with her boss. She cleared her throat, dragging her gaze from his to break their connection. She managed to say one word.
“Okay.”
Another emotion flickered across his expression, lightening his mood. “Okay. Good. Then we’re all settled. How about some breakfast?”
Breakfast. Yes, breakfast would work to put some distance between them and let her get her fantasies back under control. “Okay.”
He patted her arm. “For a woman whose job is words, you seem to have very few of them at the moment.”
* * *
They were somewhere over Tennessee when Georgie fell asleep. She dreamed of Clay, of him slipping his arm over her shoulders to pull her against his side.
“Georgie?” He whispered her name.
“What?” She whispered back.
“I think I’m going to kiss you now.”
She sighed, wanting to feel his lips on hers. “You think?”
“I know I want to.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Um...yeah. Okay.” Inside the dream she wanted to bang her head on the table. What was up with her managing to only say okay?
She focused on his mouth. Full lips. Firm. Hints of smile lines at the corners.
He plucked her glasses from the end of her nose and set them aside on the table. The corner of his mouth quirked as he looked at her.
“What will you taste like?” dream Clay asked. “Dessert sweet and rich? Or twenty-year-old scotch, a smoky burn in my mouth? I can’t wait to find out.”
He lowered his head and his lips brushed across hers. She licked her bottom lip, her tongue darting out to sample the taste of him. He moved in again, no hesitation this time. His lips fastened onto hers, sucking in her bottom lip as his teeth nipped. One hand secured the back of her head, angling it to the perfect position for his tender attack.
Normally bold in her fantasies about Clay, she now felt shy and her actions mirrored her emotions. Her hands, hesitant and timid, latched onto his leather jacket—he always wore leather in her dreams—and clung there as though her life depended on it. Emotions rushed through her and a little voice said she should run. Ignoring it, Georgie pressed into their kiss, her tongue now bold enough to dance with his—until he pulled away.
“Georgie, wake up. We’re getting ready to land.” Breathing hard, she opened her eyes to discover that Clay was watching her, amusement twitching his lips into a sexy grin.
“Oh, pistachios on pita. Please tell me I wasn’t talking in my sleep.”
