Bound to You

Rebecca

“Can I get you anything else, miss?” the dainty brunette stewardess asks as she hands me a glass of champagne and napkin.

“No, thank you. The champagne is lovely.” My nerves are on high alert. I can feel a knot forming in my shoulders every time we hit a bump of turbulence. I grasp the arms of my chair with my clammy hands and fight back the building need to spew all over the seat in front of me. The older man sitting next to me leans back, eyeing me with caution. There isn’t much room between us. I’m sure he’s kicking himself for getting seated next to this train wreck. If I throw up, he’s definitely in the splash zone. My stomach turns again as the plane rattles. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke. I pinch my nose and silently count to ten, hoping that it will calm me. The last thing I need right now is to show up in a new city with vomit all over me.

God, I hate flying.

When I called Carol to let her know my flight was leaving, she offered to upgrade my ticket to first class so I wouldn’t be sausaged beside someone for the next four hours. As tempting as the offer was, she’s already done enough for me. I even thought about booking a train from California to New York, but it would’ve taken too long. My interview with StoneHaven Publishing is on Monday – only three days away. I need time to prepare for it. As confident as I am that I would make a great fit, there’s still the possibility of not getting the job. I’m sure my mother would love to hear that I’m coming back home. She wants me to follow my dreams, but only if that includes catching a husband and staying in California.

Saying goodbye to my mother was painful. Each time I carried one of my luggage bags outside, she made a face like I had just killed one of her non-existent grandbabies. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Miles is a really big douche and that we’re done. I may have told her a little white lie. She asked me if we we’re on a break, and I kind of nodded my head yes. I’m not sure if lying to her about it is any better, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear her complain that I’m never going to get married. She loves to remind me that I’ll probably die a spinster. At the current moment, that doesn’t sound too bad. I can almost see my name in the papers. Rebecca Gellar, spinster with five cats, dies after Hollywood breakup. Speaking of Hollywood, I definitely need a welcomed distraction from this plane ride, so catching up on my latest celebrity gossip sounds like heaven. Reading the celebrity magazine STARS is my newest guilty pleasure.

I flip through the latest issue and cringe at the sight of a paparazzi photo of Miles and Scarlett cuddling close together at our favorite pastry & coffee shop on Melrose. They seem to be Hollywood’s latest IT couple. I know I’m better off without Miles’ cheating ass, but it still hurts to see them together. As I scan down to the picture of Scarlett and Miles to read the article beside it, my heart jolts at the bolded word: ENGAGED. We’re nearly 40,000 feet in the air, but I can still feel my whole world plummet as I read over the details of the article: “Hollywood TV star Miles Storm and co-star Scarlett Jones are engaged.” My eyes begin to water at the zoomed in picture of Scarlett’s ring.

The real zinger is the fact that Miles gave her a ring. We were engaged almost six months and he had been dragging his feet to buy me an engagement ring. I guess our relationship was never really meant to last. I can’t believe he tried to feed me his bullshit about how Scarlett didn’t mean anything to him. Apparently, she meant a lot more than I did.

The voice of the airplane’s captain comes in muffled over the intercom, drawing me from my thoughts. I strain to hear him over the general noise of the plane and only manage to catch three words: STORM and STRONG WINDS. My hand immediately goes to my seatbelt just in time to fasten it as the plane is hits a major gust of wind. The whole body of the airplane shakes, causing my glass of champagne to teeter and spill over. The dip of the plane sends a familiar but strange sensation through my stomach. It’s like free-falling on a rollercoaster decline.

The fasten seatbelt sign lights up as I spot the stewardesses coming down the rows checking each seat. I push up my tray, down what’s left of spilled glass, and grab ahold of my purse. I need to calm my nerves and my stomach. My imagination starts to drift and I can feel the cold sliver of anxiety creep into my chest. I need to get off. This is the last way I want to die. God, if it wasn’t for Miles, I wouldn’t even be on this stupid plane, flying in this disastrous weather. I’ve never hated him as much as I do right now! I fight my every desire to run down the aisle like a raving mad woman. We hit another air pocket and my body goes flying up, along with my purse. My bag flips over, sliding into first class, along with my wallet and motion sickness pills inside. Shit. I should just leave it there until the storm settles. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. The plane jostles us again. Oh, god, I’m not fine. I start to hyperventilate in my seat. I need a bag. I pull out the brown paper bag wedged between the seat pockets in front of me.

Everything I’ve seen on TV tells me that this will help, but as soon as I slip the brown bag over my nose and mouth, I feel worse. I need my pills. I need to take some more. I click off my seatbelt and scramble down the row, running into seats as the airplane sways. A shrill voice of a flight attendant stops me as I make it to the curtain dividing first class from economy. I know I don’t have much time to run and grab my purse.

“Ma’am! Please get back to your seat immediately.”

I turn slightly, my body shaking from anxiety and dread. I don’t wait for her to stop me from entering first class. The first thing I notice is the stark contrast between the seat spacing. In economy, you’re cramped with little-to-no legroom. For the past two hours, I’ve been fighting with the gentleman next to me over the armrest. I can’t help but frown at the disparity between first class and economy. Each row has enough space to recline back and fall asleep. The lights are dimmed throughout the section, and the general atmosphere seems a lot more relaxed. In fact, many of the passengers seem to be sleeping – all but one, a beautiful blonde stranger staring at the bright screen of his tablet. The luminous light gives his face an almost angelic appearance with the exception of his brows, which seem shrouded in deep thought. The plane sways to the side, tossing me against the chair of a nearby female passenger. She stirs and looks up at me with a mixture of annoyance and sleep.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

The beautiful stranger a few rows ahead seems undisturbed by my presence. The leather seat chairs to his right and left are completely empty, and it takes me a moment to realize that he probably purchased all of them. I can only imagine how much it is to buy one first class seat, not to mention six. I know Carol spent way too much money on my ticket and I’m not even up here.

I scan the floor for my belongings and notice my purse clinging for life only a few feet away from the stranger’s seat. Before I have a chance to move, I notice the prissy flight attendant staring me down from the opening of the curtain divider. Geez, lady.

“Ma’am, please return to your seat. Coach passengers are not allowed up here.” Despite her calmness, I sense a thread of disdain in her voice. Perhaps this isn’t the first time a passenger made their way up here. She probably thinks I’m trying to switch my seat. As much as I would love not to be stuck in a seat with barely any legroom, I’m more worried about puking everywhere. I need my purse. A wave of nausea flows over me. I can feel beads of sweat breaking out on my neck and forehead.

“I’m just getting my purse...” I manage to squeak.

“Ma’am, the fasten seatbelt sign is still on,” she says, pointing to the drawing of two hands buckling a seatbelt. “We cannot have anyone walking around at this time.”

I shrug off her awkward stare and scramble over to my purse. The blonde stranger doesn’t notice me at first as I kneel to search beneath his seat. It isn’t until I pull the strap of my purse that he senses my presence. I yank hard to release my purse, but my wallet goes flying, along with my pills. Fuck. A sigh of frustration escapes me as I grab for them. A flash of light cascades over me as a warm hand encloses around my wrist, stopping me midway.

“Excuse me, miss, what are you doing down there?” I’m immediately taken aback by the closeness of his face. Two blue eyes stare at me impassively. They somehow perfectly match his nose and striking cheekbones. If it weren’t for the slight smirk on his lips, you’d think he’s angry. But it’s worse. He’s laughing at me. He must find this all so very amusing. A streak of anger rushes to my cheeks, setting them on fire.

“Are you laughing at me?” I ask, clenching back my irritation.

He eyes me with curiosity as he slowly studies me. He’s a playboy, I’m sure. Handsome men like him are trouble. I’m sure he’s used to women throwing themselves at his feet. I silently admire the light beard he sports. It makes him look like a bit of a rogue in his grey tailored suit. His facial hair reminds me of the way Miles used to wear his. He used to run his chin across my bare skin in the morning. It was his way of waking me up. I loved the way it felt on me when we made love. The way it used to feel before he went and smashed my whole world into tiny little pieces.

My eyes stray to his hand and a mixture of lustful emotions cling to me, warming my insides. I’m strangely relieved to see no ring on his finger. That doesn’t mean he’s not married. He totally could be. I find myself unknowingly leaning into him and his alluring scent of spicy cinnamon and fresh mint leaves. It reminds me of my favorite homemade tea back in Cali.

“Can I help you find something?” he asks, grazing over my comment.

“I dropped my purse.” His hand never leaves my wrist as he gently helps me up. My legs are unstable. I wobble to a stand.

“Let me help,” he says with another smile.

“It’s caught on your chair,” I say.

The stewardess lingering in the back clears her throat, directing our attention back toward her. She waits in front of our aisle looking extremely nervous. “I apologize, sir, would you like me to escort this young lady back to her seat?” I turn, glancing from him to her. I’ve never seen anyone so worried. Who is this guy? Maybe he’s some rich hot shot. It doesn’t matter. I should mind my own business and get back to my seat.

“Melissa, it’s fine. She isn’t bothering me,” he says without looking up. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone address a stewardess by their first name, not unless they were purposely trying to be snarky, but reading his tone, it’s more irritation than anything else. He seems like someone who’s used to bossing people around. Or maybe he just flies this airline often.

“I apologize, Mr. St –“

“That will be all, thank you.” He waves her off like an annoying fly. She scurries off back to the back of the plane without looking back. Part of me feels sorry for her. She was just doing her job even if she was kind of bitchy. I’m sure I would’ve done the same thing.

“Is this it?” he says, handing me my purse and wallet. Somehow even my gigantic bag seems so small in his hands. His hand grazes mine, sending a tingling vibration up my arm. I try my best not to stare at his fingers, but I can’t stop myself. I have a thing for hands and his are the type you don’t mind wrapping around you or inside of you.

I blush instantly as he clears his throat, indicating that I’ve lingered in his presence for much too long. Ironically, my motion sickness pills are still under his chair, but I don’t even bother mentioning it. I need to get out of here. The same out-of-breath feeling I felt a moment ago in my seat has returned. I don’t need to be embarrassed more than once this week.

“Yes, thank you. Excuse me.” I try to go, but the warmth of his touch returns as he captures my hand.

“Your name, you didn’t tell me it.” He’s smiling again. I blush as his touch sends goose bumps up my skin. The air grows warmer by the minute as his fingers rub circular motions across the skin of my wrist. I’ve never felt anything quite as erotic as this, and my clothes aren’t even off. I’m almost too willing to jump into his lap. My blush deepens at the thought of what he might feel like on top of me. Since when did I become so horny? I have to admit, sex has been the last thing on my mind since the disaster with Miles. I haven’t had the urge to be with anyone. Yet, right now, I can almost feel the sexual energy radiating off of him. There are just some men who scream sex, and he’s definitely one of them.

“My name is Rebecca,” I respond, nearly breathless.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Becca,” he says, kissing my hand. “I’m Nicholas.” His lips feel cool like ice water against my skin and I smile at the way he’s shortened my name. I don’t typically let anyone call me Becca, but I’m inclined to let this handsome stranger call me whatever he wants as long as he keeps touching me.

I cling to his chair as a sudden shift in the plane throws me off balance. The cabin rings signaling the plane’s stewardesses to check each passenger’s seatbelt. I should’ve gone back to my seat. I sway backwards almost losing my balance, but Nicholas grips my hand, pulling me back. I’m almost steady until the plane dips, pushing me straight into his lap. The sudden force of my body colliding into his sends his tablet flying onto the floor with a thud. He catches me by the waist, his fingers sliding down to my bottom. I know it isn’t intentional, but his touch is undeniably sensual.

“Are you all right?” he asks. A quiet concern shrouds his face. He doesn’t immediately let me go. He simply moves his hand to brush back a loose tendril from my face. The touch of his fingertips heats my skin like liquid fire. It spreads in a rapid rush of heat down my body, exposing me beneath his unrelenting stare. His grasp tightens around my waist, and for a moment I feel something hard poking me beneath my jeans. Is that? Oh my.

“I should get back to my seat before that stewardess has a heart attack,” I whisper. The sentence sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Stay.” His husky voice draws me in. There’s a slight accent to his voice, but I can’t quite place it. I’ve never been a snob about the guys I’ve dated, but there’s something about an accent that just makes women’s panties drop. It’s probably not the only thing about him that would turn me on. His eyes linger over me, watching me closely. If I knew I was going to meet the living Adonis on an airplane, I probably wouldn’t have been so afraid to fly. No, that’s probably a lie. I still would’ve been scared, but I definitely would’ve picked a cuter outfit.

Now, this beautiful Greek god has his hands on me and I can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to have them inside me. I reach up and stroke the hair that trails below his bottom lip. I want to know what it feels like to kiss him. It isn’t until I hear almost a low growl in his throat that I realize what I’m doing. Jesus, Rebecca. You’re fondling a complete stranger. I pull back my hand, but he immediately brings it back to his lips. He takes my fingers and slowly kisses them. I inhale sharply as he runs his beard on the inside of my wrist. For some reason, it feels unexpectedly intimate, as if we’re old lovers, and despite the cloistered space around us, it feels like the whole world is watching.

He stops and looks up at me before leaning in. His mouth captures mine in a heated kiss. I’m hesitant, as he starts to slowly nibble my bottom lip, gently making his way to the top one. The sensation of his hands grazing my breast causes me to moan. He traces his thumb along my neckline and I give in to his kiss. A whirlwind of lust passes through my body and I instantly grow wet. He pulls me closer, and soon I’m so enraptured by the feeling of his mouth on me that I forget what it feels like to breathe. A strange electric charge dissipates as we pull apart. I smile inwardly at the realization that he’s panting almost as much as me.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, staring down at me.

His question makes me uneasy. Not because it’s too personal, but because what I’m thinking about involves him undressing me. He’s a stranger. Someone I’ll never see again, and right now I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Maybe part of moving on means doing things you wouldn’t normally do. Like hooking up with handsome strangers 40,000 feet in the air, or maybe I’m just trying to numb my pain. It’s time to stop living in a fantasy.

“It was nice meeting you, but I do need to get back to my seat,” I whisper, unwinding myself from him.

“If you insist,” he says with a polite smile. I want to tell him thank you, but telling him thank you for the kiss sounds way too awkward in my head. I can only imagine what it would sound like if I actually said it.

“I hope to see you around,” he says.

“Me too.”

I’ll never see him again, and while I really wish I could spend the rest of the plane ride with him up here, it would be a mistake. It’s been less than a month since Miles. I don’t need to go chasing someone else. I just need to be alone. I don’t want to be one of those girls who always need a guy on her arm to feel complete. I don’t want prince charming to come save me and fix everything. I want to save myself.

I leave without asking for his number and he doesn’t stop me to ask for mine. Disappointment creeps into the back of my mind. I’m not sure what I was hoping for. This isn’t some romantic comedy where the gorgeous playboy falls in love with the shy curvy girl. My grandmother used to have a saying. What’s yours, no one else can take. I guess if it’s meant to be maybe I’ll meet him again one day, but for now I’m happy with the calmness that he’s enveloped me in. I hold onto it as I make my way back to my seat and fall asleep for the rest of the trip.

I don’t wake again until I hear the sound of the captain announcing that we will be landing at the JFK airport in less than 15 minutes. After flying over 3,000 miles in a cramped, overbooked airplane, I’m more than anxious to be on the ground again. Four hours of flying is exhausting and I am definitely mentally drained. I keep reminding myself that it’s all worth it. Soon I’ll be in the big city and thus begins my journey of trying to land a job at StoneHaven Publishing. With a little luck, by this time next month, I’ll be working and living in my own apartment. New York, here I come.