A Tense Flight
873 Words
A melting sensation spread down her thighs; his accent was too delicious to ignore. “No, don’t sit yet,” she thought he meant, but she couldn’t be sure. No one could ever be sure of anything with Henri. Maybe the "no" had been for the dress.
Aware of her chest heaving too close to his face, she tried to pry her wrist free but failed miserably.
"I changed. Wasn't that what you wanted?"
He c****d his head farther back and stared, his grip loosening just enough to be teasing. "You're angry at me."
"I…" She jerked her chin toward the book on his lap, needing him to remove his hand before she lost her nerve entirely. "Please. Read."
For a woman who had strived to remain invisible for years, the last thing she felt now was unseen. The flimsy dress hugged her curves, the wrap-around style cinched with a bow at her hip. The fabric felt dangerously feminine; she was utterly conscious of her body—and the way he studied it with predatory interest.
"You approve of the clothes I bought you, amour?" he asked huskily.
Amour? A jolt went through her at the endearment. Panicking, she tugged with more force and whispered, halfheartedly, "You can let go of me now."
His gaze pierced her, his unyielding hand burning her wrist. The way his touch spread like wildfire, her boss may as well have been touching her elsewhere—where her breasts ached, where her nerves sparked, and where she felt a hot, painful hollowness.
He released her so abruptly she almost stumbled.
Still reeling, Elizabeth sank into her seat like a deflated balloon. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she fumbled to strap on her seat belt. His intense gaze from across the aisle became a living, breathing thing.
"Does a man's interest offend you?" he asked.
Feeling flushed, she shoved her purse onto her lap. "Did you know Lyon has over two million people now?" she blurted out, frantically stuffing her printed maps and vocabulary lists back into her bag.
He slapped the book shut, letting it drop with a resounding thump at his feet. "Would my interest offend you, Elizabeth?"
She squinted at him, expecting a laugh or a mocking smile. But he was perfectly sober. Excruciatingly handsome. No matter how much she fantasized about him in private, she wasn't prepared to be a man’s plaything.
With a nervous smile, Elizabeth shook a chastising finger at him, though it trembled. "Mr. Gagnon, the closer we get to France, the stranger you become."
For an agonizing second, her claim—part teasing, part desperate truth—hung in the air. Elizabeth bit her lip. What had possessed her to say that to her boss? She curled her finger back into her palm, lowering her hand in shame.
Sitting in a deceptively relaxed pose, Henri crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Do you plan to call me Mr. Gagnon when you're pretending to be my lover?"
Self-conscious and silently berating herself, Elizabeth tucked her skirt under her thighs, hiding her hands under her knees. "I didn't mean to insult you."
"I'm not insulted."
She racked her brain for a recovery. "I don't know what came over me."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a persuasive hum. "You call me Henri most of the time. You call me Henri when you want favors. Why now, today, am I Mr. Gagnon?"
She looked away. He spoke so softly it felt like a caress, making the rejection sting even more. Because I’ve never been alone with you for this long, she thought.
She hauled in a ragged breath and stayed silent.
The plane tilted, eventually coming in for a landing as smoothly as it had flown. As the speed eased, Elizabeth fixed her attention on the screen behind him, desperate to bridge the awkwardness with the only safe topic left.
"Do you believe Gagnon Autos will be a safe investment for the Fintech branch?" she asked. It was the only piece of his past he had left.
"It's poorly managed," he said, extracting his iPhone and powering it on. His tone was cold now, professional but lethal. "The manufacturing market in Lyon is diminishing. It needs a total restructuring—new strategic measures to survive the shift."
She watched him skim his messages, struck by the sheer strength he oozed. Strength of mind, of body, of purpose. "You'll make it gold again," she said softly, still reeling from her earlier boldness.
He lifted his head. "I'm tearing it apart, Elizabeth."
The plane lurched to a stop. The engines died, and the aisle glowed with the sudden hum of floor lights.
Elizabeth sat paralyzed. "You plan to destroy your father's business," she whispered, the horror of his mood finally clicking into place.
His hard face remained unreadable as he thrust his phone into his pocket. "It isn't his anymore," he said, his eyes probing hers. "It was meant to be mine. I built it with him. Now, I’ll finish it."
- Writer
