I shouldn’t have asked the question.
I shouldn’t have looked at him.
Because now, Christian was staring at me like I was the only thing in this jet worth paying attention to. Like I was something to be studied, unraveled—something his.
His eyes flickered over my face, lingering on my lips before dragging back up, and suddenly, the cabin felt smaller, the air warmer.
“Isabella,” he murmured, my name like a slow caress.
I swallowed, pulse skittering. “What?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth again. My breath caught.
No.
Absolutely not.
I turned sharply toward the window, gripping Nova’s blanket like a lifeline. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
I heard the soft rustle of fabric. Then—warmth.
Not touching. Not quite. But close enough that I felt the weight of him behind me.
“It matters,”
