Page 183 of Hard Knot

Maybe I caught something on the plane?

That would explain the light-headedness, the way everything feels slightly off-kilter. Though the recycled air usually gives me a headache, not... whatever this is.

A thought strikes me, making my stomach drop.

What if I'm...

"No," I shake my head at my reflection, immediately regretting the motion as it makes the room spin slightly. "Don't be stupid. Your birth control is perfectly fine."

I groan, leaning heavily against the sink. My brain feels sluggish, thoughts moving through molasses, refusing to form any coherent pattern.

I've given up trying to figure out what's wrong with me when I finally admit defeat.

Maybe I just need to lie down for a bit.

I reach for the door handle, ready to stumble back to my seat and possibly use Holmes's shoulder as a pillow—he owes me that much for dragging me on this flight.

The door swings open before I can touch it.

Holmes steps into the tiny space with a fluid grace that shouldn't be possible in such confined quarters, his movement so smooth and unexpected that I can only stare, my brain still trying to process what just happened.

The lock clicks behind him with a finality that echoes in the small space.

I open my mouth to demand what he thinks he's doing, but the words die in my throat at the look in his eye. His usual composure has cracked, revealing something raw and hungry underneath.

"I can't do this shit—" he grunts, the words seeming to cost him something.

Then he's moving, closing the distance between us in one step.

His lips crash into mine before I can even process what's happening. The kiss is desperate, demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my head. My body responds instantly, arms wrapping around his neck as I arch into him, matching his intensity with my own.

What are we doing?

The thought floats through my mind, distant and hazy, but I can't seem to grab onto it. Not with his hands gripping my waist, not with his scent filling my lungs, not with the heat that's been building all day finally finding its target.

"Don't you dare go into Heat on this plane, Abercrombie!" Holmes hisses against my lips, his voice low but sharp enough to pierce through the fog in my mind.

The word 'Heat' sends a jolt of panic through me, crystallizing my suspicions into terrifying clarity. My hands instinctively press against his face, covering his eyes as if that could somehow stop this from happening, as if not seeing me would make this less real.

No, no, no. This can't be happening.

"Then stop touching me!" I snap, but my voice trembles more than I'd like, betraying my fear. The command is meaningless—we both know it. Holmes has never been good at following orders, especially not from me.

And right now, I don't really want him to.

Instead of backing away, he presses closer, his hips grinding against mine with deliberate precision. The thin material of my underwear is already soaked through, the scent-blocking fabric proving useless against the intensity of my approaching Heat.

I bite back a moan, moving my hands from his face to dig my nails into the cheap plastic wall behind me. Anything to anchor myself, to keep from completely losing control.

His lips curve into that infuriatingly smug smirk, but there's something softer in his eyes now, something that wasn't there during our initial hatred-fueled encounters.

"I'm not the one dripping slick, my Rebellious Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice still mocking but with an undercurrent of genuine concern that makes my heart stutter. "Your body seems to like my touch just fine."

I glare at him, but the heat building inside me makes it hard to maintain my anger.

"You're an ass," I manage, though the insult loses its bite when my breath hitches, his thigh pressing against me in a way that makes my knees buckle.

"And you're a brat," he returns, but his smile has lost its predatory edge, becoming something more intimate. "But that doesn't seem to stop you from grinding against me like you want more."

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