Page 84 of Promise of Destruction
Thank God I emptied my bladder a little while ago, because I nearly pee my pants before the plane levels out a bit. I don’t realize I’m clutching the arms of the chair, my nails digging into the leather, until my tension eases.
Declan doesn’t look tired anymore. He’s sitting up, watching me intently. A little smirk, never far from his lips, hangs in the corner of his mouth.
“I thought you said it wasn’t the flying that bothered you so much as the claustrophobia?”
“It isn’t.” I confirm, brushing a strand of hair off my face. “But apparently falling through the sky is a non-starter for me too.”
His eyes dart past me, to the window shade that’s still open. “We’re still far from landing. You may want to brace yourself.”
“I’m fine.” I tell him.
But I’m not fine. My mouth has just snapped shut when the sensation begins anew, a weightless jerking behind the navel. I squeeze my eyes shut, but this time lasts longer.
“Oh my God,” I cry, convinced that after everything,thisis how I die. On a private plane over a foreign country with a man I hate laughing at me from across the aisle.
If the plane doesn’t crash in the jungle and burst into flames, I’ll definitely die of a heart attack.
But Declan isn’t laughing at me from across the aisle. I feel his warm body sidle over mine—it’s so jarring that my eyes fly open to find him hovering over me, his lips inches from mine.
A tear slips down my cheek, but I don’t dare let go of the armrest long enough to wipe it away. I just let it trail down my face until it spills over my lip. There, Declan wipes it away with a touch so gentle, I have to wonder if I’m imagining this.
I open my mouth to say something, but I realize we’ve leveled out.
“He came in a little too hot.” Declan concedes. “He has to drop altitude fast, so we don’t miss our landing.”
I nod, so that he knows I’m listening to him.
“Okay,” I breathe, more for my own benefit than his. “You should sit down.”
“I’ll be fine.” Declan laughs.
“If we nosedive, you’ll crush me to death.”
“Ah,” he chuckles again. The sound eases my tension a little. “So, you’re worried about yourself, not me?”
I start to refute that, but we dip again.
My heart slams in my chest and falters, waiting for the plane to level out before it agrees to start working again.
“Focus on me.”
Declan’s voice is soft—so soft it barely even rises above the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears. I don’t have time to think about what he said, because his heavy weight presses down on me, his hands cover mine, and his forehead rests against mine. I don’t have to tell myself to follow his instruction, because now he is all that I can focus on.
He smells like laundry and bourbon, some kind of manly soap and spearmint. It all mixes together in an intoxicating potion, mellowed by his warmth, the pressure of him over me, the fact that his mouth is right there.
He pulls away too soon, before I even get a chance to open my eyes and try to commit his face to memory.
“Good job, Ren.”
fifty-four
Declan
Ithinkshe’sgoingto kiss the asphalt when we step off the plane.
Her legs wobble, like she’s thinking about it, but she straightens, pressing a hand flat against her stomach.
“Next time let’s take a boat, hmm?”
