Page 9 of The Pilot's Good Girl
I nod again. That’s all I ever really want when I talk about it. Just someone to understand without trying to fix it.
She does that perfectly.
Her eyes stay on mine. Big, brown, and searching. She’s still sipping the coffee, but the edge of her stubborn anger is gone, replaced by something else. Something curious. Something soft…almost dangerous.
I take a slow breath. Then I shift closer. Just a few inches. Testing the water.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch.
Okay.
I move closer again, drawn by an invisible magnetic force. She blinks, her lips parting just slightly as a soft blush spreads across her cheeks.
My pulse picks up at the flare of interest in her eyes. I should stop. I should get up and walk out of this room like a responsible adult who doesn’t kiss strangers he nearly drowned.
But instead, I lift my hand slowly to her face, running the backs of my fingers along the soft curve under her jaw, tracing up until I feel the warmth of her lower lip beneath the pad of my thumb. Her breath hitches. She’s backed into the corner of the couch, her legs curled up, her body strung with a tension that has nothing to do with fear or anger anymore.
Desire. Hot and flaming…that’s what it is.
“Goddamn,” I murmur. “You’re gorgeous.”
She swallows, visibly, and still doesn’t move away.
That’s all I need.
I lean down, closing the final inches between us. I’m going in slow, giving her every chance to stop me.
But she doesn’t.
I brush my lips against hers and it’s like a live wire snaps between us.
Fire.
It’s not sweet. Not tentative. The moment we connect, she melts into me with this soft sound that punches the air right out of my lungs. My hand slides into her hair, fisting gently at the back of her head, and her fingers clutch the front of my shirt, tugging like she needs me closer.
Hell, I need her even more.
I deepen the kiss, taking my time, tasting her. Slowly. Intensely. Thoroughly. Taking everything she has to offer.
She’s warm and soft, and the way she responds, lips parting, breath catching, body pressing against mine…it makes my head spin.
This isn’t just chemistry. It’s combustion. I’m playing with fire, but I don’t mind getting burned.
By the time we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her hand is still splayed on my chest, and I wonder if she can feel the erratic beating of my heart.
What the fuck is this feeling?
“Yeah…I’m definitely getting written up for that,” I murmur, raising my eyes to hers.
She blinks up at me, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed, and then—God help me—she grins.
My heart slams hard against my chest.
Fuck.
“A write-up, huh?” she says, sounding a little breathless. “Is that what they call it now?”
I huff a laugh, still a little drunk off her kiss. “Only if you plan on filing a complaint.”
