Page 2 of Hidden Shadows
Her jaw dropped. She was going to have to sit beside this god of a man for the next two hours? Not only that, but he’d be witness to her little flying phobia?
She cleared her throat. “I’m Finley, by the way.”
“Nixon.”
Even his name was sexy. And that deep rumble of a voice that slid over her skin caused all the fine hairs on her arms to stand on end.
She swallowed. A big, clunky swallow that didn’t come close to wetting her dry throat. “I’m sorry to ask, but would you mind switching seats with me?”
He turned his black eyes on her, seeming to consider her question for a full second before saying, “I’d prefer not to.”
Her lips parted further. Not the answer she’d been expecting. The man didn’t owe her his seat or anything, but most people would at least have given a reason.
She wet her lips. “I’m sorry, but the thing is, I hate flying. It’s not at the phobia level, more a hyperventilate-unless-I-breathe-through-it level, so… close. And because the blind has to be up on takeoff and landing, this seat kind of makes it ten times worse.”
Something flickered in his eyes, some emotion that looked a bit like sympathy and had hope skipping in her chest. Then he spoke.
“I’m sorry to hear that. But I can’t swap with you.”
The hope died, like a small flame that had been doused in water. And again, there was no reason given. Not even a pretty little lie about wanting to be closer to the bathroom or only liking the aisle seat.
A voice in her head told her to leave it. He’d said no. It was his seat, and he was entitled to keep it. But the words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them.
She angled her body toward his. “It’s just that at check-in, I asked to be swapped to a non-window seat and was told it was a full flight. She told me to ask the person next to me when we sat down—”
“Finley.” Her breath stuttered at the sound of her name on his lips. “I really commiserate with that. But I can’t swap. And we’re about to take off, so I’d suggest you put on your seat belt.”
Right on cue, the pilot’s voice came over the speaker.
Her lips snapped shut, frustration at the man beside her competing with the fear of flying. It wasn’t that she felt entitled to his seat. He’d booked it—of course he could sit there. But the fear in her chest was as irrational as the rest of her, and right now that fear was telling her that this guy was a jerk for not switching.
For a second, she was tempted to lean forward and ask the person in the aisle seat in front of her, or hell, behind her, but the flight attendant started going through safety instructions.
Finley’s heart began to beat faster in her chest. Her fingers continued to tremble as she fastened her seat belt. She counted in her head, a calming technique she’d used multiple times before.
In, two, three, four, hold…out, two, three, four.
The plane jerked a little as it pushed back from the terminal, and she gripped the arms of the seat like they were the only thing keeping her rooted to the spot.
Takeoff and landing…her two most hated parts of the flight. It all sucked, but the start and the end sucked the most.
She closed her eyes, focusing on her counting and the sensation of filling her lungs with air. It was only when the armrest beneath her fingers twitched that her eyes flew open and her gaze shot down.
Not the armrest…a real arm.
Shit.
She tugged her hand off. “Sorry!”
He removed his arm. “You can have it.”
She muttered a thanks, even though a part of her was still irrationally angry at the guy for not switching with her.
His eyes remained on her. “You know, the chances of this plane crashing are—”
“One in eleven million. I know.” She closed her eyes again. “I’ve got more chance of dying in a car crash. Safer in the air than on the ground. I’ve heard them all before.”
But unfortunately, none of it helped. It was probably too rational for her muddy, fear-induced mind.
