20
STELLA
I avoided Christian with the determination of an escaped convict fleeing the FBI in the week leading up to New York. It was surprisingly easy, given how early he left in the morning and how late he returned at night. I suspected he might be avoiding me as well, and I half expected him to back out of accompanying me to the shoot. No such luck. The morning of my Delamonte shoot, I found myself thirty-five thousand feet in the air, sitting across from a man who seemed as hellbent on ignoring me as I did him. Except for a courteous exchange of good mornings, we hadn’t spoken to each other since we left the house. I sipped my lemon water and snuck a peek at Christian. He was working on his laptop, his brow furrowed with concentration. His jacket lay on the seat next to him, and he’d pushed his shirtsleeves up to reveal his watch and tanned,
muscular forearms. How had I not realized how sexy forearms were until now? I stared at where his Patek Philippe glinted against his bronzed skin. Jules was right. There was something about men wearing watches… “Something on your mind?” Christian didn’t look up from his computer. I hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but my heartbeats collided like he’d caught me stealing. “Just thinking about the shoot,” I lied. I took another sip of water. Between the tension on the plane and my Delamonte shoot that afternoon, I was surprised I could keep anything, even liquids, down. “What are you going to do while I’m on set?” I asked. “Go into the New York office?” Harper Security was headquartered in D.C., but it had offices around the world.
“I’m not flying with you to New York so I can hole myself up in another office.” Christian typed something on his keyboard. “I’ll join you on set.” Surprise ballooned in my chest, followed by a pinprick of anxiety. “But the shoot could take hours.” “I know.” I waited for an elaboration that never came. I held back a sigh. Christian was more mercurial than a broken thermometer. For lack of anything better to do, I settled deeper into my seat and examined the luxury surrounding us. Christian’s private jet resembled an airborne mansion. Buttery cream leather seats formed intimate seating areas, and an elegant, cloud-like navy carpet muffled the steps of the two smartly outfitted attendants who looked like they’d stepped out of the latest issue of Vogue.
Besides the main cabin, the jet also boasted a bedroom, a full bathroom, a four-person screening area, and a dining table set with magnetic-bottomed plates and silverware engineered to stay still through turbulence. It must’ve cost a fortune. Christian seemed as comfortable with his opulent surroundings as someone who’d grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth, but my research told me he hailed from a normal, upper-middle-class family. According to the only public interview he’d ever given, his father had been a software engineer and his mother a school administrator. “Why did you choose private security?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“You could’ve gone into any field.” Christian had graduated summa cum laude from MIT. He could’ve gotten a job anywhere after graduation—NASA, Silicon Valley, the CIA. Instead, he chose to build his own company from the ground up with no guarantees of success, in a field few MIT grads touched. “I enjoy it.” Christian finally looked up, his mouth curving at whatever he saw on my face. “Rhys says it’s my god complex. Knowing how important the lives at stake are and that they’re in my hands.” I’d forgotten Rhys used to work for him. They were so different it was hard to picture them existing in the same sphere. Rhys, for all his gruffness, stuck by the rules （unless Bridget was involved）。
Christian didn’t seem like he had much use for rules at all unless they were his own. “It’s not.” I may not know Christian that well despite living with him, but I knew he wouldn’t do anything out of pure ego. He was too practical and calculating for that. “No, it’s not. Not entirely.” He rubbed his thumb over the face of his watch. “If I only wanted money, I could obtain it any number of ways. Stocks, selling proprietary software…which I did, to raise capital for Harper Security. But once you reach a certain level of wealth, money is just money. It doesn’t add any inherent value beyond that of ego. What’s more important is your network. Access. The people you know and the things they’re willing to do for you.” A smile, equal parts sensual and dangerous. “One debt owed from a well-placed contact is worth more than all the cash in the world.” A shiver of trepidation crept up my spine. What he said made sense, but the way he said it made it sound more ominous than he’d probably intended. “Speaking of business…” Christian switched topics
so effortlessly it took my brain a minute to catch up. “How’s the business plan going?” “Good.” I wanted to say more, but the brush of his knee against mine distracted me. I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten during our conversation. Masculine heat and decadent spice stole into my lungs and further distracted me before I grasped the rest of my near-forgotten words. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now. Tell me more about you.” His mini-speech just now was my first insight into how his mind worked. Christian wore his expensive suits and charm like armor, and I was desperate for a chink, for any glimpse into the man behind the mask. What was his childhood like? What were his hobbies, his goals and fears? What made him into who he was? I didn’t know why I wanted answers to those questions, but I knew the tiny glimpse I’d gotten wasn’t enough. It was too intoxicating, like a shot of fine tequila straight to the blood of an alcoholic. “I’m not that interesting.” It was the smooth, practiced response of someone who’d spent a lifetime locking his private thoughts and feelings inside a vault. “You’re wrong.” Our gazes locked like two pieces of a puzzle sliding into place. “I think you’re one of the most fascinating men I’ve ever met.”
It was a bold admission, one that had his eyes darkening into a rich, molten amber. “One of?”
The languid softness of his question stoked whatever wild alchemy burned between us. Dark flames devoured all the oxygen in the cabin, leaving next to nothing for my compressed lungs.
“Tell me more about yourself, and I might promote you to the top of the list.” His laugh stole into the remaining pockets of air in my chest. “Touché.” Christian’s eyes dipped to my mouth, and the remnants of his laughter evaporated. Black swallowed amber, leaving nothing behind except promises of sin and dark pleasures. Pinpricks of nervous energy buzzed beneath my skin. The memory of our almost kiss when I first moved in resurfaced, as it had a bad habit of doing since that night. My nails sank into my knees, and I waited, not breathing, not moving, as Christian lowered his head— “Mr. Harper, apologies for the interruption. But you wanted me to alert you fifteen minutes before landing.” The attendant’s gentle voice sliced the moment into a thousand jagged pieces. A cold wave of oxygen rushed back into my chest, followed by the acrid sting of disappointment when Christian drew back. Face blank, all traces of desire snuffed as if it’d never existed at all. “Thank you, Portia.” Perfectly even, perfectly calm, unlike the erratic heartbeat thundering behind my ribcage. Portia nodded. Her eyes flitted between us before she disappeared to another part of the jet. Christian returned his attention to his computer, and we didn’t speak for the duration of the flight. It was just as well. I couldn’t have formed proper words had I tried. I was too unsettled by the knowledge that Christian Harper had been about to kiss me again…and that I’d desperately wanted him to.