Bound By Forbidden Desire

“What do you mean my seat was given away?”

The gate agent smiled that tight, professional smile. “Ms. Hayes, there was a system error. We’ve upgraded another passenger to 2A.”

“Downgrade them,” I said flatly.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. However, we do have 2B available, right next to..”

“Fine.” I snatched the new boarding pass. I didn’t have time for this. My father’s merger meeting in Athens was in forty-eight hours, and I needed every minute of this flight to prep.

I boarded early, sliding into 2B. The cabin was nearly empty, just how I liked it. I pulled out my laptop, my phone, my noise-canceling headphones. Everything I needed to keep the world out.

Then he walked in.

Tall, sharp jaw, broad-shouldered with dark hair that looked like he’d been running his hands through it. Expensive suit and an expression that matched my own irritation perfectly.

He stopped at row two. His eyes, dark and intense, moved from his boarding pass to the seat number above my head, then to me.

“You’re in my seat,” he said.

I didn’t look up from my laptop. “No, you’re in the wrong row. 2B is mine.”

“I have 2A.” He held up his boarding pass.

I glanced at it, then at my own. “Well, I have 2B. So unless you plan to sit on my lap, I suggest you settle into your correct seat and let me work.”

His jaw tightened. “I always sit in 2A.”

“Congratulations. Today you’re branching out,” I replied, turning back to my screen.

For a moment, he just stood there. I could feel him staring. Then he exhaled, sharp and annoyed, and threw his bag into the overhead compartment harder than necessary.

He dropped into 2A. His leg immediately brushed against mine.

I jerked my knee away. “Personal space is a thing,” I said sharply.

“The seats are designed this way,” he replied smoothly. “Perhaps you should’ve flown private if proximity bothers you.”

“Perhaps you should’ve confirmed your seat assignment if it matters so much,” I shot back.

He turned to face me fully, and I made the mistake of meeting his eyes. They were darker up close, almost black. The kind of stare that probably made people back down.

I wasn’t people.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice low.

“Daddy’s credit card, no real job, flying to Europe to shop and post on I*******m?”

My smile was sharp. “Let me guess, new money, chip on your shoulder, flying first class to prove something to yourself?”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe.

“You have no idea who I am,” he stated.

“And you have no idea who I am. So how about we both enjoy this flight in blessed silence?” I suggested coolly.

I turned back to my laptop. My heart was beating faster than it should be. Just anger, I told myself.

The flight attendant appeared. “Can I get you both something to drink before takeoff?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” he said.

“Champagne,” I replied.

The attendant left, silence stretched between us. I tried to focus on my presentation, but I was too aware of him beside me. The way he took up space; the fragrance of his black oud cologne, dark and expensive. The occasional brush of his arm against mine when he shifted.

Forty minutes into the flight, turbulence hit.

The seatbelt sign dinged on. The plane lurched. My champagne glass tipped, spilling across my laptop keyboard.

“Shit!” I grabbed for napkins, but the damage was done. My screen flickered and went dark.

“Careless,” he said, satisfaction clear in his voice.

I whipped my head toward him. “Excuse me?”

“I said careless. You should’ve put it away during turbulence,” he replied.

“Thank you for that incredibly helpful observation,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Do you have any other wisdom to share? Perhaps about how wet the water is ?”

“I could let you use mine.” He nodded to his own laptop, still safely stowed. “But I don’t think you’d ask nicely enough.”

My fingers curled into fists. “I wouldn’t use your laptop if it was the last functioning computer on Earth.”

“Good. Because I wasn’t actually offering,” he said.

The plane dropped again, harder this time. My stomach lurched, I hated turbulence. The loss of control always brought the reminder that I was trapped in a metal tube at thirty thousand feet.

My hand gripped the armrest.His hand was already there then our fingers touched, I pulled back like I’d been burned, but not before I felt it. That shock of contact, electric and unwelcome.

He felt it too. I could tell by the way his jaw clenched, the way he deliberately looked away.

“Afraid of flying?” he asked mockingly.

“No,” I lied. I was a little, but I’d die before admitting it to him.

“You look pale,” he observed.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

Another lurch. I closed my eyes, breathing through my nose.

“Here.” Something pressed into my hand.

I opened my eyes to find him offering me his water bottle. “Dehydration makes it worse.”

I stared at the bottle, then at him. “Why would you?”

“Because watching you pass out would be inconvenient. Take it or don’t,” he said dismissively.

I took a sip of it. The water was cold and steadying.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly.

He just nodded, turning to look out the window.

The turbulence passed, making the plane steady finally.

I tried very hard not to think about how his small gesture had affected me more than it should have.

The rest of the flight passed in tense silence. I borrowed paper and pen from the flight attendant, working out my presentation by hand. He worked on his own laptop, occasionally taking calls in Greek.

When we landed in Athens, I gathered my things quickly.

I stood, reaching for my bag in the overhead compartment. It was stuck.

“Allow me,” he said from behind me.

Suddenly he was there, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. He reached up, his arm brushing my shoulder, and pulled my bag free.

He handed it to me. Our fingers brushed again.

“Thanks,” I managed.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his voice lower now.

He grabbed his own bag and disappeared down the aisle without looking back.

I stood there for a moment, heart racing, trying to figure out why I felt both relieved and disappointed.

I didn’t even know his name.

I told myself that was a good thing.

I told myself I’d never see him again.

I made my way through customs, through baggage claim, out into the arrivals hall where my father’s driver should be waiting.

My phone buzzed. A text from my younger brother, Jamie.

Jamie: E, we need to talk. It’s urgent. Call me when you land.