CHAPTER 2

~Morgan POV~

"You don't s—" I laughed out loud, the sound bursting from me before I could stop it.

Damien's joke had been so unexpected, so perfectly timed, that I couldn't hold it in. My hand flew to my mouth, but the damage was done.

"Shhhhh!"

The sharp hiss came from across the aisle. The older woman from earlier was now glaring daggers in our direction as her finger pressed to her lips like we were kids.

I bit my lip, trying to swallow the rest of my laughter. However, Damien didn't even try to look sorry.

He turned toward the old woman and winked. Her eyes went wide. Then they narrowed into slits. Her face flushed red, going from pale to tomato in seconds. She looked like she might spontaneously combust right there in her seat.

"It seems granny wants us to behave," Damien murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear. The amusement in his tone made my stomach flip.

I pressed my hand harder against my mouth, another laugh threatening to escape.

"You're terrible," I whispered.

"And you love it.”

I blushed hard again. 

I couldn't count how many times I had blushed in the past hours? 

"Maybe," I admitted.

Damien and I had talked all through since. God, we talked about everything and nothing. 

He told me about his hobbies, boxing, which explained the calluses on his hands and the barely kept violence I sensed beneath his expensive clothes. He told me about his dog, Piggy, a small pug with an attitude problem and a taste for Italian leather.

I learned he drank his coffee black. That he hated mornings but loved storms. That he'd been to twelve countries but couldn't remember half of them because work consumed everything.

But even as he talked, I realized something.

I knew nothing about him.

Not really.

He gave me fragments. Little glimpses into his life that felt carefully curated, like he was showing me exactly what he wanted me to see and nothing more.

He never mentioned what he actually did for work. Never talked about family. Never let his guard slip enough for me to see what he kept locked underneath.

It should have bothered me but it didn't.

Maybe because I was doing the same thing. Giving him enough to see open while keeping the broken parts hidden.

We were two strangers pretending to know each other. And somehow, that made it perfect.

I turned to look out the window at the clouds below us. The sun was starting to set, painting everything in shades of orange and red.

"Beautiful," I murmured.

"Like you."

Something in his voice made me turn back.

He wasn't looking at the window.

He was looking at me.

My breath caught. The air between us shifted, becoming something I could almost taste.

Damien's eyes dropped to my lips and every nerve in my body went tight.

He slowly leaned in. Giving me time to pull away, to stop this before it started.

But I didn't move. I didn't know why. 

My heart was trying to break through my ribcage. My skin felt too hot, everything in me was screaming, half in warning, half in desperate want.

Kiss me. Don't kiss me. Kiss me.

His hand came up, fingers sliding along my jaw. The touch was light, like I was something precious he was afraid to break.

But his eyes told a different story.

They were dark. Hungry. Possessive in a way that should have terrified me.

It made me ache instead.

"Morgan," he breathed. My name on his lips sounded like a prayer and a curse rolled into one.

I tilted my face up. Just slightly. Just enough.

An invitation I had no right giving.

He was going to kiss me. Right here. On this plane full of people, and I was going to let him.

I wanted him to.

His thumb brushed across my bottom lip. My eyes fluttered closed.

This was insane. I didn't do things like this. Didn't let strange men touch me like they owned me. Didn't feel this pull toward someone I'd known for mere hours.

But nothing about this felt strange.

It felt like inevitability.

His breath ghosted across my lips. So close. So impossibly close.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking."

The voice crackled through the intercom, shattering the moment like glass.

"We'll be beginning our descent into New York City. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."

Damien pulled back. Not far. Just enough that we weren't about to kiss anymore.

His hand lingered on my face for another heartbeat before dropping away.

I opened my eyes. Found him watching me with an expression I couldn't read. Regret? Frustration?

"Saved by the bell," he said softly.

But his tone suggested we'd only delayed the inevitable. The plane tilted forward. My stomach dropped as we began our descent.

Damien's hand was still close to mine on the armrest. Not touching, just there. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

My heart wouldn't stop pounding.

We'd almost kissed.

Almost.

That single word felt like a tragedy.

I stared out the window, watching the city grow larger below us. Buildings. Lights. The sprawling chaos of New York coming into focus.

In a few minutes, we'd land. We'd get off this plane. And then what?

I'd never see him again.

This man, this dangerous, mysterious, impossible man—would walk away. Disappear into the city. Become nothing more than a story I'd tell myself late at night. The stranger on the plane who made me feel alive for a few hours.

I'd go back to being alone.

The realization made my chest ache in a way I didn't understand. I'd known him for one flight. A handful of hours. That wasn't enough time to feel this kind of loss.

But I did.

God help me, I did.

I'd never felt like this before. This desperate, clawing need to hold onto something, someone, before it slipped away. This feeling that if I let him walk out of my life, I'd spend forever wondering what could have been.

Boys back home had never made me feel this way. Safe. Predictable. Boring. They'd wanted the version of me that smiled and stayed quiet and didn't ask for more.

Damien looked at me like I was something worth destroying himself over.

And maybe that should have scared me.

It didn't, instead made me feel fearless.

The plane's wheels touched down. The impact jolted through my body. Around us, passengers started gathering their things, the cabin filling with noise and movement.

This was it.

My last chance.

"Can I see you again?" The words burst out of me before I could stop them. "Or meet you? Or—or anything?"

Oh God. Oh God, what did I just do?

My face went hot. I was asking him out. Me. Morgan Hayes, who'd never been bold a day in her life. Who let life happen to her instead of reaching out and taking what she wanted.

I was asking out a man who probably had women throwing themselves at him everywhere he went.

Damien went still. His eyes locked on mine as the silence stretched. 

Say something. Please say something.

A slow smile curved his lips. 

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he said, his voice edged with amusement. "But I like that you beat me to it. Saves my ego the potential hit."

Relief flooded through me so fast I felt dizzy.

He reached into his jacket pocket. Pulled out a sleek black business card and it into pressed it into my palm.

"My number's on there," he said. "Use it."

Then he leaned in so close his lips nearly touched my ear that my entire body went offline.

"But how am I sure you won't disappoint me, Morgan Hayes?" His breath was warm against my skin. Each word making me shiver. "How do I know you're not going to lose your nerve the second you walk off this plane and forget I exist?”

“I won't.” I said. 

“You'll have to do more than those words. Like a reassurance.” 

My brain short-circuited as a crazy idea formed. The kind of thing the old Morgan—the careful, play-it-safe Morgan—would never do.

But that Morgan wouldn't have flirted with a man who screamed danger. Wouldn't have asked him out like her life depended on it.

I'd read this idea in some dark romance book and convinced myself no sane person would do them. 

But here I am about to attempt it.

Around us, passengers were standing. Grabbing bags from overhead compartments. The aisle filled with bodies shuffling toward the exit. Everyone focused on their own lives. Their own destinations.

No one was watching us.

No one would see.

I turned to face Damien fully. His eyes were still on me, waiting. That infuriating smile still playing on his lips like he knew he'd rattled me.

He had no idea what I was about to do.

Hell, I barely knew what I was about to do.

Holding his dark, intense gaze, I subtly shifted in my seat, my movements hidden by the folds of my skirt and the armrest between us. My fingers found the elastic band of my panties. With a silent, deep breath that felt like courage, I hooked my thumbs and slid them down my thighs. 

My face was on fire, my entire body screaming in a mix of horror and exhilaration. 

Then, in one fluid, brazen motion, I reached over and tucked the warm, silken fabric between his powerful thighs, where they were pressed together.

I stood up quickly, my legs feeling like jelly.

"That's my favorite panties," I whispered, my voice trembling, betraying the confident act I was trying so hard to sell. "I'll have to come get it."

It sounded stupid. It was dirty. And so, so weird. I was certain I had just made the biggest fool of myself in human history.

I couldn't bear to see his reaction. I turned and practically fled, melting into the queue of passengers shuffling towards the front of the plane. I kept my head down, my cheeks burning, my mind a chaotic whirl of what have you done, what have you done, what have you DONE?

I felt exposed and utterly insane.

I shouldn't have followed my dumb thoughts. 

I don't know what made me look back. Some primal pull, or maybe the same force that had made me give him my underwear in the first place.

I glanced over my shoulder.

And froze.

Damien hadn't moved. He was still sitting there and in his hand, held almost reverently between his fingers, was my white, cotton panties.

He brought them to his face.

His eyes closed, his nostrils flared as he breathed in deeply, a look of pure, unadulterated want etching his features. 

Then his eyes snapped open, finding me instantly in the crowd as if he could feel my gaze.

He stared at me, and the shock was gone, replaced by something raw and predatory. 

I turned back around, my heart hammering against my chest, a shaky, disbelieving smile touching my lips as I followed the queue off the plane and into my new life.

What had I done?