“You’ve been here a while,” he assumed, taking a seat across the table from Brantley in a single leather recliner that looked more comfortable than any piece of furniture he owned. As he sank into it, he realized it actually was.
“Had a bag in the truck.”
For some reason, that pissed Reese off. The guy could’ve simply waited. Then again, they would’ve had to spend time together, and based on the way Brantley was avoiding looking in his direction, that was where the problem lay.
“You still keep a go-bag?”
“Damn straight. Never know when you’ll need to jet in a hurry.”
The flight attendant returned.
In order to save face for a few minutes and not involve the kind woman waiting on them, Reese decided not to tackle the hard conversation yet. Instead, he accepted the beer, chatted with the woman who had yet to give him her name.
“During the flight, I’ll be in my quarters,” she explained, glancing between the two of them. “Feel free to utilize the amenities on the plane. In the back you’ll find a small office, a bedroom, as well as the restroom. We have Wi-Fi if you need it and just about any movie you could possibly want to watch, including all the new releases. If you need me, simply push that button”—she pointed to a silver button on the wall behind them—“and I’ll be happy to get you anything you need.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he told her when it was obvious Brantley’s lack of manners extended to her as well.
“Very well.” Her gaze bounced between them briefly before she offered a smile and headed toward the front of the plane.
“Any reason you’re bein’ a dick to everyone?” Reese asked when they were alone.
Brantley’s blue-gray eyes flipped toward him. “Not in the mood for people.”
“Look, Brantley, about what I said earlier … I wasn’t—”
“Not in the mood for people,” Brantley growled, his stormy gaze shooting daggers his way.
So that was how he wanted to be. Fine. Reese could play that game, too.
“In that case, I think I’ll relocate elsewhere.”
Taking his beer, Reese ventured to the back of the plane. There was more seating in the main cabin, but he chose to check out the office. Inside, there was a small desk and a chair complete with seat belt. The window in this room was a little bigger, but he could close the shade to block out the light, which was what he was looking for.
Placing the bottle into a cup holder, Reese took a seat, belted himself in, and slid the window cover down. Yep, the perfect place to catch a nap. Three-plus hours, she’d said.
Just enough time.
Forty-five minutes later, Reese realized sleeping wasn’t on the agenda. The plane had taken off without incident, the pilot coming over the speaker to relay the information about the flight path, their estimated landing time, as well as the weather. At one point, he was almost positive he heard Brantley come back, but he figured that was likely wishful thinking because even though this was a luxury aircraft, the hum of the engines still drowned out any noises on the other side of the door.
They had to iron this shit out between them. For the sake of the op if nothing else. Reese couldn’t imagine they’d get much accomplished with Brantley pissed at him for his distasteful comment. He’d been in a panic, scared about what Brantley stirred in him. Telling him he didn’t want others to see something that wasn’t there … he hadn’t meant it. Not really.
Reese stretched when he stood, grabbed his empty beer bottle, deposited it in the small trash can, and headed out of the office. He noticed the main cabin was dark; only running lights along the floor were on, all the window shades battened down. Reese stopped before getting to the front, where he figured Brantley was snoozing. It would be wise to return to the office, hide out for the remainder of the trip, and let Brantley get some sleep.
Right?
Yes.
As for why he didn’t move, Reese wasn’t sure. Was he seriously going to be a chickenshit? Avoid the confrontation that was inevitable? He needed to smooth the waters with Brantley, if for no other reason than so they could find Kate and take her safely back home where she belonged.
Okay.
He was going to take a seat, wake Brantley, have a conversation.
Taking a deep breath, he started forward, but stopped suddenly when a firm hand landed on his shoulder, urging him back.
His body stilled, his muscles on high alert. The fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, but he refrained from going hand to hand with the man behind him. It was a natural response, but he managed to refrain because he recognized who was behind him. The hand on his shoulder was Brantley’s, as was the unique masculine scent that drifted in the air.
