”“Edinburgh?” My head was spinning.--London looked like a toy town as we picked up altitude and cut through the thick white clouds. Across from me, Liam looked incredibly handsome, with the edges of his tattoos just visible below the sleeves of his T-shirt.“You’re too far away. Come and sit here,” he said, patting his knee. We were at cruising altitude now and had a flight time of forty minutes.I stood up, surprised at the lack of turbulence, despite the small size of the aircraft. He pulled me on to his lap and slid his arms around my waist. His chin rested on my collarbone and I could feel his warm breath on my ear. Goosebumps formed on my skin as I tried to wrap my mind around the situation. I was on a private jet with Liam Hale.I pushed all thoughts of my shitty job to the back of my mind and focused on the feel of his arms around me. I adjusted myself against him, pushing back against the erection that I could feel through my coat.“Would you like to join the mile-high club?” he. We had coffee, too, but we used the same brewer to produce all of them.That’s a good example of how being stranded can change your perspective. I just spent an entire paragraph explaining what we drank at our library.See there? My mind went back to that time when we were snowed in, and resumed thinking like it did then. It’s as if we’re still stranded as I write this. My memory supplies the sound of the wind howling outside, and of Emma, talking about digging a tunnel to get to the street, since it’s the streets that will get cleared first.Of course we’re no longer snowed in, so I’ll get back to my post-toilet faux pas. It was my faux pas, somehow, but I wasn’t going to quibble. I did what intelligent men have done for centuries when faced with a thorny problem, involving a woman, and which is of no fault of their own.I apologized.And she did what women have done for centuries, when a man expresses regret for some imagined fault.“It’s okay,” she said, graciously accepting my.
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