Hot Mess

Chapter 24

Wren

Unfortunately, we didn't get to see more of Madrid than the airport. Our stopover was only two hours, and by the time we made it through customs and back to the gate to meet our connecting flight, the two hours was up. And I was once again strapped into a flying death machine.

I didn't know I was afraid of flying. I'd never given it much thought before, but the moment those wheels started rolling down the runway for take-off, it was like a switch flipped, and I completely freaked out.

Tate must have thought I was insane mumbling over and over 'we're going to die' but I really truly believed it.

The seats in first class were admittedly much better than those in coach. I looked through the curtain; the cabin seemed tiny, and everyone was squished together. At least Tate and I had room to spread out and get comfortable, not that Madrid was too far from Florence.

Cold flooded my body as the fear of flying took control again. I knew realistically that we were going to be okay. Thousands of planes flew around the world daily, and very few of them ever crashed. I knew that. I did. But I still couldn't stop myself from wondering what if.

What if our pilot has a heart attack? Would the co-pilot know enough to land the plane safely? Do they need two people to fly a plane successfully? Because if the pilot has a heart attack and dies, then we'd all be doomed.

What if a wing breaks? It could happen. I've seen enough movies. I chewed on my lip and closed my eyes. My knuckles were white from the death grip I had on the arm rest and Tate's hand.

What if an engine fails? How many back engines does a plane have?

Or the landing gears stick? We'd crash and burn.

I tightened my seatbelt as the plane rolled out on to the tarmac.

What if we run out of fuel? How much reserve fuel was there, and what if that's not enough to get us down safely?

I reached under my seat to make sure the life vest was where they said it should be.

What if we got struck by lightning? Can that take down a plane? Would we all get electrocuted? My knowledge of conducting electricity was limited, and I was sure that we'd be safe in a lightning storm, but still, what did experts really know?

I placed my hands on my knees to stop them from bouncing. We were gaining speed.

What if the pilot lost control and crashed into a building before we left the ground?

Why didn't every seat come fit with a parachute? They should. And where were the life rafts?

What if the flight navigation system failed and we crashed into another plane? I mean, it was possible, right?

Holy crap. We were going to die.

My chest tightened and I struggled to suck in a breath. My palms were sweaty, and I wanted to throw up.

Tate pinched my chin and turned my head to face him. His eyes darted between mine, concern etching his face, and I knew what he was going to do. I just wished he'd do it already.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. Soft and warm. He tasted like the whiskey he had when we took our seats. His breath was hot, his mouth needy. His tongue was silk in my mouth.

Everything faded.

There was only Tate and me.

All my fears ebbed away. The plane ceased to exist. We were wrapped in our own bubble, and I didn't want it to burst. I knew he was only doing this to distract me and that it meant nothing, but I was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

How many girls could say they'd had Tate Montgomery's tongue in their mouth, or his hands gripping their waist so tight it was as though he couldn't get enough?

A lot, probably. But I refused to think about them.

For those ten or so minutes it took for the plane to reach altitude, nothing else mattered but the feel of Tate's mouth on mine. His teeth grazed my lip, pulling it into his mouth.

I moaned. Fisted his shirt in my hands. His fingers moved to my seatbelt and released it. I faintly recalled hearing the announcement saying that we were free to move around and the pilot had turned off the seatbelt sign. Tate wasted no time pulling me out of my seat and into his lap.

Why wasn't he stopping?

Not that I was complaining. I felt cherished. Cared for. Wanted.

I'd never experienced feelings like those before.

My hands were in his hair, pulling, tugging. His fingers traced patterns on my spine, sending shivers through my body.

"Excuse me," a voice spoke, interrupting our kiss. Again. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm going to have to ask you to return to your seat." The air hostess smiled politely at me. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I lowered my face in embarrassment.

I got caught making out with a guy like a teenager.

But I didn't regret it.

I reluctantly slid off Tate's lap and back into my own spot, missing the warmth of his touch. He held my hand though and whispered, "We'll continue that later."

I wasn't sure what he meant exactly. A kiss or... more?

We sat in silence and watched the inflight movie. Though, I could hardly concentrate. I was too busy watching the clock and counting down the minutes until we prepared for landing, just so he'd kiss me again.

I was doomed.

This trip was going to end badly.

"Wren?"

"Hmm, yeah what?" I tore my eyes away from the clock on the screen in front of me.

"Would you like some food?" He smiled politely at the air hostess I failed to notice standing beside me. She was the same one who kindly asked me to move off Tate's lap earlier. She stood there, a plastered-on smile on her face, but it was her eyes that told me she was annoyed with me.

"No, thank you. I'm fine." I waved my hand, dismissing the idea of food.

Tate quirked an eyebrow in surprise. I was too nervous to eat. Too keyed up and on edge waiting to see if he would kiss me again as we landed to even think about food.