The bed she had just sought out for safety and comfort. A jolt of anger and fear sliced through her as her thumb repetitively pushed the button.

“What do you want?” she asked again, stepping back toward the door.

“Hmm. Biscuits?” The lazy response was punctuated by the sound of shuffling on the sheets. “Biscuits would be super. I missed the in-flight meal.”

Wait. That voice is familiar. And the language . . .

A light suddenly flicked on, and Nya blinked several times, and then kept on blinking even after her eyes had adjusted. Her ears hadn’t lied.

Oh! It’s him.

“Oh. It’s you.” Johan Maximillian von Braustein’s thick auburn hair was tousled and unruly, his cheeks slightly flushed as if he’d been dreaming of something naughty. His dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up to his elbows, revealing the reddish hair on his chest and dusting his forearms. The shocking blue eyes that routinely stared out from the covers of tabloids? Those were bright and clear, even if the rest of him was still half-asleep.

For a second, she was hit with the same ridiculous certainty she’d had the first time she’d met him—that he was appraising her like a man tallying the pleasure of making her his, and willing to trade them all.

Then he looked away, his features the very picture of boredom. It had been her imagination running away with her again, fooling her into hoping for wide vistas when her actual view was blinkered at best.

He gathered a lump of tangled bedsheet close to him.

“Ledi’s cousin. Naya, is it? I thought you were a pillow,” he said before yawning hugely. Then he glanced at her, as if he’d thoroughly forgotten her presence in the time it had taken him to yawn and was now mildly surprised to find her there. “Well? Do you have biscuits?”

“No.” She realized she was still holding her phone out defensively and lowered her arm. His gaze on her intensified, and Nya felt the English being knocked from her head by the impact of it. “The bed. I want to be in it.”

“I see.” That shocking blue gaze warmed beneath long lashes that drooped as if they’d suddenly grown heavy. “Are you here to seduce me, Naya?”

Nya almost dropped her phone at his audacity. He was so calm, so sure that if she was there it must be to fulfill his needs. Her vocabulary returned, reloaded by her anger. “Seduce you? No! I didn’t even know you were in here!”

He rolled over onto his side, resting his head on the mound of bedding he’d gathered, the better to see her. “I know this trick. ‘Oh, I’m just a timid little thing who wandered into the lair of the big bad wolf.’” He chuckled and patted the mattress. “Very well, then, Naya. Come to bed and I’ll eat you up.”

Goddess. He’d gone from ignoring her at every encounter, to not remembering her name, to accusing her of seduction, to offering . . . THAT as easily as the priestesses handed out garlands at the flower festival. She wasn’t sure what was more intolerable, his assumption or the amusement in his tone. He was wrong about her intentions but, like everyone else, thought the mere idea of Nya taking what she wanted was laughable.

Even the most docile Jerami wouldn’t tolerate this disrespect. She gripped the phone and pointed it at him. “I am pulling no tricks. And my name is Nya. You might remember that before inviting me to lower myself with a man like you.”

“My mistake,” he said lightly, seemingly resistant to shaming, then scooted over. “Well, the bed is big enough to fit two, and I wouldn’t mind some company right now.”

Nya paused, dropping her hand to her side again. There was something in his tone . . . but before she could identify it, he glanced at her sidelong.

“I didn’t ask before because I was asleep, I suppose, but do you prefer big spoon or little spoon?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, underlining the fact that to him this was a joke. But to her . . .

Nya had never been held by a man before Johan had, apparently, mistaken her for a pillow. His arms around her had felt good in that moment before reality had set in, when he might have been a figment of her imagination and not a world-famous fuckboy. And now this jerk who had never bothered to learn her name and would likely forget her existence again as soon as the plane landed, thought to make light of the most intimate experience she’d had thus far?

Of course. Self-indulgent, spoiled . . . he doesn’t know what it’s like to be alone. For him, spooning a random woman on a plane is just another Tuesday.

“You can be big spoon if you want,” he offered when she didn’t respond, and Nya sucked her teeth. He really was as appalling as the tabloids made him out to be.

“I will be the only spoon. Get out.” Her voice trembled and she swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. She could still feel his arms around her, holding her close. The heat of his body and his scent surrounding her. For the first time, she’d known what it felt like to be . . . cared for. And it had been this ridiculous man, who cared for no one but himself. This greedy, wanton playboy with his good looks and smooth words, who expected her to bend to his wishes.

Nya was both embarrassed and furious.

Worse, behind her fury, a small lonely voice in the deepest part of her whispered, Go to him. Isn’t this what you dreamed of?

Johan sat there looking at her with his confident grin, as if he was in cahoots with her traitorous hidden desires.