It’s gratifying to know that Armstrong hasn’t benefited at all from her collection, pretentious prick that he is. I’ll bet he felt threatened. I’ve seen him strutting around in the locker room. He doesn’t have anything to peacock about.

Amalie makes another little noise and presses her cheek against my arm. I return my attention to spreadsheets and the figures on the screen instead of perverted thoughts, but it’s a losing battle.

The flight attendant pauses when she reaches me and passes over two blankets. “For you and your girlfriend.”

“Thank you.” I don’t correct her.

I don’t remove my jacket from Amie’s legs. I just drape the blanket over her and tuck her in. I give up on working. I’ll have plenty of time when I get to Bora Bora to review the rest of the material. Sleep hasn’t been great the past few days. I have meetings four hours after I arrive with the resort manager, and I’ve reviewed the critical details. I should get some sleep.

I pull up my leg rest and recline, pushing back Amie’s chair until we’re both fully prone. The console makes it impossible for her to get any closer, which is probably a good thing.

I adjust her position and try the pillow again, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade her. In fact, now that we’re both prone, she pushes her forehead against my bicep, and she starts murmuring, my name is in there, a soft, tiny whisper.

As I close my eyes and settle in, I have to wonder what the purpose of all of this is. The series of events that put me beside Amalie on this plane seem like too much of a coincidence to ignore. I have a woman with a shattered heart at my side. A causality of Armstrong’s endless need to screw with me. I missed my chance before, but maybe now I can be part of what helps put her back together.

* * *

“Excuse me, sir.” Light tapping on my shoulder becomes slightly more vigorous until I open my eyes. I blink against the brightness and look up into the smiling face of our flight attendant. “We’re serving breakfast prior to landing.”

Prior to landing? How long have I been asleep? “Oh. Okay. How much longer until we land?”

“Just under two hours, sir. Would your travel companion be interested in breakfast, as well?”

It’s then that I take stock of Amalie, cuddled up next to me. Her face still pressed against my arm, as if she hasn’t moved in the time we’ve been asleep. I can’t remember the last time I’ve slept for that many hours consecutively. My gaze drops lower, to where she’s thrown her blanket off and her skirt has ridden up obscenely high. Her top has done the same, exposing a strip of toned stomach. I quickly pull her blanket back in place.

“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”

“I’ll leave the menu with you and give you a few minutes to decide.” She moves on to the old man, who I’m sure has been enjoying the view, based on his upside-down magazine.

I shift Amie so her head is on her pillow before I right my seat and fold down the footrest. Once more, I contemplate the purpose of this—us being thrown together in unconventional circumstances. I don’t buy the divine intervention bullshit. But, knowing I’m going to be near her for the next few weeks—that’s a strange kind of torture.

“Amie.” I give her shoulder a gentle shake and smile, appreciating the shortened version of her name now that I know how she came by it.

She blinks and looks around, disoriented. She scrambles up, the blanket falling away, giving me yet another glimpse of those blue-ball-inducing garters. She looks around frantically, blows out a breath, and settles in her seat. She touches her lips. “I had the strangest dream.”

“Oh yeah, what was it about?”

Her cheeks flush as she looks me over. “Oh, um . . . I can’t remember.” She busies herself, adjusting her skirt and blouse. “I’m a wrinkled mess.”

“You’re gorgeous.” I realize I’m staring and focus on the menu. “They’re serving breakfast. Are you hungry?’

“Starving.” She yawns and stretches. “Wait, breakfast? How long have I been asleep? How many more hours until we land?”

“Less than two according to the flight attendant.” I set the menu on the console between us.

“Seriously? I slept for nine hours? I think the last time I did that was in high school.”

“You obviously needed it.”

“Clearly.” She browses the options. “Everything sounds good. Oh God, waffles. I think it’s been more than a year since I’ve eaten a waffle. What’re you getting?” She leans in, her forearm resting against mine.

It really shouldn’t feel this natural to wake up beside her. “I was thinking the yogurt parfait or the muesli.” I tap the options under the healthy selection.

Amalie wrinkles her nose. “Seriously?”

I laugh. “No. Not seriously. I’m either feeling the bacon and eggs or the omelet.”

“Oooh, those both sound good.” She bites that plush bottom lip. “It’s so hard to decide. I haven’t had bacon in forever, either.” After a few more seconds of mulling, she grabs my forearm. “I have an idea. Why don’t I get the waffle, and you get the bacon and eggs, or the omelet, and we can share?” She withdraws her hand. “Unless you’re worried about germs.”

“I’m not worried about germs unless you plan on licking everything on the plate first.”

She makes a face. It’s so fucking cute. I don’t know how one woman can be so sexy and so sweet at the same time. “Um, no, that’s just gross.”

“I think we’re good then.”

The flight attendant returns with the breakfast cart. Amalie declines the mimosa and opts for coffee and water. We eat off each other’s plates like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It feels like too short a time before we begin our descent. I’ve never wanted a flight to be longer, but today I do. Amalie is quiet, staring out the window as we approach the island. She grips the armrest when the wheels touch down. I note her crossed fingers and then the way she relaxes when the plane slows.

“Are you afraid of flying?” I ask.

She looks over at me. “What?”

“You were crossing your fingers when we landed.”

“Oh.” Her smile is wry. “I’m not afraid of being in the air. It’s the takeoff and landing that make me nervous. It’s why I always have a couple of drinks before I fly, cuts the nerves.”

“I’m pretty sure an entire bottle of champagne qualifies as more than a couple of drinks.”

Amalie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She retrieves her purse from under the seat, pops a square of gum into her mouth, and checks her reflection in a small compact mirror. “I look like last night’s hooker. Why didn’t you tell me my hair was this bad?”

“It looks good to me.”

While she works on fixing her perfectly acceptable appearance, I put all my files back in my bag and make sure I have my phone, iPad, and laptop. Last year Bane left his phone and iPad on a plane and couldn’t communicate with anyone until he had them replaced. That caused a shit show with Ruby, his now live-in girlfriend. And while I don’t have anyone waiting for me back home, I can’t afford to be without my laptop on this trip, or my phone.

“Could you pass me my jacket please?” I point to the floor at her feet.