British Black Sheep - Lauren Smith Page 0,9

though. She sat up, pushed the blanket aside, and faced the sleeping form of Alec currently in her way.

She carefully stretched her leg over his body and planted it on the ground in the aisle but with a sudden movement of his knee beneath her, she fell on top of him.

“Oof!” He grunted, followed quickly by, “Fuck!” as he woke up. “What the—?” He stared up at her with a confused half-asleep expression.

“Sorry,” she whispered. The last thing she wanted to do was wake everyone else up in first class.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” He growled in that sleep roughened voice, exactly like in her dream.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said.

“Did you have to knee me in the bullocks?” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, “You shifted. I lost my balance.” Her face heated as she struggled to get off him.

“Hold still.” He put his hands on her ass as he tried to reposition her so she could slide off him and into the aisle.

“I really am sorry,” she said, getting her balance back.

“Just go.” He waved a hand at her and she rushed to the bathroom. She stared at her tired, puffy eyes in the mirror and her embarrassed reddened cheeks. What if he followed her to the bathroom? What if she opened the door and he’d be standing there, ready to…?

That was ridiculous. She opened the door and faced the empty aisle. But more than a small part of her had hoped he would be standing there like in her dream. She buried the twinge of disappointment as she returned to her seat. When she got back to their row, he was still awake.

“Up and over you go,” he said as she stepped over him and lay back down on her own bed. “Watch the knees.”

“Did I really hurt you?”

He sighed, the sound deep and aggrieved. “No. A man doesn’t need his balls.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Brie?” he whispered in a voice that was almost silky now.

Her heart skipped a few beats as remnants of her dream came back. “What?”

“Go to sleep.” She huffed and then froze as he spoke again. “And stop moaning. It’s driving me mad.”

“Moan? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, you were,” he insisted. “Whatever you were dreaming was either terrible or excellent. Either way, it was keeping me awake.”

“Asshole,” she muttered.

“I heard that,” he growled. And for some reason she found herself smiling as she closed her eyes.

3

Breakfast in first class was decent, with omelets, French toast, and coffee from a press. None of that powdery day-old charcoal-tasting stuff the main cabin would be served.

Alec ate as he scanned Wall Street Journal headlines on his phone. Brie had her laptop out and was typing while she nibbled at her French toast. He peeked once or twice at her screen and saw some kind of timeline for a book about English Christmas traditions. He winced and turned away. The last thing he wanted to think about were traditions, the past, and least of all Christmas. He turned back to his phone, answering a few quick emails about when he would be back in the office. Even though he would be returning to the airport later this evening, he could at least work half the day.

He gave Brie another glance as the flight attendant collected their breakfast trays.

“You never told me how you ended up flying first class,” he said. It was her first time in first class and the idea had been tugging at him. “Most people don’t fly this way unless they have a good reason.” He suspected being a ghost writer didn’t pay a lot, at least not enough to fly first class.

“My client paid for it, actually. She insisted. I told her I didn’t need to, but she was set on me not having an uncomfortable trip over here.”

“I see. And you writing a book for her about…?” He trailed off, expecting her to answer.

“I can’t really discuss this project. I signed a nondisclosure agreement about the identity of the client and the nature of the project.”

That piqued his interest. “Is she a political figure? Wait, you aren’t interviewing the Prime Minister or the Queen are you?” he teased.

She laughed, relaxing a little. “No one that famous. But the client is still a bit of a rock star to me, I guess.”

“So, a musician?” He set his phone down. “Adele? Lily Allen? Madonna’s back in London, I hear…”

“Stop guessing. Seriously, I can’t tell you.” She was still laughing but she