Page 37 of My Forbidden Boss
It didn’t end for me there. The certainty that I could not ignore the instinct that all I wanted was to have her near – yet seemed cursed to fail – the passion driving me, preventing me from perceiving any other real goals apart from conquering and cherishing the woman next to me.
Feeling foolish, I ultimately floundered. In the pursuit of any potential future between us, my passion for her was, in essence, an asset I could not use or, at the very least, wholly trust. Worse, I worried that I was even proving to be my own liability. If I let my feelings fly unrestrained, I was fearful she would only see me as a bullet to be dodged.
As much as the aching in my bones was the reason for me standing there before her, I felt like I couldn’t risk letting it show entirely. After all, twice already, I had come on to her none too subtly, and twice Tisha had resisted the advance. Not only was I once again boldly interposing myself in the path for her attention, but this time, I had even gone farther than before, practically setting up an ambush. It seemed that the natural victim, in consequence, was the very spirit that drove me to make such a maneuver. Terrified of pushing my chances any closer to the brink of rejection than I had already, my enthusiasm for her was left undermined by a panic of equal weight.
In effect, the dread of her third straight denial, which was presumably impending, acted as a chasm swallowing up my emotions. Any hope that my sentiments might, this time, sway her left me shaking from the roots of my very being.
Even after Tisha announced her intention of seeing the trip through, still, there were far more worries rattling around in my brain than any notion of hope. Since I had already accepted that my latest attempt would once again end in rejection, I remained in the aisle as before, standing stupidly, dumbfounded by her decision to stay.
Tisha calmly stepped forward and crossed in front of me, dropping her purse into the chair by my knee and picking the adjacent seat next to the window for herself.
She paused and seemed to consider removing her sweater, but changed her mind and quietly sat. I watched her pick up her purse by one handle and casually lean forward, neatly propping it against the fuselage at her feet. She straightened against the tan leather seatback behind her and crossed one leg over the other, ever-so-slightly exposing a flash of smooth skin between the hem of her skirt and her long black boots.
In a single flowing motion, she looked up at me, swinging her silky blonde hair across her stunning eyes.
“Well?”
My heart pounded into action, but my body had no idea of any purpose to which I wanted it to move.
Tisha’s gaze flicked emphatically downward, indicating the empty seat between us.
Her look then returned upward, once more meeting my dumb ogling with some kind of serenity I could barely put to words.
Her eyes were, at once, both shocking and powerful. Like sparks of blue electricity daring me not to be afraid, her irises seemed to shimmer and glow. Despite the warmth growing in my body and the rows of small overhead heaters toasting the small aircraft cabin’s interior, a wave of ice swept up my arms and down my back, chilling me to my core.
Tentatively, I approached the row, leaving the aisle behind and stepping in beside her. Hesitating in a half-crouch over the vacant seat’s leather cushion, I watched Tisha’s luring, shining lips and waited for their inevitable objections.
None came.
She just sat there, looking up at me with a slight smile, one that only just showed the subtlest flirting delight.
Is she…?
No…
Is she tormenting me?
Scarcely able to trust my feelings, I carefully lowered myself into the open seat at Tisha’s side.
I glanced sideways, sitting straight up as if the chair itself had no backing.
Tisha merely tilted her head, again tossing her hair across her eyes. I thought I saw her grin but couldn’t be sure.
“Well, Mr. Fleming. I will see you when we get to Wyoming. I, for one, have flown around enough to know that I don’t care much for the popping ears, swelling feet, and flat beverages that one can expect to endure, no matter how nice your plane may be.”
She reached down and quickly procured an eye mask from her purse. My heart sank.
“You’re… going to sleep?”
The question seemed to thrill her. Tisha’s pupils grew wide with mockery as her tone turned to open patronization.
“Yes, Mr. Fleming. That’s right! Now I know that I should be glad you are here with me; your powers of observation will do wonders for the presentation. I guess that’s why you’re the boss, and I’m just a lowly salary hand.”
Speckled with little flecks of pale amber, dispersed like silvery slivers of sunlight or golden constellations, Tisha’s striking irises of aqua and polished gold disappeared as she pulled down the little mask. She smiled beautifully, biting her lip to keep her mirth in check.
She leaned over toward the window, propping a hidden cheek in her hand.
My head churned, trying to decide if I was supposed to be devastated or drunk with bliss. I couldn’t tell where I stood – if I was witnessing progress or purgatory. With too little enthusiasm to feel determined and too much closeness between us that she could have easily avoided, I settled inadvertently into a daze of dreamy deliriousness.