“Seems we brought the gloomy weather home with us.”
She harrumphed, sliding down in her seat and resting her forehead against the window. “I don’t want to go back to real life,” she whispered.
“Neither do I.”
She didn’t respond, and Isaac wanted to prod her, provoke her into saying something, anything, that would open the conversation for him to demand she see him again. Not ask.Demand.After all, she claimed he was always irritating her or pissing her off. Might as well keep to his record.
But she said nothing, and he wasn’t sure how to play his cards.
“What has you looking like you need a package of prunes and a magazine?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Perhaps,” he answered, just to annoy her.
But she surprised him and, instead, laughed. “You’re far too predictable at times, Mr. Miller.”
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, interrupting the exchange with the announcement that they’d been cleared to land.
Rachel gathered her few belongings and started rummaging for her cell phone.
Isaac laid a hand over hers. “Have to wait until he clears us to use electronic devices. Cell phones can interfere with his communication from the tower.”
She sighed rather dramatically. “Like I said, what good is being rich?”
Isaac waved his hand like a game-show hostess presenting the interior of the jet as a prize. “Oh, it has its perks.”
She chuffed out a short laugh. “Smart-ass.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“No doubt.”
“Rachel?”
She looked up at him, eyes wide and entirely receptive.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
Her face closed up tight. “I have a pretty good idea where this conversation is going, Isaac.”
The skin on the back of his neck prickled. “Do you, then? By all means, enlighten me as to what’s going through my head.”
“Despite the wonderful weekend, you’ve made it clear numerous times that you don’t do long-term relationships. Ever. So this is the point where you issue the gentle ‘it’s been fun’ parting line and offer to have your car service take me home.”
His stomach had tied itself in multiple knots as she spoke, crowding his lungs so he couldn’t get a deep breath. “You’re wrong,” he finally responded.
“Oh?” She looked out the window. “Then pardon me for borrowing your language, but ‘enlighten me.’”
“Look at me, Rachel.” She didn’t turn, so he waited. “I’m not having this conversation with the back of your head.”
She rounded on him, eyes dangerously narrowed. “Say what you need to say.”
“It would serve you right if I let you ride home thinking whatever it is you’re thinking. But you’re so damn stubborn you probably wouldn’t take my call tomorrow.”
She blinked owlishly. “Call? Tomorrow?”