AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I need to sit down, take a deep breath, and swallow a couple of the Imitrex I barely managed to get through security. Dry, if I can’t flag down a flight attendant to ask for water in the middle of people getting seated.
Sighing, I adjust my carry-on and pin on a smile for Jet Daddy.
I always try to smile like I’m not in excruciating pain, but today I probably resemble a demented carnival doll with the way my left eye keeps twitching.
“Excuse me,” I say softly.
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t even look up.
It’s like I’m not even here.
Except the people behind me waiting to climb into their own seats make it crystal clear I didn’t just turn invisible. While someone at my back coughs and curses for me to hurry it up, I clear my throat and try again.
Louder this time.
“Excuse me.”
Nothing.
“Sir? Excuse me. I’m in the next seat. Can I squeeze in here?”
He doesn’t even lift an eyebrow, let alone look up.
What the hell?
Is he deaf? Is he ignoring me intentionally?
No one can possibly be this oblivious. His screen looks like nothing but Excel charts and spreadsheets, so it can’t be that fascinating.
“Sir?” I try again before I sigh and reach out to tap his shoulder. “Hi, sorry to bother you, but—eep.”
I never make contact with his shoulder.
His hand snaps up and locks around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.
My first impression is that his hands are enormous.
More like paws with fingers, but his fingers are thin with large knuckles, giving them a sort of brutal elegance.
They wrap around my wrist so fully that his fingers overlap the heel of his palm. The pads of his fingers are callused, shredding the image of the pampered suit. The graze of his thumb against the pulse point under my wrist turns my breath into a stutter.
My second impression is that even though he cut me off before I could touch him, he’s holding my wrist so gently I can barely feel it.
No matter how quick and sharp that slashing movement was, he doesn’t want to hurt me.
Again, those glacial eyes slide toward me without his head ever lifting.
They watch me from under decisive brows with a cool, penetrating look that feels like being dunked in arctic waters.
I’m about as overstimulated as I can get between the noise and the headache and his touch and the way his indecipherable look cuts through me.
If I don’t sit down in the next thirty seconds, we’re going to have a much bigger problem than me blocking the aisle.
Thankfully, he seems to get the message.
He lets go of my wrist with a light push that sends me back a half step, clearing the aisle so he can lift the outer armrest and slide his legs out, making room for me to slip past. Barely.
