Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
SYANNE MACILHERON
G reat griffins! A complete stranger is kissing me on the lips!
It was an accident. I twisted my head at the wrong time and our mouths collided. But since we’ve already started, I don’t dare pull away. If I do that, Grant will realize the whole thing is fake.
And since it’s happening, I might as well kiss him back, right?
Oh, boy—that’s a mistake! His response is so sweet and tender, I can’t help leaning into him. He’s even careful not to chaff my skin with the hint of stubble on his face. It’s as if his kiss is whispering, telling me I’m a treasure. Wow, I haven’t been kissed like this since… maybe never.
From the corner of my vision, I can see Grant’s face growing redder by the millisecond. I think his head might explode, if this kiss goes on much longer. That pleasant thought, combined with my hero’s heavenly scent, gives me zero motivation to stop kissing the man .
About the time I remember I’m kissing a stranger, he slides his mouth across my cheek toward my ear and murmurs, “Sorry. I just couldn’t sit here and let him treat you like that.”
If he’s not being sincere, he’s an amazing actor. I manage to nod, even though his breath in my ear sends delicious tingles down to the tips of my toes. It doesn’t help that he’s about the hottest man I’ve seen in my life.
I didn’t notice how attractive he was until after I sat down. Then I’d forced myself to ignore him—or tried my best. But that’s kind of hard to do now.
Hypnotizing hazel eyes regard me with something akin to curiosity, as dimples wink around the smile ghosting his lips.
“You really are with this guy!” Grant’s expression flashes between shock and anger as he jams his sleeves up. “No one cheats on me and gets away with it.”
What’s he planning to do? Hit this poor stranger who was just trying to be nice? I can’t let that happen. Adrenaline pumping, I jump to my feet and glare at Grant, our noses inches apart.
“We broke up, remember? You have no claim on me.”
He shoves me, knocking me back into my seat. I suck in a sharp breath. I’ve never seen this kind of aggression in Grant. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought. Around us, conversations stop, as people take in the developing soap opera. Mortification isn’t a strong enough word for how I’d like to disappear.
“Hey!” Mr. Hottie, a.k.a. Edward Cullen, stands up, his long legs unfolding to his full height, towering over Grant by a good five inches. Grant pales and takes a step back as Mr. Hottie punches a finger at his chest. “You don’t push women. You don’t hit women. You don’t touch women with disrespect. You got it?”
Normally, I would throw a fit if a guy treated me like some damsel in distress who needs rescuing. I don’t need any man to take care of me—I take pride in being self-sufficient. But that pride can’t compete with the thrill in my gut as Mr. Hottie puts Grant in his place. Maybe I can accept help, just this once.
With a vein-pulsing scowl, Grant backs up a few steps, rolling his carryon with him. “You know what, buddy? You can have her. Who needs a slut like her?”
Gasps come from our neighbors, and Mr. Hottie’s jaw hardens as his fist comes up. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m on my feet, blocking him from going after Grant.
“Let him go,” I say. “He’s not worth it.”
Stiff and tense, he glowers at Grant’s retreating form until he disappears at the escalator. Then Mr. Hottie’s fierce gaze drops to lock with mine, softening to something that makes butterflies in my stomach. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
His fingers sweep gently across my shoulders, as if he could wipe away any bruises. His soft touch has me feeling anything but pain. I wouldn’t know if I had a broken arm.
“I’m fine.” My voice squeaks, and I clear my throat. “He didn’t push me that hard.”
He scrubs his dark hair off his forehead, his mouth twisting up at one corner. “I apologize again. I’m not usually violent.” He lowers his voice so only I can hear. “And I don’t usually kiss women without their permission, either.”
Heat rises from my neck to my hairline. “I think that’s as much my fault as yours. It just sort of happened. ”
“It was an accident at the beginning, but after that…” He tucks his chin down, shuffling his feet. “I may have enjoyed it more than I should have. I feel like I took advantage of you.”
A smile fights its way onto my face. “Maybe I took advantage of you .”
“Let’s go with that.” Deep dimples sink around his grin, which makes it that much harder to remember I can’t trust him. After all, he’s still a man.
Mr. Hottie gestures to the seats. “Shall we sit?”
“Wait.” I grab his elbow, ignoring yet another zing from his touch. I’m certain it’s only leftover nervous energy. I whisper, “I’m afraid if we sit, we’ll be overheard. Let me say thank you now, and I’ll move to another seat, so it won’t be awkward.”
“It might be more awkward if you move than if you stay,” he murmurs, pointing to the side with his eyes.
I glance over and notice a grandmotherly type gawking at us with a wide smile. Further inspection reveals similar ogling from most of the passengers in our immediate vicinity.
“Why is everyone still staring at us?” I say. “The drama is over.”
“I think they got emotionally involved,” he whispers back. “And now they’re rooting for us. They want to see a happily-ever-after.”
A boulder the size of Houston lodges in my chest. Happily-ever-after isn’t in the cards for me. Not right now—maybe never. I swore to take a break from all men, and I can’t do that if I spend any more time with this tempting guy. I’ll only end up wishing for something I’m never going to have.
“What are you suggesting?” I ask, leaning closer to his ear and attempting to ignore his yummy, masculine scent. “That we keep up this charade for the entire flight to Steamboat Springs, just to make these people happy? You can’t want that any more than I do.”
A tiny part of me wishes he would disagree.
“No. Of course not.” His lips are pressed flat. “We can go our separate ways, and everyone will just assume we broke up.”
As he stuffs his hands into his pockets, my attention rivets on his well-defined forearms below the sleeves of his rolled-up dress shirt. I’ve always been a sucker for muscular arms. Sigh .
I can’t think about that right now—I need to be sensible. “Okay, I’ll move my things.”
“You stay. I can move.”
We both reach down for the bags at our feet, and our heads collide with a thunk.
“Ow!” we exclaim in unison, up-righting in a mirror image, each with a palm to the forehead.
As the initial throb subsides, my hand drops to cover the chuckle I can’t contain. He joins me in a laugh, displaying dazzling white teeth.
“Wow!” His fingers lift my hair so he can inspect my forehead. “You’ve got a nice goose egg already.”
Why does his touch have to feel so caring and make chill-bumps on my arms?
“Good thing I’ve got a hard head.” I squint at his forehead, looking for a red spot. “What about you?”
“I’ve got a bump,” he says, “but it’s under my hair.”
I reach to search for it but freeze when I realize what I’m about to do.
You can’t run your fingers through this stranger’s hair !
Then his hand takes mine, guiding it through the edge of his thick locks to a small lump. His hair is as soft as I imagined. Suddenly woozy, I sway on my feet.
That’s what happens when you touch the guy you shouldn’t be touching and hold your breath while you do it.
“Are you okay?” His arm goes around me, guiding me gently into my seat.
Sucking in air to clear my head, I spy the grandmother, intent on our impromptu show. With a grin and a wink, she cups her hand like she’s whispering, but rasps in a voice loud enough to compete with the PA system. “He’s a keeper, honey. Way better than that other one.”
Laughing, Mr. Hottie sits beside me and talks from the side of his mouth. “Little does she know how much you actually hate me.”
“What?” I frown at him. “I don’t hate you.”
“You told your sister you hated all men, of which I am certainly one. I believe you described us as pond scum .”
Despite his teasing tone, my face heats. “I’m sorry I insulted your entire gender. At least you’re not an egotistical rich guy, right?”
“No ego problems here,” he says. “I’m as humble as they come.”
“What about the rich part? After what happened with Grant, I can’t handle being around another millionaire.”
“I wouldn’t call myself a millionaire.” He winks, flashing those enticing dimples. “But as Edward Cullen , I’m not technically human, anyway. Doesn’t that make me at least a level or two above pond scum? Moss, perhaps?”
I bite my lips to hold back a smile. “Considering how you defended the honor of a complete stranger, you might be up to dust-bunny status. ”
“I’m just glad you didn’t call me mildew.”
“Or worse… toe fungus.”
He mimes gagging, and we both chuckle. It seems our neighbors are beginning to forget about us since we’re back in our seats.
“By the way, I hate to disappoint you, but my name isn’t really Edward Cullen.”
“No!” I press a palm to my chest, feigning shock. “Next you’ll tell me you aren’t 104 years old.”
“Way less than a hundred, and I don’t drink blood or sparkle in the sun.”
“Let me clarify that I like reading those books but have no secret desire to meet a vampire in the flesh.” I can’t believe he’s discussing Twilight with me—I’m practically swooning.
“That’s a relief. Edward Cullen is unfair competition for those of us without superhuman strength.”
“Who needs strength when you have chivalry?”
“That’s my middle name. Reid Chivalry Nicholson, aka Edward Cullen, at your service. Thirty-four years of age.”
He juts his hand forward, and I shake it, irritated that it still gives me tingles.
“I’m Syanne MacIlheron, thirty-three and done with men forever.” I withdraw my hand and tuck it to my side, firming my decision. It’s the right thing to do, tingles or not. “I’ve got a family who loves me and supports me, and that’s all I need.”
With a long, slow breath, he turns and stares straight ahead. “You and I are actually in the same boat. I’ve sworn off women as well.” His voice has an empty tone. “But my family is gone, except for my grandmother. I think that’s why she’s been hinting I should get married. She doesn’t want me to be alone when she dies. ”
My heart twists inside my ribcage. How sad to lose your family.
“I’m sure she wants what’s best for you.”
“Nanna doesn’t meddle, but she makes me feel guilty. She misses our family, especially at Christmas. She’d be ecstatic if she thought I was in a serious relationship.”
I catch my hand sneaking toward his and yank it back. Yes, he’s lonely, but I barely know him.
I try to lighten the mood.
“If we were going to be anywhere near each other during Christmas, I could pay you back for rescuing me from Grant. I could be your fake girlfriend. Wouldn’t that be funny? You think your grandma would buy it?”
“That would be amazing!” His gaze locks with mine, setting my pulse to stampede rate. “Would you really do that for me?”
“I would if I could, Reid.” It’s easy to say the words, knowing it’s impossible. “But we’re booked at this resort in the middle of nowhere.”
“St. Nick’s.” A lazy smile spreads on his lips. “I heard you mention it earlier.”
“That’s right, St. Nick’s. But not the St. Nick’s Hotel in Steamboat. We’re staying at these cabins way up in the mountains. It’s so remote they take you the last part of the way via snowcat. There’s no way—”
Before I can finish, he touches a finger to my lips, sending sparks throughout my system. “That’s where Nanna and I are staying. St. Nick’s Cabin Getaways.”
My heart skips a few beats. My best estimate is forty.