DOM: Alliance Series Book Three (4)

“Th-thank you.” I try to reach for my bag, but he beats me to it. Using the same hand that’s holding the cookie, he hooks the bag with just one finger and easily lifts it.

“You’re welcome.” His gaze flicks to my exposed knees, and I yank at my skirt, pulling it down to cover the extra skin.

He clears his throat. It shouldn’t be sexy, but it is.

I’m tempted to yank my skirt back up, but then the man starts to stand. And his grip on my elbow brings me up with him.

“How much time until your flight?”

“Um, I think I have thirty minutes or so before boarding.”

He dips his chin. “Perfect. Me, too.”

“Perfect?” I ask, but he’s already moving me along with him, his hand on the small of my back again.

“I owe you a cookie and a backpack. Thirty minutes should be just enough time.” His voice is so deep and rumbly it nearly distracts me from his words.

“Backpack?” I’m just repeating words as I let him guide me down the main hallway of the airport.

I’m used to being around tall men. My half brother, King, is practically a giant, and he’s probably only an inch taller than this man. But even with his much longer legs, this man is walking at my pace.

It’s great because I don’t have to jog to keep up, but I still wish I’d left my cute wedges on rather than switching into my tennis shoes before going through security. Because I glance down and—yep—his shoes match the rest of his expensive outfit. Meaning no tennis shoes for him.

“It was a casualty of war.” He replies to the question I already forgot I asked, holding my backpack in front of him.

My mouth opens into an O as I see why it fell off my shoulder. The strap is broken below where the buckle is sewn into the nylon strip, the thick fabric torn straight through.

I blow out a breath. “I’ve been waiting for that to happen.”

“You’ve been waiting for a clumsy oaf to crash into you and break your things?”

I glance up at him and find him looking down at me. My cheeks are still red from the first time I locked eyes with him, so I don’t bother worrying about how much more red they can get. “I’ve had that bag forever. It was bound to fail me sooner or later.”

“Hmm.” He nods, then steers me to turn to the right. “Well, as the party responsible for its demise, I insist on replacing it.”

I take in the name of the store he’s trying to take me to and put on the brakes. “No.”

“Yes.”

“This place is too expensive,” I try to tell him, but his hand doesn’t let up, and he half pushes me ahead of him.

I’ve never even looked at the prices inside this store, but I know a backpack from this place would be literally ten times more expensive than what I paid for my old bag.

Losing the battle, I step into the store and am not surprised to find no one else in here. Because no one else is willing to pay the stupidly high price for the rather plain-looking luggage.

“Afternoon.” The lady behind the counter greets us. “Can I help you find something?”

“No,” I say, just as the man next to me holds up my grungy bag.

“We need a new backpack. Preferably the same size. Maybe with reinforced straps.”

At the last sentence, he cuts his eyes down to mine.

I bite down on a smile, secretly enjoying that he’s teasing me. “I can’t let you do this.”

“You can and you will, Angel.”

I blink up at him.

My thick hair is a little longer than shoulder length, and I have it pulled back into a plain high ponytail. My makeup is probably half melted off my face. And my bright yellow wrap dress is just shy of indecent with how much cleavage the low neckline shows.

There’s nothing angelic about my appearance.

Taking my silence as acceptance, he turns his attention to the display the salesperson has pointed out.

“What color?” the man asks, holding my bag up, showing that there isn’t one the same shade of green.

I sigh. “Black is fine.”

“Gold or silver?” He’s asking about the metal accents, but I’m distracted, noticing that he’s no longer carrying my broken cookie.

Did he throw it away? How did he do that without me noticing?

“Gold.” He answers his own question as his hand slides up my back.

He drags a finger across the thin gold chain clasped around my neck and the tiny heart charm dangling just below my throat.

Goose bumps cover my arms. And they only get worse when he lifts his hand higher, his thumb brushing over my matching tiny gold heart earrings.

When I feel like I’m about half a second away from an overstimulated heart attack, his tattooed hand leaves my body.

He doesn’t even ask more, doesn’t check with me. He just picks up the black bag with shiny gold hardware and carries it to the register.

Knowing I’ve lost, that this bag is getting purchased, I chase after him.

If I can get my card out of my broken bag, maybe I can quickly swipe it through the reader and pay whatever ungodly amount myself before he can buy it.

I really can’t let a stranger pay for this.

He’s already at the counter when I catch up. And it’s like he knows what I’m planning, because when I reach for the front zipper pocket, where my wallet is stored, he lifts his arm and hugs the bag to his chest.