Tattooed. Fingers.
I almost mewl. But thank god I don’t. That’s a level of mortification I don’t think I could recover from.
I love tattoos. There’s something about them that’s just so… hot. So brave.
I’ve always wanted them, but I’ve been too chicken to get one. Afraid the pain will be too much and I’ll cry the whole way through. Or worse, bail after two minutes and end up with half a design.
But this man…
I press my lips together as I watch him pick up my broken chocolate chip cookie and wrap the pieces in the tiny brown paper bag it came in. And I really just can’t stop staring.
His whole hand is tattooed. Fingers, the back of the hand, all of it. And when he reaches for the napkin I also dropped, the bright white cuff of his sleeve pulls back, exposing an expensive watch and more tattoos.
I sway.
“Steady, Shorty.” The hand not holding the cookie grips my elbow.
His fingers against my bare skin are somehow grounding, but the use of a second endearment throws me right off balance again.
I didn’t miss the way he called me Angel before. I just couldn’t process it.
No one has ever called me anything other than Val. No one even uses my full name anymore.
“You okay?” The man’s voice is softer now. Less amusement, more concern.
And it’s all too damn much.
Crouched next to each other, we’re closer to the same height. But even like this, he’s taller than me. Wider than me. Bigger than me. And I need to flee. If I spend another moment in his presence, I’m going to melt into a goopy puddle of hormones on the floor. And nobody wants to witness that.
“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.