Page 3 of Resting Grump Face
“You too,” I reply as I shove the paper back into my purse, grab my luggage and continue my pursuit. “I mean not ‘you too’ because that doesn’t make any sense… unless you’re also flying somewhere later, in which case I do wish you a pleasant flight.”
Smooth,I think to myself as the lady laughs while I rush through the entrance.
Once inside, I inspect my surroundings. It would appear I have stepped into a giant version of one of those high-end furniture store catalogues that make you wonder who would spend ten grand on a soap dispenser. Expensive looking armchairs stand next to even more expensive looking decor, which luckily stands near a bar.I might need that later.Farther in the back, I spy what I assume to be a restaurant, a small library and even some bedrooms, probably with a massage service. The watch on my phone says that I don’t have all that much time left until the private plane Olivia’s fiancé booked is set to depart.
Just when I wonder where my mysterious target might have gone, I catch a glimpse of his dark hair disappearing behind a door. Without giving it a second thought, I follow on the double and step inside the room as well. The door closes behind me with a silent thud and I stare into the most captivating eyes I have ever seen. I think what makes them so captivating is that they look like they are about to kill me.
“Impressive,” he grumbles as his eyes narrow even more. “Usually the reporters don’t make it into the VIP lounge.”
“I’m not a reporter,” I shoot back. “I’m also not a stalker or a hitman,” I add preventatively.
For a second, I imagine I can see the slightest of smirks on his face when really he just went from scowling to full on growling.
Who does that?
“Good to know,” he lets out. “You’re still not supposed to be in here.”
I glance around and notice that we are standing in a bathroom that’s probably nicer than my bedroom. When he takes a step forward, I take a step back and inevitably bump into the door behind me. A strange feeling makes its way through my body, something between thrill and fury. The fantasy from earlier shoots through my mind again: my nails in his back, his lips all over me.
I can smell him already. This must be what all those authors are talking about when they say their protagonist smells like sex and sandalwood and man and —my eyes get stuck on his delicious lips— more sex.
He just fired that poor woman right in front of me.
I take a deep breath and try to get my bearings.
What is happening here?
And why the hell is it turning me on?
He keeps closing the distance between us, like a predator about to pounce. But I am not scared. I am not prey. Quite the contrary, my treacherous body is on fire, more alive than it has been in… ever, really.
She has bills to pay too.
And he just fired her.
I wish I could rip out my fallopian tubes to strangle him with them.
“How do I know you’re not lying?” Those ridiculous lips of his ask, now almost whispering, still inching closer.
“About?” I mutter and pry my eyes off them, only to get stuck on his eyes. They’re deep and dark. The kind that make you forget that hypnosis could never ever work on you.
I’m trying to remember why I came here in the first place as a tingling floods my entire body.
“How do I know you’re not lying about being a reporter, stalker, or hitman?” he repeats in an unreasonably low voice now.
We come face to face. He stops just short, hovering over me, his eyes still narrow, still narrowing in, his smell even more tantalizing.
“Well,” I swallow hard, “I’d probably be more of a hitwoman.”
This time he does smile. It’s almost unnoticeable, but I’m sure of it, because it makes me really fucking weak.
I don’t believe in heaven or hell,I think as our lips smash into each other like two worlds colliding,but this feels like I may have discovered both at the same time.
2
SIENNA
If I were to commit a serious crime right now, I think I’d have enough evidence to plead temporary insanity. Hooking up with a perfect stranger (no, scratch that, he’s definitely not perfect) in a restroom in the VIP lounge of an airport?
