Page 3 of No Strings Attached
I need this suit jacket off. Now. Am I sweating? I think I might be sweating. I need to leave.
Oh, God.
Just when I feel myself spiraling again, a gentle touch lands on my arm, instantly grounding me. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, and glance down at where the woman’s hand now rests on my forearm.
And then I catch her scent. Something like coconut and sea salt. Light, warm, and familiar.
It shouldn’t affect me this much, but it does. For a second, I’m not a man unraveling in a crowd. I’m just a boy on my hometown beach with sand between his toes and the sun on his back.
The tension in my chest loosens.
“Hey, it’s okay,” the woman says softly. “I was just kidding. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out even more. It was a lame joke. I saw you shifting from one foot to the other and you seemed anxious and I made a stupid comment about needing to pee…”
She’s rambling, words tumbling out without a breath between them, but somehow, it calms me. I place my hand over hers, and the moment our skin touches, a jolt of electricity shoots through us. She jerks her hand back, face flushing.
“It’s fine. I get overwhelmed in crowds. It’s not you, it’s me,” I tease, and she lets out a melodic laugh, like the sound of wind chimes swaying gently in a breeze.
I was teetering on the edge of a panic attack, and this beautiful stranger snapped me out of it, my heartbeat slowing down already.
“Can we start over?” The woman offers her hand for a shake.
I quickly swipe my sweaty palm down the side of my suit jacket before taking her delicate hand in mine. This time, there’sno static shock, but a surge of warmth still travels through my body, awakening every one of my senses… and my dick.
“I’m Amira,” she says, tilting her head, as if trying to read me. Her eyes travel over my face, and I know she must notice something is off. I’m getting painfully stiff by the second, and I silently pray she doesn’t glance down and see the hardened rod sticking out of my trousers.
“Ah-mee-rah,” I repeat, savoring how her name rolls off my tongue like honey. “Is that Middle Eastern?”
A nod. “Yes. How’d you know? Am I not the first Amira you’ve ever met?” she asks, feigning indignation.
I laugh, still holding her hand. “Don’t worry, you’re the first. I just do a lot of business in the Middle East.”
Amira gives me a once-over. “Ah! Rich businessman. That explains the suit.”
Not a trace of judgment laces her tone, and I appreciate that. From what I can tell, she doesn’t seem one to judge a book by its cover. Hopefully.
Someone clears their throat behind Amira. “Sorry to interrupt your little meet-cute, but the line’s moving.” The person gestures to the empty space that’s now opened up in front of me.
I’ve been so engrossed in Amira that I completely forgot what I was doing.
“Shit.” I move forward, and realize I’m still holding her hand, accidentally dragging her with me. Her body bumps into mine when I stop.
“Fuck. I’m an idiot.”
Amira bursts into laughter—a full-blown, infectious belly laugh—and I can’t help but chuckle with her.
Barely catching her breath, she says, “This is definitely the beginning of one of those cheesy Hallmark movies. You know, a single, middle-aged billionaire gets stuck at the airport, desperately trying to make it home for his family’s Christmas dinner.While in line, he meets a woman trying to flee from a nasty breakup. You know how the story goes.”
I raise an eyebrow, amused. “No, please, continue,” I urge, crossing my arms over my chest. I make a mental note to ask about the nasty breakup—now is not the time.
“They have an adorable meet-cute, then part ways. The end.”
I bite my bottom lip, narrowing my eyes at her. “That’s it?”
Amira mirrors me, grinning. “That’s it.”
She’s so damn cute—I’d easily break her. My mind drifts back to the persistent erection that hasn’t calmed down since I first laid eyes on her.
“Well, first of all, I’m not middle-aged,” I say, clutching my chest in mock pain. “Middle-aged? Really?”
