Page 7 of No Strings Attached
His shoulders slump a little, but he quickly recovers. “Are you hungry?”
As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly enough for the entire airport to hear. How embarrassing.
“I guess that answers my question.” He chuckles, grabbing my luggage. His eyebrows lift as he picks it up. “This is heavy.”
I shrug. “I didn’t know what to pack. I’m supposed to be there for a couple weeks.”
“Are you visiting family?”
I shake my head.
“Vacation?”
I shake it again. “Work.”
He grimaces. “In Nantucket?”
“In Nantucket,” I confirm, amused. If you’d asked me my dream destination for the holidays, Nantucket wouldn’t have been my first pick. But in my desperation to leave Seattle, this job seemed like the perfect escape.
Henson nods, though doesn’t ask any more questions. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait. Where are we going? The airport hotel is this way,” I say, pointing behind me.
“Oh,Mira. We’re not staying there. Perks of being a billionaire,” he responds with a wink. I roll my eyes, but I’m also surprised—and kind of charmed—by the nickname. I sort of… like it.
“I never should’ve called you a billionaire,” I mutter, my cheeks heating.
“Too late,” Henson quips, not missing a beat. “Come on. My driver is waiting outside.”
He doesn’t wait for me, already heading out the door with my suitcase in tow.
I guess I have no choice but to follow.
A few minutes later,I attempt to hop into the back of Henson’s sleek SUV.
I struggle, the car being too high for my 5’1” frame. Behind me, Henson chuckles.
“Let me help you,” he offers, placing his hands just above my hips, but I swat them away.
“I’m fine.” I turn to glare at him. Normally, my height doesn’t bother me, but his towering presence unnerves me.
Henson shoves his hands into his pockets with a smirk, not fazed by my sudden mood shift. Lately, I’ve been a bit hot and cold.Blame the breakup.
Finally, I manage to get inside, adjusting my skirt and top. Henson shuts the door behind me and circles around to the other side.
“Which hotel?” I ask once he’s inside.
“The Thompson,” he says casually.
I gasp. “What? The five-star luxury hotel? That’s so unnecessary, Henson.”
He waves me off, straightening his suit lapel like it’s no big deal. Sensing it would get me nowhere, I decide not to protest.
With nothing but time in the backseat, I take a moment toreallylook at him: the stubble outlining his strong jaw, the slight point of his nose, the way his bottom lip sticks out a little more than the top one. His thick lashes frame piercing blue eyes, andhis brown hair is tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool. He’s gorgeous.
I squeeze my legs together, trying to ignore the slow ache creeping through me.
Don’t sleep with him. Don’t sleep with him. Don’t sleep with him.
