Page 3 of Daddy, Take Me Away
Grumpy as hell from lack of sleep, he stiffly unfolded himself from his curled position, taking up only three seats this time, and checked his ticket. He was in the next group to be called, so no need to hurry. He rubbed his face.
“I have to get in line,” the pretty lassie before him said. “Are you going to be okay?”
He gave her a thumbs up, and she smiled again. God, smiles like that should be kept for husbands. Boyfriend, at the very least. But definitely not strangers in airports who hadn't known a woman in years, not since he'd come home from the Gulf War.
“Don’t go back to sleep,” she said, by way of goodbye.
Giving her another thumbs up, he turned in his chair to watch as she walked away. Her hips had an all-too-sexy swish he had a hard time not ogling, but she was far too friendly. Not only had she given him private details about her travel, but there was a naivete about her that just didn't sit right with him. She shouldn't be traveling alone. Whatever man had let her go without him was a fool, completely undeserving of her or any woman. He certainly wouldn't have let her go. In fact, if she was his, he'd have been butt in the uncomfortable airport seat right beside her, and every time she became too chatty about her trip, he knew at the first private opportunity, he'd have put her across his knee to paddle her bottom a hot cherry-red that would make the twelve-hour flight across the pond memorable, at the very least.
But she wasn't his, and he didn't get to spank her, much less think about her in that way. Fortunately, she was the renter who’d reserved his little highland cabin for the next ten days. Between now and the time she left, he'd find the time to lecture–no, inform–her on proper traveling etiquette. He'd make sure she got home safely. Especially while dressed in that thin blue sundress that did absolutely nothing to hide her delectable curves.
Stop looking at her curves, he ordered himself. Turning in his seat, he forced himself to stare at the floor until long after she’d boarded, until it came his turn to get into line.
Considering the length of that line, the plane was likely full. Hopefully, the next twelve hours wouldn't have him sitting next to another crying baby the whole way or, worse, a Chatty Cathy. He needed sleep, and he had every intention of spending every minute of his flight getting it.
Soon it was his turn to board. He got on the plane and one glance down the aisle told him, yes, the plane was full. There would be no swapping seats if he did get a noisy seatmate. He sighed and braced himself to tolerate it with patience and a smile, as his mother had often said.
Well, he'd be tolerant if he had to, but he wasn't going to smile.
Good God, and there she was, Chloe Hardt, tucked into a cramped seat by the window with a guy in a business suit in the middle seat beside her. The aisle seat was empty. Hamish checked his ticket. Was that his seat?
Nope, he realized when a somewhat overweight woman not six people ahead of him swung her luggage into the overhead compartment and squeezed herself into the aisle seat.
Hamish didn't care how much she might have overflowed her seat, restricting the already limited elbow room. But the guy sandwiched between both ladies had no business making the fuss he did over it. He, as well as the rest of the passengers, got an earful as Hamish made his way to his own seat. Fate being what it was, his was the window seat located directly behind Chloe's.
“Jesus,” the man in front of him grumbled. “Can't you suck it in a little?”
Through the crack in the seats, Hamish watched as the heavier woman flushed uncomfortably. She leaned sideways, away from him, but the seats were too narrow for that to help.
“That's not very nice,” Chloe told the man, and Hamish's already short temper got even shorter when the guy turned on her, snapping, “Who the fuck was talking to you? Shut your fucking mouth.”
“Don't talk to her like that,” the other woman protested. “It's me you've got a problem with.”
“And who wouldn't, you fat, ugly slob–”
Hamish got up out of his seat.
“–show some fucking respect for everyone who has to fly next to you and stop stuffing your face.”
As soon as the last three passengers moved past him to their seats, Hamish swung back into the aisle and, with each hand braced on the backs of the seats the woman occupied as well as the person in front of her, he leaned well over, putting his glowering face practically in the man’s.
“I can't help but overhear your discussion.”
“Pretty sure the whole plane did,” someone in the row of seats across the aisle said disapprovingly.
Temper firmly in check, Hamish calmly offered, “If it will shut you up, swap me seats. I'll sit with the ladies, and you can have my window seat.”
“I'm afraid of heights. It's why I don't have this window seat.”
“Be scared of me,” Hamish said flatly. “It'll benefit you more in this situation, I guarantee it.”
Someone behind Hamish whistled, low and impressed.
“Such a nice man,” an elderly woman loudly whispered. “Emily, get his number. You need a nice man in your life.”
“Oh my god, Mom, I've been married four years now. Would you stop already?”
The guy glared at Hamish before launching up out of his seat. “Fine. Get out of my way.”
