Page 5 of Daddy, Take Me Away
She's not mine, his brain kicked in.
Yet, his throbbing dick added.
Haud your wheesht, Hamish thought, fiercely silencing both voices. And still, before he could stop himself, he told her, “Good girl.”
She squirmed in her seat, blushing a bright, hot pink.
Jesus, Hamish, he thought, shaking his head at himself. You know better than this.
Unable to trust himself, he slumped into his seat, folding his burly arms across his chest. He wasn't anywhere near tired enough anymore to fall seamlessly back into sleep, and every time Chloe moved beside him, her slender arm brushed his. As if his body needed any further excuse to react to her forced nearness.
“Coffee rules still apply,” he said, far more brusquely than he meant to. Knowing he had no right to do it, he still ordered her, “When they take the drink orders, I want tequila, if they have it. Order whatever you’d like too, my dime. You can wake me then.”
If he'd done it just to see how she reacted, he was horribly disappointed. Instead of a resounding, ear-boxing “fuck you”, she brightened and snapped out a civilian's sloppy version of a soldier's salute. “Yes, Sir.”
She looked cute as a fucking button doing that.
Jesus Christ. How was he going to survive the next ten days with her? If he didn't learn fast how to keep her out of his head, how to keep his years of self-imposed abstinence from imagining Littles where he was sure none existed, then he already knew how her vacation was going to go for him. He'd be so… so… screwed.
Just not literally.
Damn it.
Chapter Three
Chloe stared at the harried man on the other side of British Airlines’ customer care counter, her hands tightly clasped over her rapidly sinking stomach.
“D-Do,” she stammered, before catching herself. She swallowed hard and did her best to get her trembling voice under tight control before trying again. “Do you know where my luggage is?”
The attendant was calm, collected, and so accustomed to being yelled at that he'd been braced for it from the moment she tentatively stepped up to the counter. He looked at his computer, rapidly tapping away at the keyboard. He was quiet for a moment.
“Australia,” he finally replied in his “r” rolling accent. “It might be a day or two before we can get it to you.” Belatedly, he added, “Sorry.”
He didn't look sorry. Rather, his “my-paycheck-isn't-big-enough-to-put-up-with-this-shite” expression clearly said he wished she'd go away so he could attend to the irate demands of the next grumpy person in line.
Her stomach dropped all the way to the floor.
“We'll call you when it comes in and have it personally delivered to you.”
Shoo, shoo, in other words.
She hated how plaintive she sounded when, in a tiny voice, she said, “B-But all my painting supplies were in there.”
“Sorry,” the man said. He still didn't look sorry. “Is there anything more I can do for you?”
Yes, help me! Chloe wanted to shout. But that would be rude and, after all, it wasn't his fault her luggage got lost. He probably went through enough in a day not to need her hurling abuse on top of it.
Shoulders slumping, Chloe left the desk. After only a few steps though, she stopped again. Pulling out her wallet, she carefully counted through the $700 she'd saved up for visiting the sights and purchasing souvenirs. If she had to, she supposed, she could buy a canvas and enough art supplies to at least start her first painting until her luggage arrived.
Closing her eyes, she held her wallet to her chest, self-soothing while she formulated her contingency plan. This was her second thing to go wrong. Her vacation was definitely covered in that department now.
“It’s smooth sailing from this point on,” she whispered to herself. She opened her eyes only to find Hamish standing at the conveyor that had delivered everyone’s luggage but hers. It was an empty area now. The only two people left from her flight that she could see were her and the openly frowning Hamish. His burly arms were crossed over his broad chest, his gray suitcase standing close to his hip. There was a good thirty feet separating them, but when he stroked his tongue across his teeth, she could practically hear his disapproving tsk from here.
She flushed hot, her bottom tingling in ways it had no business doing for a man she barely knew. Why was he frowning at her like that, anyway? It wasn't as if she'd deliberately lost her suitcases. The airline had done that.
She didn't deserve this.
Swinging her backpack carry-on up onto her shoulder, she marched herself past him, heading for the transportation area with her pert nose tipped up and her jaw set. She ignored his disciplinary glare and congratulated herself when her anxious feet managed the Herculean task without stumbling.
