Page 10 of Sinners Retreat

The raven-haired woman scoffs. “You mean you drove all the way from Oregon to New York?”

“Well, yeah. You saw my boxes. I didn’t trust movers with my stuff.”

I snag glances as they continue arguing. While the blonde is conventionally pretty—striking blue eyes, slender waist, large breasts, mile-long legs—the dark-haired woman is what my male fantasies are made of.

She fills out her tank top and shorts, and I don’t mind the bit of midsection which hangs over the waistband. I practically drool over it as I imagine what that velvet flesh would feel like as I take it into my mouth and suck. Since I wasn’t paying attention when they walked over, I haven’t seen her ass, but I can imagine it based on her thick thighs. And it’s perfection.

She wears a pair of sunglasses to ward off the morning sun blaring through the massive window, but if her eyes are as dark as her hair, I’m in trouble. Having never minded being in trouble, I stuff the burger wrapper into the bag and turn to the women to offer a solution to their problem.

“I have a window seat, but I don’t mind sitting in the middle seat if you’d like to switch,” I say to the blonde.

The dark-haired dream screws up her mouth, but the blonde holds her hand toward me.

“Hi, I’m Cat, and this is?—”

“Kindra.” The dark-haired woman swats her friend’s hand back to her lap. “And I have no interest in sitting beside a stranger for the flight.”

“Well, tough shit, Kindra,” Cat says, “because either you switch with me or you switch with him.”

Kindra’s grip tightens on the travel bag in her lap, but she says nothing.

I turn toward her. “I’m Ezra. Thirty-six. I’m a private investigator on my way to a convention. I’m traveling with my brother, Bennett, and an old chum, Gary. They plan to sightsee while I’m networking. I’ve lived in America for twelve years, but I’m originally from Gravesend in county Kent, right beside theThames.” I extend my hand with a genuine smile. “There, now we aren’t strangers.”

Begrudgingly, she takes my hand, shakes it, and pulls her clammy fingers back to her lap. She turns to her friend. “You owe me so fucking big for this,” she whispers.

Afraid I’ll piss her off, I stifle a chuckle. She doesn’t exactly seem the jovial type who can handle any amount of good-spirited joshing. Americans can be sensitive that way.

The blonde is undeterred by her friend’s sour mood, and she turns to me with a bright smile. “I really appreciate this. Maybe I can pay for a drink or two when we land in Miami?”

“I don’t drink,” Kindra says. “And on this trip, neither do you.”

Like a scolded child, Cat closes her mouth and sits back in her seat. Her balls are only so big, it seems.

“Who said it has to be spirits?” I say. “We could all enjoy a cold glass of something non-alcoholic when we land. I’m presuming like all human beings, you at least drink water?”

Before Kindra can shut me down again, a voice comes over the intercoms to announce that our plane will begin boarding soon. I paid for priority, so that means the blonde will need to get in line, leaving me all alone with the grumpy brunette. I couldn’t have planned this better if I’d tried.

Cat and I swap boarding passes, and she flitters off to claim her coveted window seat in economy. I didn’t fare so terribly in the swap, as their seats are in business class, and despite Kindra’s dark-cloud demeanor, she’ll be nicer to look at than any view from the window.

With her friend spirited away to the plane’s interior, Kindra fidgets in her seat. The poor thing can’t seem to get comfortable. Her fingers repeatedly move to her temples, where she rubs and rubs until I get the impression that she has one hell of a headache.

I reach into my pocket and produce a small travel bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, purchased when I thought I would need to endure an entire flight beside Chatty Kathy. Now it seems they’ll still prove useful.

“Here,” I say. “You need them more than I do.”

I expect her to argue or flat out refuse my help, but she surprises me when she snatches the bottle from my palm, unfastens the top, and dry-swallows three of the white pills.

“Thanks,” she says as she returns the bottle to my hand.

“It’s the least I could do after ruining your flight. I apologize. I thought I was being helpful.”

Her shoulders loosen, and she sighs. “No, I’m sorry for coming across as a mega-bitch. I’m under a lot of stress with work right now, and nothing seems to be going my way.”

I can think of one good way to relieve her tension, but she has all of her spines pointed outward, and I’m not in the mood to fuck a cactus today. She’d almost be worth it, though.

“What do you do for work?” I ask, but then it’s our turn to board. I don’t think she heard my question over the crackling intercom voice.

This is going to be a long flight.

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