Page 11 of Sinners Retreat

Chapter Five

Kindra

Thanking the powers that be for a reprieve, I rush toward the front of the line with my boarding pass outstretched. The sooner I can get in my seat, the sooner I can pretend to be asleep. Ezra is pleasant enough to talk to and would have been an upgrade from sitting beside Cat for an entire flight, but there’s just one little problem.

He’s my goddamn kryptonite.

Tall, dark-haired, and handsome, with glasses perched on his perfect nose. It’s very Clark Kent chic, and the only thing physically defective about him appears to be his vision.

I like my frigid persona. I enjoy being a walking block of ice. But Ezra is like a furnace aimed right at the space between my legs. His t-shirt hugs his broad shoulders and chest, and I’ve never wanted to be woven cotton so badly in my life. I would allow this man to use my tongue as a loofa.

The mental image of Ezra in a shower has my thighs pressing together as I walk. I can see it so clearly. Water cascading through his dark hair and catching on his long, dark lashes. Hisbrown eyes opening as he licks a stray water droplet from his full lower lip. Me on my knees in front of him, drowning as I deepthroat a cock the size of a Hickory Farms sausage log.

Okay, I made that last part up, but I don’t see how a man as perfect as Ezra could have a gherkin down there when the rest of him looks likethat. He is walking male perfection, and unless I’m reading the room incorrectly, he’s into me.

And that’s not good.

Any other day of the week, I’d be down for a one-nighter. Hell, I should be down for one now. An orgasm would disintegrate my stress and let me unwind for a few hours, at least.

But I have to focus. In less than forty-eight hours, I’ll finally meet the man who slaughtered my brother.

I push onto the plane and stow my carry-on bag in the overhead compartment. I’ve just plopped down in my seat when Ezra appears in the aisle. My thighs clench again as he settles so close that I can feel the heat from his skin, and I silently curse myself for choosing a tank top this morning.

Raising the window covering, I stare out at the tarmac and busy myself by counting the luggage being removed from a plane in the distance. Anything to keep my attention away from the man seated beside me.

“Do you fly often?” he asks, forcing me to engage with him.

I shift in my seat. “Not as much as I used to.”

“I used to be afraid of flying.”

“You?” I turn and look at him. He looks like flying should be afraid ofhim. He’s all muscles and mystery, and that bit of scruff on his sharp jaw makes him look almost dangerous. “I can’t imagine you being afraid of anything.”

A laugh rumbles out of him, and even that sounds sexy. “I’ve never been a fan of heights. When I was young, my father took me on holiday to Dover. Standing at the edge of the cliffs andlooking into the water below was all it took to start a lifelong fear.”

“How’d you get over the fear?”

“How does one get over any fear? I faced it. Sometimes when you look into the face of the thing you fear, it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. You tend to realize you built it up into something it’s not.”

Does he have to be attractive as well as intelligent? I mean, glasses make youlookintelligent, but he actually seems to be. And that accent. He could narrate an instructional calculus video and I’d hang on every word.

Then again, he has a point. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing since I saw him? Building him up into something that can derail me? He’s just a fucking man, and maybe it won’t hurt to do a little flirting until we part ways. And we will part ways, after all. When we reach Miami, Cat and I will shuffle away to a hotel, and he’ll be off on some adventure with his brother and their friend.

I turn to speak, but my stomach chooses this moment to push everything I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours toward the exit. My rosebud puckers to the point of nonexistence, but I fear it won’t be enough to hold back whatever waits behind that gate. Unwilling to find out if this is a fart or a shit the hard way, I simply excuse myself and try to stand.

A nearby flight attendant flitters toward me with a saccharine smile, her hands waggling at a frantic pace. “We’re about to take off, so I’ll need you to stay in your seat until we’re in the air.”

My stomach clenches again. With Ezra’s face so near the danger zone, the anxiety only adds to the urgency. Goddamn Cat for wanting to stop at that greasy diner this morning.

“I just need to use the restroom,” I say. “It won’t take long.”

This isn’t a lie. I’m fairly certain the entirety of my insides will evacuate my body in less than three seconds flat.

The flight attendant’s smile doesn’t drop. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, but we really need everyone in their seats.”

“Excuse me,” Ezra says as he peers around the detonation zone. “You lovely ladies haven’t even given the pre-flight speeches yet. Surely she could pop off to the powder room?”

He gives the woman a smile that could melt a heart made of Antarctic ice, and she reconsiders her stance.

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