Page 4 of Hannah and the Hitman

With my book open, I tried to read. Except my eyes darted to the crisp line of the man’s dress pants, how they were taut over impressive thighs. Or his hand, resting on the armrest, veiny and large. I couldn’t miss the sliver of a tattoo that peeked out of the hem of his suit jacket and the thin line of his white dress shirt.

We weren’t looking at each other, but I couldfeelhim beside me. The hair on my forearms stood on end. Andthat zap of static when we’d touched in the aisle? I could still feel it humming beneath my skin. It was so strange, this attraction. There was a pull to this guy, and we couldn’t be closer.

I swallowed and tried to focus on my book,To Have And To Puck. Based on the catchy title, it was obviously–right?–a spicy hockey romance.

I gripped her hips, knowing there would be small bruises. Marks she’d see for days knowing she was well and truly claimed. By me.

Yup. Spicy. The hero was a six-four defensive player who was the team enforcer. A man who knew what he wanted and took it–with consent, cunnilingus, and a condom.

Except the dominant hockey hottie I had imagined at the start of the book had morphed into the businessman beside me. Distractedly, I wondered what he did for a living. A billionaire CEO saving me from creepy guys? My stomach swooped at the possibility of that trope happening in real life… to me, then realized it wasn’t excitement at the possibility, but that the plane dipped with a bout of turbulence.

I mentally shook my head. My fantasy was only that. Not real. No billionaire flew in row seven of a commercial flight out of Vegas. He wouldn’t sit in the middle with a kid behind him kicking his seat back every few minutes, especially to help me. I was surprised he even noticed me. Or… what was that smell? God, who farted?

The man raised his hand and subtly pinched his nose. Yeah, he picked up on that unpleasantness, too. Hemight’ve saved me from the men earlier, but he couldn’t save me from someone else’s intestinal problems.

I swallowed hard, then reached up and twisted the air vent. He looked my way, grinned, as if we were in this travel adventure together. I always wondered about lots of things I read in books. One of them? Five o’clock shadows. They sounded too… scruffy. Rough. Oddly intentional. Like, shave sooner, maybe? Or is it a beard or not?

This guy had stubble across his square jaw, and it was a work of art. A touch darker than the hair on his head. If I had to bet it would be soft and would feel amazing against my inner thighs.

Shit. No! No sexy thoughts about my seat mate! Thankfully, cool air spread across my heated cheeks. Maybe he didn’t notice the blush from thinking of him going down on me.

Yes, please.

No! This was a random Sunday in September. He was a stranger on a plane. I knew I should take my best friend Brittany’s advice and get back out there and get fucked out of my mind–her words not mine–but I doubted she meant Mr. Hot Middle Seat.

I couldn’t keep staring at him for the whole flight like an idiot, so I broke the post-fart stare and went back to my reading. It was a book from my library, one of my favorite authors. She, along with over a hundred other authors, had participated in LoveNLust Romance Con. It was a weekend-long convention of fun games, author and reader panels, and book signings. It had been amazing. While I’d gotten a signed special edition with gorgeous foil and sprayed edges of the book, there was no way I was going tocrack the spine or mess it up. It was going on my shelf with all my other favorites. I was reading a well-used paperback copy. I was on chapter two and already hooked.

The hero was hot. Rough around the edges and had thattouch-her-and-dievibe going when it came to the heroine. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but who wanted a man who was? No, a woman wanted a man who saw her and only her. A man like the guy beside me who treated her like a queen but most likely fucked her like a–

I cleared my throat. Gah! My brain was wandering into even naughtier territory. No thinking about how Mr. Sexy Stubble fucked. Read, woman! So I did, getting lost in the story for most of the flight, my eyes flying over the words, especially since the author got to the good parts–the sex scenes–in the fifth chapter.

“You’re a good girl, Mia, taking me so well. I–”I flipped the page desperate to read what the hero said next.

“Wait,” the man beside me murmured, interrupting my sex reading. I blinked, turned his way. “You’re reading too fast. I can’t keep up.”

If he said the plane was crashing, I would have been less stunned. Or panicked. I slammed the book shut and closed my eyes. As if I did, I’d become invisible. I wouldn’t be stuck in the window seat of a plane besides Mr. Hottie who knew I loved reading smut.

“Don’t stop now. We’re getting to the good part,” he added, making my nipples instantly hard, wishing he’d say that to me when we were somewhere else. Like a bed.

“That’s what she said,” I muttered, then slapped my hand over my mouth. Had I actually said that? Oh my God.

He chuckled, somehow not finding me dorky. “What I meant was, I need to know how Colin’s going to get Mia to believe that she’s more than just the woman who bought him at a charity auction. I think he has to tell her that he’s her brother’s new teammate, right?”

I wasn’t sure if it was a smart move, but I opened my eyes, glanced his way. A glint of amusement brightened his dark eyes, but it didn’t seem like he was making fun of me. He didn’t poke fun at how I loved to read “those books” as my mother called them. Or that I was living in sin as my brother Perry spouted.

As if. I was an official good girl. Breaking the rules made me sweat.

“Wow, you’ve been reading along for a while,” I said, more mortified than ever. My gaze drifted towards his eyes, although I couldn’t meet them directly yet. I noticed a spot of blood on the collar of his white shirt. Had he cut himself shaving? I imagined him in a snug pair of boxer briefs, leaning against his sink and running a razor up his neck and–

GAH! Fine. I acted like a good girl, but my mind was very bad.

He shrugged in the casual way of a man who had a heck of a lot of confidence. “It’s a good book.”

I flipped it over so he could see the cover.

“It’s for work,” I said, not admitting I loved to read spicy romance. My family made enough fun of me. I didn’t need this hot stranger to do so, too.

His lips quirked. “Based on the book, I’m really curious what your job is.”

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