Page 5 of Shattered Veil

“It sounded implied.”

“Implied doesn’t count.” He turns to me. “If I want to do something about those groans that are making me crazy, you’ll know.”

I glance around and wonder if the plane went down, and this is my version of heaven.

Yeah, let’s go with that.

Being on an airplane provides one of the few breaks from modern life. Unless it’s a private jet where rich people make calls like they’re sitting in an office.Commercial airline travel provides an escape.

“Am I? Making you crazy?” I ask playfully.

Annoying him is fun.

“Your fucking perfume is.” Balor’s blunt answer startles me.

“I’m not... I’m not wearing perfume.”

His gaze swivels my way. “Then it’s just how you smell that’s got my blood moving in a different direction.”

Oh my God.Myblood just moved in a different direction.

Is he flirting with me? Or toying with me? Or maybe it’s an honest-to-God pheromone thing.

“And you didn’t answer my first question,” I say. “Do you do this a lot? Hit on strange women on planes.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m usually on my private jet. Alone.”

Now this makes sense. Unless he’s someTinder Swindler.

“And this jet, is it in the shop?”

He closes the laptop, his jaw tight. “Okay, butterfly. Let’s talk.”

“Butterfly?”

“Your wrist tattoo.” His eyes lower to my left wrist.

“You caught that?” I pull down my sleeve with a ruffled cuff.

“I saw the roses on your ankle, too.”

I glance down and notice the cut of my black leather slingbacks expose the three colorless blooming roses that start at my ankle and cross over the top of my foot.

“Seriously, why are you dressed so formally for such a long flight?” He keeps his attention on me.

“I was on a date.” My downturned voice gets a look of sympathy.

“And?”

“The date ended. Then I got a call about a job and thiswas the first flight available.”

I’m purposely cagey since my father and I are both starting new jobs with the same company. Mine’s an assistant gig he got for me. It’s nearly impossible to get a full-time teaching job in the middle of the school year.

Balor frowns. “A job that pays well enough for a last-minute, first-class ticket from Sydney to New York?”

I hesitate to tell him my father picked up the tab. “Yes, sir.”

A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Don’t call me sir. Ilikeit.”

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