Page 4 of Sinclair Duet

The painful reawakening of the void he’d left.

The ache was real, causing my eyes to burn. As if visible, I felt the fissures splintering, one by one, demolishing the dam I’d constructed around my heart. Unwanted memories flooded my thoughts.

Holding back the onslaught of emotions, I peered into my own blue eyes and reminded myself that Damien Sinclair didn’t leave me. I left him. Gathering my courage, I’d walked away. It wasn’t because I didn’t love him. It was that loving him was too consuming. There was the sense that, with him, I ceased to exist. Damien’s fondness for the hunt made the game enticing. Once the pursuit was over, I felt my worth shrink. I wanted more out of life than to be a man’s accessory.

“You’re stronger for it,” I said softly to the woman in the mirror.

It didn’t matter that the woman at the next sink gave me a strange look. I turned her way and feigned a smile. “Have a great day.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Inhaling, I replied, “I will. It’s my lucky day.”

Back out to the gate, I stood in line as we inched toward the gate agent standing guard at the ticket stand by gate A-7.

It wasn’t until I was up to the counter that it occurred to me I could have jumped the line. I had a first-class ticket.

That’s right.

Lucky day.

My mind steered away from my brush with the past to the present—tonight’s gala. I thought about the biography of the award winner I needed to read. The man had risen from nothing to create an empire. Now he was spending some of his fortune to improve the health of others. In the four-plus hours of my upcoming flight, I planned to learn more. Tonight, we’d be face-to-face.

Once the plane was airborne, I’d open my laptop and brush up on not only the award winner, but the other attendees of the dinner. Nothing elated a donor’s ego more than remembering their name and asking specific questions about them. Throw in a story or anecdote about them, and their wallets magically opened.

Stepping from the jet bridge to the plane, I smiled at the attendants and lifted my garment bag. “Is there a place where this can be hung?”

The attendant took my garment bag and motioned me forward.

I scanned the front section of the plane. All the seats were occupied except one. My heart rate went from sixty to one hundred and sixty. A quick look at my boarding pass told me that one empty seat was mine. Despite the line of passengersbehind me, as the temperature of my skin elevated, I was incapable of moving forward.

The empty seat in the third row near the window would be perfect for a long flight were it not for one thing.

One person.

One man.

Damien’s midnight-blue gaze sparkled as our eyes met.

Inhaling, I moved to the third row. “That’s my seat,” I said, hoping my voice wouldn’t give away my unease.

Unsnapping his seat-belt buckle, Damien stood.

My mouth went instantly dry as all six feet, four inches of muscle, surrounded in a cloud of intoxicating cologne, unfolded in front of me. It was impossible not to remember what it was like being in his strong arms.

With his customary suit coat and tie missing, he had his shirt collar opened and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. As my gaze moved lower, I scanned his long legs covered in expensive slacks and shoes that no doubt were imported Italian leather.

“Let me,” he offered as I began to lift my carry-on to the compartment above.

“I have it.” As I pushed the carry-on into the space, my sweater lifted, revealing my stomach.

When I turned back, Damien’s stare moved upward as he grinned.

Trying to avoid contact, I held my satchel between us as if the large leather bag could protect me from the magnetism of this man. With my shield in place, I scooted past him to the seat near the window.

“I should thank you for my lunch,” Damien said as he took the seat beside me again. “It must be my lucky day.”

Obviously.

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