Page 6 of At First Flight
That was all until I met Prescott Hoolihan, who also didn’t enjoy flying but drove us around in his family’s courtesy Town Car. His family didn’t believe in driving themselves anywhere, either. Of course, his detestation of flying was because he was a snooty bastard who refused to fly commercially.
Just thinking of Prescott causes a shiver of fear to ripple across my spine like I’ve stepped into a cave of ice.
“Cold?” the man in the now occupied seat beside me asks.
“No,” I assure him, but instead of taking me at my word, he slips his jacket off his shoulders and holds it out for me to take. I’m helpless to ignore the way his shirt fits snugly around his bicep. I bet the dark maroon color brings out his eyes, which I would be able to see better if he ever removed his hat. The shadow from the cap does little to diminish his strong jawline with the hint of scruff that makes my stomach flip. His dark hair curls just slightly under the hat’s confines, giving him a rugged, unruly appearance. At first glance, I take him as a cowboy or the storm chasers I binge on documentaries about when I can’t sleep. Something about him gives off a wild confidence in not just his looks but also himself, and it’s damn attractive. So damn enticing that I grab the jacket from his hand.
“Thanks,” I mumble, slipping the warm material across my shoulders.
“You’re welcome. So what are we watching?” His chin jerks toward the screen I’d brought to life a bit ago once the plane reached altitude.
“I… I don’t know. To be honest, I need something to take my mind off the day.”
“Well…” He smiles, and I immediately feel my pulse pick up. It’s a crime for someone to be so good-looking without even trying. The man could have anyone, female or male, on this plane at his beck and call. He’s that incredibly gorgeous. And I don’t even notice the telltale signs of a ring wearer. No tan line. No indentation. So, either he’s a playboy or not looking for a relationship.
“I have just the movie.”
He starts pressing the buttons on the screen, and I even find his fingers appealing. Long and lean, with a bit of roughness around the knuckles like he isn’t afraid of a fight if a situation calls for it.
“How do you feel aboutThe Fast and the Furiousfranchise?”
I don’t want to tell him it’s one of my favorites, and after the morning I’ve had, I don’t want to taint the series.
“Maybe something else?”
Dean grumbles under his breath as he searches through the movie section again.
“If you want to watch it, you can move back to your seat,” I advise him, only for him to smirk in my direction.
“You’re not getting rid of me so quickly, ghost girl.”
He continues pressing the buttons while I ask, “Ghost girl? You’ve called me that a few times now.”
“Yeah, well, I’d think it’s pretty obvious.”
Snickering, I nearly slap my hand over my mouth before saying, “Uh, clearly not.”
He chuckles, and I hate the way his laugh feels like a soothing caress. “Really? I mean, with the way you were running through the airport with all that… stuff… fluffed around you, you looked like an apparition. The name came easily.” Dean pins me with his stare after his explanation, and I’m almost scared to pull away, but at the same time, I’m scared to maintain it. Something is… unsettling about the way he looks at me as if he canseeme in a way no one else can. Which is ridiculous, considering we just met minutes ago.
“Make sense?” he tacks on, and I nod before forcing my eyes from his and looking at my screen where he’s requested a group watch of the movieRunaway Bride.
“Really? This is what you want to watch?”
“Well, I thought it was apt for the moment, and it’s one of my sister’s favorites.”
“You have a sister?” I ask as I switch on the subtitles to read along with the movie. Sitting in first class, I know I can ask for a free set of earbuds, but I hate how those things never fit in my ear correctly.
Dean settles into his seat, his arm brushing against mine on the middle armrest. “Want to know things about me now, fiancée?”
Fiancée. Did he just sayfiancée?
For a heartbeat, I think I misheard him or maybe the altitude is messing with my brain. Or maybe the exhaustion. Orthe heartbreak. I glance over at him, fully expecting a smirk, a wink, something to tell me he’s just trying to make me laugh. God knows I need it.
But he’s looking at me like he means it. Like the idea of marrying a total stranger isn't the most insane thing either of us could be thinking right now. And somehow, that look, steady, amused but not mocking, unhooks something in me. I feel it in the center of my chest, like the first warm day after a brutal winter.
He’s clearly a little unhinged. Or self-assured in a way only men with broad shoulders and sinfully good looks can get away with. But he’s also funny, unexpectedly so. And it’s the first time I’ve smiled all day. A real, startled,God-I-forgot-I-could-still-feelkind of smile.
I should brush it off and tell him I’m not in the mood for jokes, not after the day I’ve had. But my brain short-circuits when his eyes meet mine again. There’s something behind them. Something calm and sure and just reckless enough to match the chaos inside me.
