Page 2 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
“Two.”
A mouth-watering smirk forms on his face. “What’s your name?”
I smile. “Isabelle.”
His handsome face is contorted with strictness, but his remorseful eyes give away his genuine concern.“I don’t think you have a concussion, but you need to ice it as a bump is already forming.” His minty breath fans my hungry mouth.
I lick my dry lips before replying, “I’m fine, really.”Totally embarrassed, but fine, nonetheless.
A gold cufflink becomes exposed on the crisp white sleeve of his business shirt when he stands, then holds out his hand. His brow cocks, wordlessly requesting me to accept his gesture. I swallow a lump in my throat before accepting his well-manicured, yet manly hand.
After curling his hand around mine, his other snatches my satchel from the chair. He grips my hand firm enough to indicate his superiority, but not tight enough to cause pain to my wrist still throbbing from my tumble.
When he arrives at the frosted door of the first-class business lounge, I dig my heels into the carpet, lessening his quick pace. When he stops and turns, the air sucks from my lungs from the sheer closeness of his striking face. Most people would feel threatened by his complex gaze, but my body heightens with anticipation.
He tilts his head, his brow cocking again. If I hadn’t heard him talk earlier, I’d assume he’s a mute.
I gesture my free hand to the luxurious business lounge. “I can’t go in there.”
My voice sounds so weak, and I almost roll my eyes at my naïveté. Yes, this guy standing before me is entrancing, but I’ve had plenty of eye-catching men in my life, and my composure is usually more composed. However, this mysterious stranger has me flabbergasted like a teenage girl meeting a member of One Direction.
“I’m underdressed.”
My eyes dart down to my Juicy Couture-covered thighs. This time, I sound how I usually do—friendly, but not a total pushover.
I suck in my stomach when he scans my body. When his eyes return to my face, he smirks. “You look perfectly fine.”
Unsure of a reply, I return his smile. His eyes snap to my lips for the quickest second before he again quickly strides to the business class lounge.
“Mr. Holt,” the doorman greets him without so much of a sideways glance in my direction.
My mysterious companion’s surname is Holt.I like it. It’s direct and stern but edgy—just like its owner.
When we arrive at a countertop bar that’s so well polished I can see my reflection in it, Mr. Holt lifts me to sit on a high-backed barstool. His effortless lift makes it seem as if I’m as light as a feather.After snagging a midnight-black napkin from the countertop, he leans over the bar. His suit strains against his back, allowing me a glimpse of a spectacularly firm backside.
Flipping open a cooler flap nestled in the bar, he removes a handful of ice. My eyes shoot to the bartender, who isn’t batting an eyelid at Mr. Holt assisting himself to their supplies. He wraps the cubes of ice in the napkin, then raises it to my throbbing eye. “Hold that.”
Arching back over the counter, he snags two crystal glasses from a wired rack before signaling for the bartender. He must be a regular at this establishment because the bartender doesn’t ask what drink he’d like. He just grabs a bottle of whiskey from the glass shelves behind the bar and sets it in front of him without a word escaping his lips.
Mr. Holt dips his chin in thanks before pouring two generous nips of whiskey into the glasses. He then hands one to me. “It will help with your headache,” he explains to my shocked expression.
When he downs the shot without a shred of hesitation, my mouth becomes parched from the sensual way he swallows the flaming liquid so effortlessly. Desire surges through my body when his tongue darts out to remove the remnants of liquor from his lips. Needing something to soothe the dryness in my mouth, I grab my glass off the countertop to drink the generous helping in one hit.
I grimace, hating the burn that sets my throat on fire. I slam the glass onto the countertop as my watering eyes lift to Mr. Holt.
“Another?”
Not giving me the chance of a reply, he fills my glass again before sliding it across the ebony counter. Due to the overgenerous serving, whiskey splashes over the rim to puddle the glistening countertop.
I lift my eyes to his, which are glaring into mine, but his expression is neutral, even with his lips curved.“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Holt?”
“Would it make it easier to get into your panties?”
The veins in my neck strum as my pulse quickens.
He winks, cockiness oozing out of him. “I’m joking.”
I sigh a disappointed sigh. Hearing my shameless response, Mr. Holt’s eyes lock with mine. His gaze is primal, commanding, and strong. It freezes me in place and heats my face.My brazenness surprises even me. I’m not usually so bold, but with his self-assuredness and grace, I have no doubt he’d be extraordinary in bed—sheet-clenching, multi-orgasms, can’t-walk-straight-for-days sex.
