Page 3 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
My hand holding the ice trembles as I turn my gaze to anything but Mr. Holt’s sinfully handsome face. Even without looking at him, my pulse still quickens. I can feel him studying my profile.
We sit in silence for several minutes, but my awareness of his closeness is still paramount.
Once the ice has melted, I dump the napkin onto the countertop, then drag my hand down my thigh to remove the inky stains smeared on my fingers. I gulp when, in the corner of my eye, I spot Mr. Holt’s tongue delving out to lick his thumb. I stop breathing when he lifts the same spit-covered thumb to my right eye.
Suddenly, he stiffens as his nostrils flare. His eyes are darker now, even more demanding. It appears as if he’s unearthed my body’s response to his briefest touch. I’m about to assure him everything isn’t as it seems when the shrill of a cell phone saves me from making a fool out of myself for the third time this evening.
With his eyes darting between mine, Mr. Holt slides a sleek phone out of his trousers pocket. “Yes.”
His tone alludes to his authority, but I’m too busy taking in the time on his Rolex to work out who he’s bossing around. I only have twenty minutes before the check-in for my flight closes.
“Thank you for your assistance, but I must go, or I’ll miss my flight.”
I snag my satchel off the countertop, then push off my barstool. Mr. Holt seizes my wrist before I can dash for the exit. He advises his caller to wait before he lowers his phone from his ear.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” I reply graciously.
With reluctance, he relinquishes me from his grip. After exhaling a long, tedious breath, I hot-foot it to the exit doors of the business class lounge, not once glancing back at the mysteriously captivating Mr. Holt.
CHAPTER2
As I splash water on my face to calm the heat spread across my cheeks, I take in my disheveled appearance. My eyes are wide and bright, my dilated pupils making them appear darker than usual. Sunbathing for hours has given my beige skin a vivid glow, meaning the hue of my cheeks is less illuminating, and my lips are plump from the sting of whiskey.
I want to say my rouged appearance isn’t entirely based on the enthralling Mr. Holt, but that would be a lie. At least my clumsy display in front of the most self-assured man I’ve ever met warranted a moment of reprieve from my panicked state. I’ve barely thought about my fear of flying the past thirty minutes.
After exhaling a big breath, I hook my satchel over my shoulder, then pull open the heavily-weighted door of the ladies’ restroom. I rush toward my departure gate, hustling to avoid being late since my run-in with Mr. Holt has left my time stretched thin. I swerve, dart, and weave between thousands of commuters who appear just as frantic as me.
By the time I make it to my departure gate, my neck is drenched with sweat, and my cheeks are blemished. I blow an unruly hair out of my face before handing my ticket to the immaculately dressed airport staff member behind the counter. Her top lip snarls as her eyes roam my flustered appearance.
“It’s not as it seems.”
Atskescapes her lips as her slitted gaze lowers to the computer monitor on her desk. With my bright-eyed expression and flushed cheeks, my appearance could be mistaken for someone who just tumbled out of bed after a night of rigorous activities. I wouldn’t mind being reprimanded if that were the cause of my late arrival. After all, it’s been a while since I’ve seen my sexually satisfied face in the vanity mirror, but that’s not the reason I’m arriving at the departure gate without a minute to spare. It was my disastrous run-in with the most strikingly handsome man I’ve ever met that has me scampering.
Once my ticket is thrust back into my hand, I head down the gangway. My knocking knees become more apparent with every step I take. I focus my attention on the male flight attendant standing at the end of the corridor, hoping his light blue eyes that pop right off his face will distract me enough to board without incident.
They do—somewhat.
My hand tremors when I give him my ticket. “Good afternoon, Ms. Brahn.”
I fleetingly smile. I’ve lost the ability to speak now that fear has once again emerged from deep within.
“Today you’re seated in 1A. Upon entering, take a left at the second corridor.” He hands me back half of my ticket.
Nodding, I take a hesitant step forward. Loud pounding rings in my ears with every shaky step I take. After walking through the galley, I turn toward the coach section of the plane.
A flight attendant clipping back a pair of dark blue curtains moves to stand next to me. “Can I help you?”
“Umm, I’m looking for seat 1A.”
She glances down at my ticket before returning her eyes to my face. “Seat 1A is this way, Ms. Brahn.”
Gesturing behind me, she skirts by before walking through another set of curtains. I apprehensively shadow her. After ruffling through the thick curtain, I discover her standing near the front of the plane. My brows furl as my eyes bounce around the elegant-looking space—luxurious, well-spaced black leather reclining chairs, elegantly dressed men and women sipping on glass flutes of champagne, and the piquant aroma of wealth filtering through the air.
There must be a mistake. I don’t belong in business class.
I scamper down the wide corridor, not missing the numerous gasps of disdain when my rhinestone-embedded Juicy backside sashays by. “There must be a mistake,” I inform the flight attendant.
