Page 6 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

ALEKS

She looks better than I imagined.

Her cheeks are beet red, almost the same color as her deep auburn hair. The blush spreads when I pull out the stool next to her and sit.

“Long layover?” I ask.

“Yeah. Well, no,” she corrects. “My flight was canceled. I mean, not canceled, but…” She chooses that moment to look at me and promptly loses her train of thought.

“Delayed,” I offer, helping her out with an inward smirk.

“Right, that’s what I meant.” She waves her hand in an attempt at being nonchalant. It almost works, but then her finger catches the handle of her coffee mug. It tips to the side and she gasps, lunging out and saving it just before it tips over.

But it doesn’t save her fingers. A steaming splash of coffee spills over the side, dousing her hand and the table.

“God-fucking-shit-dammit!” she cries out.

I stare at her for a moment before I snort with laughter. The color floods back onto her face as she looks around for something to wipe her hands with. I produce a few napkins from the container to my left and wrap them around her coffee-soaked fingers.

The moment I touch her, she stills. She looks up at my face, watching as I dab the coffee away. She must assume I’m too busy helping her to notice the blatant thirst in her eyes.

But I notice.

I notice everything.

“There,” I say, once her hand is relatively dry. “You’re good. Just a little wet.”

“Thank you for—wait, what did you just say?”

“Your fingers,” I say, just innocently enough that she can’t accuse me of straying too far over the line. “They’re still a little wet. And probably sticky. Until you can take care of the issue.”

“Oh.” She turns towards the taxiing planes so she doesn’t have to meet my eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

Her mortification is palpable. Nuclear radiation levels of embarrassment. It’s making this little run-in so much more entertaining than I had anticipated.

She takes the remaining napkins on the table and tries to sop up the coffee puddled around her mug. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

She turns to me, eyes wide in surprise. Then she catches the obvious amusement on my face. She smiles, and I realize her brown eyes are actually hazel. Shards of green in them catch the light from the window.

She’s prettier than I anticipated, too. But that’s neither here nor there.

Yet.

“I’m not usually this awkward, either,” she adds.

“I don’t think I believe that, either.” I pause, then throw her a lifeline. “Delayed flights are the worst. I’m delayed, too.”

“Oh, yeah? Where are you headed?”

“San Francisco.”

“No way! Are you flying UA523, too?”

“Yes, I am.” I nod. “Looks like we’re going to be stuck here together for a while.”

She sits up straighter, gaining a little confidence as we talk. “I guess so. And of course, this would be the one flight where I forget to pack my sketchbook in my carry-on.”

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