Page 2 of Feast

He didn’t look long. Despite being what his friend Tuck often described as a grumpy, taciturn misanthrope, he did have manners, so when he realized what he was looking at he lifted his gaze to her face again. Where he saw the curiosity in her eyes had been replaced with the knowing amusement of a woman who knew exactly where he’d been looking, and why.

“Should I put on a jacket?” she asked, her voice somehow richer and deeper in mirth.

“Are you cold?” he countered, unfazed.

“No. I had to run all the way from TSA, I won’t be cold for a while.”

“That explains the sweat. And the hair.”

“It explains the sweat,” she said, equally unfazed. “The hair is from the cab ride. The heater was broken.”

He looked up at the tangled mess on her head. “So you offered the cabbie’s pet ferret a nest?”

She snorted. “Looks like it, doesn’t it? No, the heater was broken so it stayed on, and I had to roll down the window so I didn’t bake to death.”

“Right.”

“My face is a mess too, isn’t it?” she asked, still amused.

“Yes,” he said baldly.

She ran her index finger under her eye. “Racoon eyes, right?”

“Little bit,” he said, watching her smear the black around. Her nails were short and round and painted a deep red that looked almost like blood against her white skin. “You’re not fixing it.”

“I know,” she said and switched to her other eye. “But at least this way it looks intentional.”

Spence’s lips twitched on a sudden spurt of amusement. She looked like a kid who’d been playing with mommy’s makeup kit. “Sure.”

“Excuse me,” the flight attendant said, hovering in the aisle with a professional smile that didn’t quite mask her annoyance. “You’ll have to put your seatbelt on.”

“Sorry,” 3B said with that cheerful smile and reached for her seatbelt.

The flight attendant shifted her attention to him, her smile warming considerably. “Do you need another?” she asked, nodding at the plastic tumbler he held.

“I’m good,” he said, and very deliberately didn’t return the smile. The invitation was plain—she’d already told him she had a twenty-four-hour layover in Vegas and nothing to do—and under other circumstances, he might have been tempted to take her up on it. But this trip was going to be complicated enough without factoring in a one-night-stand.

A flash of irritation appeared in the flight attendant’s hazel, raccoon-ring-free eyes, then she shrugged. “Let me know if you change your mind,” she said, then moved on to remind the next row to fasten their seatbelts.

“Subtle,” 3B mused, and Spence glanced at her. She was tightening her seatbelt and watching him, amusement dancing in those whiskey-colored eyes.

He shrugged, not bothering to misunderstand. “Sometimes you gotta shoot your shot.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed cheerfully and craned her neck to look after the flight attendant. “Subtlety is for suckers.”

“What are you doing?” he asked when she continued to lean into the aisle.

“Waiting for her to come back so I can get a drink.”

“Take mine,” he said and shoved his glass at her.

She took it, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thanks. What is it?”

“Whiskey,” he replied, amused when she sniffed at the glass. “You a booze snob?”

“A lightweight,” she corrected, and took a cautious sip. “I was going to ask for a white wine spritzer.”

She was going for another sip when he nipped the glass out of her hand. “Hey!”

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