He closed his eyes, and I used the moment to study him. The sleeves of his henley were still rolled up, so I could see up close some of the tattoos on his left arm. In among smoke, dust, and what looked like debris from buildings was a modern-day soldier running with his rifle. Above him there was what looked like the foot of another figure, but the rest of it was hidden by his shirt. My wayward gaze moved upward to his interesting face. His lashes were a fair golden brown color, so I hadn’t realized how long they were until now. His full, pouty lower lip surrounded by that short beard drew my attention. Stubble was usually a turnoff for me, but I had to admit the pain in the ass suited his.
I wondered if it scratched or tickled when he kissed a woman.
The mere thought caused a tingle between my legs that shocked me.
Flushing at the thought, I wrenched my gaze off his face, intending to return to ignoring him and the physical response he’d elicited in me, when my eyes caught on his big hand curled around the arm divider.
Not curled.
Gripped.
Tight.
White-knuckled.
Looking back at his face, I saw the wrinkle between his brow and the slight flare of his nostrils.
Was the badass Scotsman afraid of flying?
I was instantly reminded of Harper. She was terrified of flying. We’d gone on vacation with each other a few times to Europe, and every time I’d felt powerless to help her. She was a ball of nervous energy as soon as we boarded an airplane, pale and trembling until we were up in the air. Even then she’d stay tense in her seat, her whole body clenched with fear. On long flights, I’d walk her to the bathroom and stand outside the door for her, a constant reassurance. Still, I hated how scared she was. I’d even tried to convince her to vacation in the States in places we could drive to. But Harper never let fear control her. That was one of the things I admired most about her.
Reminded of my friend, I felt an unwanted and unwarranted sympathy flood me.
“Excuse me,” I called to the flight attendant as he was passing. I saw the Scot’s eyes fly open out of the corner of my own. “May I have another glass of champagne?”
“We’re getting ready to take off, Miss Breevort.”
“I’ll be super quick. Promise.”
He didn’t look happy about it, but returned quickly with a glass for me. I smiled my thanks and then turned to the Scot, whose eyes were closed again. “Drink up.” I held the glass out to him.
Those icy blues flew open. “What?”
I shoved the glass toward him. “It’ll help.”
He lifted his head, grimacing. “What are you talking about?”
“Is it a fear of flying or just of taking off?”
Instead of answering, he shot me another baleful look. “I don’t drink champagne.”
“You’ll drink this. It isn’t whiskey, but it might take the edge off.”
When he ignored me, I sighed. “Jesus, I don’t think you’re any less of an alpha pain in the ass because you’re afraid of flying.”
At that he snatched the glass out of my hand and threw back the entire lot. Wiping droplets off his lips, he glowered at me. “It’s just the takeoff and landing.”
The words were bitten out, and I had to quell a smile. “I’m not surprised. A plane isn’t exactly a longboat.”
His lips twitched. “Scot. Not Scandinavian.”
“If you’re telling me you don’t have an ounce of Scandinavian blood, I don’t believe you.”
The flight attendant appeared to take the empty glass, but my seatmate didn’t even seem to notice as he was too busy staring at me like I was suddenly a puzzle. “Swedish.”
“What?”
“My great-great-grandfather was Swedish.”
“I knew it. And here you were getting prickly because I called you Scandinavian. Technically I was kind of right.”
“You’re also more than kind of annoying.”
“Well, you should be comfortable around annoying. You’re the king of it. Although I’m beginning to wonder if this ‘mean guy’ thing you’ve got going on has more to do with you being afraid of flying than you actually being a mean guy.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Mean guy?”
“Uh, yeah. You’ve been mean to me from the moment we met.”
“I beg tae differ. You got in my face the moment we met. How else was I supposed tae respond?”
“You practically knocked me off my feet barging past me to get to the gate check-in desk.”
“I didn’t see ye.”
“Seriously?”
“You’re five foot nothing. Seriously.”
“I’m five foot three. Five foot seven in my heels.”
His gaze drifted down my body again, lingering on my legs. “You dinnae look it.”
I frowned. “Are you suggesting I have short legs?”
“No, your height suggests that.”
“I have surprisingly long legs for a short person.”
“You can turn anything into an argument. That’s quite a talent.”
“You are distracting me from my point. Which is that you were clearly acting out because of your fear of flying, the same way I perhaps have not been myself due to exhaustion.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, I thought I saw a hint of curiosity in his expression. “Exhaustion?”
I shrugged. “It’s been a trying week.”
“Separated from your boyfriend?”
Huh? “What boyfriend?”
“The ‘sweetie’ on the other end of the phone.”
I smiled. “That was Harper. She’s my best friend.”
“I’m surprised someone as annoying as you has a best friend.”
“Everyone else loves me. If you weren’t currently acting out, you might like me too.”
“Look, I’m not acting out because I’m afraid. I didn’t see you earlier in the airport, didn’t know I’d clipped you with my laptop bag, but maybe if you hadn’t come at me like a wee harpy, I might have apologized.”
“I doubt it. You have no manners. I mean, what was your excuse for embarrassing me at Olive & Ivy? For being rude at the barista cart? Huh?”
He grinned suddenly, a sexy flash of his teeth that sent a fizz of pleasure shooting low across my belly. My physical response to his smile stunned me. “I did that because it was fun. You make it too easy tae wind you up.”
I sniffed in an attempt to squash my absurd physical attraction to him, but even to me it came off sounding haughtier than I’d intended. “You are a very twisted, belligerent individual.”
“And you might want tae consider having that huge stick rammed up your tight wee arse surgically removed.”
“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who actually gives a damn what you think.”
He scoffed. “Babe, like I said, I dinnae even know you and I know you care too much what other people think.”
Infuriated that he kept pushing that particular button but refusing to let him see how much he was getting to me, I started calmly patting at my jacket pockets and then riffled through the magazines in the seat pocket in front of me.
“What are you doing?”
I turned to find him scowling at me. “Looking for some paper and a pen.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“I thought I’d take some notes on your sage advice … and then you should take the paper and shove it up your ass.”
“Do you want tae shut up and let me get through this?”
My smile was admittedly supercilious. “You almost are.”
He frowned and then glanced around, only then realizing that we were in the air. We hadn’t leveled out yet, but the plane had juddered up into takeoff minutes ago. The Viking/ Scot had risen his voice to be heard over the engines, but he’d been so focused on me, he hadn’t been paying attention.
He turned back to me, seeming uncharacteristically taken aback.
“You’re welcome.”
Four
Maybe I really was exhausted beyond rational thinking, because for a second I almost thought the Scot would thank me for distracting him during takeoff.