Stop staring at her and say something, dickhead.
He straightened and sucked in the jet-exhaust-tainted cabin air to dilute the impact of her sorcery before hitching a thumb toward the stewardess behind him. “Yeah, they’re really sorry, but I was the best they could find at short notice.” He made sure the stewardess wasn’t paying attention before raising his hand. “I’ll see if they can organize someone else. Do you have a preference?”
Her smile returned with a vengeance, and her musical chuckle filled the cabin. She caught herself and fixed a haughty scowl onto her face. Shaking her head, she rose and eased into the aisle. “Don’t bother, I guess you’ll have to do. Qantas is going to hear about this, though.” She jabbed her index finger at the armrest and ran her gaze down and up his body. “But if you think I’m giving up that armrest without a fight, you’re nuts.”
Yup, this incredible creature with the kaleidoscope fashion sense and even brighter personality was flirting with him, and wasn’t that going to make for an interesting flight. He narrowed his eyes and glared down at her. “Is that right?”
She nodded and shot back a challenge of her own. “I’m legally obligated to notify you that I’m a trained black belt and can’t be held responsible for my actions if we go at it.”
Go at it? She must have picked up the double entendre the instant he had because the stare she’d zeroed in on him faltered ever so slightly before she caught herself and overcompensated by frowning even harder. Was the whole unsure geek thing an act, or did she really have no concept of just how sexy she was?
He deepened his glare, gritted his teeth, and pretended to verify her claim by setting his eyes free to flow over every delicious swell and valley on her body. Breasts that could grace the cover of superhero comics pulled at the lime-green cotton draped over her torso. He’d been a Marvel man all his life, but damn, the way her full curves stretched the faded Wonder Woman print on her T-shirt gave him a whole new appreciation for the immortal Amazonian goddess. They were breasts worthy of showing off, but like the shapely hips hidden beneath her worn blue jeans, she appeared to value comfort and functionality over looks. Maybe a beat-up, rusted warhorse like him had a shot with her after all.
She definitely wasn’t one of those fragile, pouty, plastic women who seemed to pop up whenever he turned on the TV or flipped through a magazine. She had curves where women should have curves and stood taller than he’d first thought, even though she sported a pair of tortured sneakers that must have been a shade of purple a decade ago instead of heels. He might have to hang on to that armrest just to discover how good it’d be to get roughed up and restrained by her.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Thanks for the warning, but I promised my mother I’d only fight if there was no other option. How about a trade instead?”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth as she tapped her lips with a finger. Either she was feeling sorry for him and his lame-arse attempts at seduction, or he wasn’t as rusty with the whole flirting thing as he’d thought.
She eyed him a moment longer before releasing the bottom lip trapped between her teeth. “What…what did you have in mind?”
She’d done a pretty good job of concealing her surprise, but the slight hesitation in her response and the drop in her tone was a dead giveaway. Maybe the six weeks of interrogation training he’d endured at the hands of the CIA’s most sadistic nutbags had been worth it after all. He turned to hide his smile and scanned the locker above their seats. Beside the obligatory blankets and pillows tucked into the corner sat a black backpack that looked even older and more battered than his. And leaning alongside the tortured backpack was a brand-spanking-new crimson laptop bag.
He shoved the camouflaged canvas backpack that had somehow survived six tours of duty with fewer bullet holes than him beside her bags. “Ladies first.”
Her right eyebrow rose above the frame of her glasses. “Well, at least you’re polite.”
He turned and slid into the nonexistent gap between their seats and the row in front. He was going for graceful apex predator, but probably came off looking like an injured water buffalo as he shoehorned himself into the window seat.
“All your snacks and desserts for the length of the flight.”
Snacks and desserts? He was so preoccupied trying to look like James Bond instead of Austin Powers he had no idea what the hell she was talking about.
She leaned over and waved her hand above the armrest digging into his hip with the seductive grace of a Price is Right model. “Your snacks and desserts for the armrest.”
He stopped groping for the seat belt that had worked its way between his butt cheeks and gazed up at her. Her supervillain smile confirmed he’d underestimated his adversary, but he was too focused on her fingers to care. They weren’t as delicate as they’d first appeared. Sure, compared to his gnarled and calloused paws her hands looked to be made of fairy floss and gossamer, but up close it was obvious she used her hands for more than just tapping on keyboards. No manicured nails, no polish, and more importantly no rings, which meant he had a shot.
The realization she may be open to a walk on the wild side with a recently unemployed grunt Aussie soldier was as exhilarating as it was sobering. He racked his brain for something witty to come back with, but the damned thing was too preoccupied enjoying the view. “You can have my snacks and desserts after you pry them out of my cold, dead hands.”
The prospect must have amused her. Her smile widened as she slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one of her sensibly trimmed fingernails. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to give up that window seat, then.”
Christ, if she pushed those glasses up her nose and gazed at him with those golden-syrup eyes one more time, she was going to watch their touchdown in Brisbane from his window seat, with all his snacks, desserts, and meals in her belly. The prospect of her crawling over him every time she wanted to go to the bathroom or stretch her long legs would more than make up for the lack of a view and getting bumped every time someone walked down the aisle. But these armrest negotiations had gone way beyond logic and practicality.
He shook his head and wrenched the seat belt from his butt crack with as much grace as he could pull off. “Nice try.”
He plastered himself against the window and yanked his arm clear of the inch-wide armrest that had suddenly taken on the significance of the Gaza Strip. “I’m perfectly capable of surviving without an armrest.”
She folded her arms across her chest and studied him from the aisle with an evil smile curving her delicious mouth. Long seconds dragged by, but she seemed oblivious to her posture’s impact on her cleavage. Or she knew exactly what she was doing and was playing him for the fool he was. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to maintain eye contact, but the freezing night he’d spent kneeling on an iron bar under the gaze of a very unfriendly AK-47 had been easier. She allowed a passenger to squeeze past before resuming her vigil as if she was checking just how long he could remain plastered against the window.
She sighed and pointed to his head. “I’m willing to negotiate the armrest, but there’s no way in hell I’m sitting underneath that thing.” She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Hand it over, Mr. Dundee.”
He removed the hat he’d somehow forgotten he wore and studied what remained of the handcrafted felt and leather. The Akubra had survived the worst the outback could throw at it, but close to two decades of baking sun, torrential rain, and buckets of sweat had taken their toll.
He handed the hat over and met her scowl with a smile. “Paul Hogan wishes he had a hat as fine as this.”
She clutched the brim between her thumb and index finger and winced. “I’m amazed you got this mangy thing through quarantine.”
He glared at her. “Say what you want about me, but one more comment about my hat and we go at it.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She stowed his hat in the overhead locker with far more care than a tattered
eighteen-year-old Akubra deserved, closed the overhead locker, and studied him a moment longer before dropping into her seat.
So much life radiated from her she made everyone else look like they’d been dead for years. She grabbed hold of the arm he’d plastered to his thigh and dragged it onto the armrest. “So, neighbor, what are we going to do about this armrest?”
Her skin felt like molten silk against his, and he had to gouge his fingers into the armrest’s padding to prevent flinching, or worse, turning his hand over and capturing hers. As he fought the urge to stare at her, his gaze fell on the rhinestone-encrusted notebook poking out of the top of her seat pocket. She’d stiffened when he’d held the notebook, and stashed it away just a little too casually for it not to have meant something.
He nodded toward the notebook she must have ordered from Lady Gaga’s stationery collection. “Tell you what, you hand over the armrest, and I promise to help you figure out the best way to tick off that wish list I saw you scribbling down.”
Her gaze snapped back and forth between him and the notebook as her fingers clamped around his forearm. If it hadn’t been for the crimson tide flooding her cheeks and the adorable way she nibbled her bottom lip, he’d have cursed himself for opening his stupid mouth and upsetting her. Her embarrassment had his mind racing through dozens of possibilities, each more perverted than the last. What could she have scribbled in there that would transform her from teasing man-killer into nervous wreck? A sexual wish list of debauchery to get over a failed relationship? Hell, he could help out with that. A simple fling in a faraway land to reinvigorate herself? Again, he was her man. A list of sexual fantasies she planned on fulfilling with a long-distance boyfriend?
He bit back a curse and shook away the images of her falling into the arms of some loser in Brisbane and steadied himself. “You looked like you were working on a wish list.” He shrugged. “If the list involves my backyard, it’d be a damned shame if you passed up the opportunity to pick the brains of an expert for the sake of a simple armrest.”
The tension drained from her shoulders as she sagged back into her seat. Well, it wasn’t total bullshit. He’d spent way too many days and nights flying, driving, riding, marching, and swimming through every desert, mountain range, forest, and ocean in Australia. He just hoped her tastes leaned toward the adventurous rather than coffee shops, art galleries, and shopping centers.
She let him hang there a moment longer before shaking her head and unleashing a smile that was very quickly becoming one of his favorite things about his new neighbor. “What if it’s only a shopping list?”
He shrugged. “Seems like a waste to use such a unique notebook for only a shopping list.”
She narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger at him. “Watch it, tough guy. If I can’t comment on the hat, you can’t say anything about the stationery.”
He nodded. “No more comments about rugged hats or Lady Gaga’s stationery.” He ignored the scowl she launched his way. “So, what are we looking to buy?”
The last time he’d been shopping had been at a small-arms-and-tactical-gear trade show before his last deployment, but if the woman wanted to shop, he had three of Australia’s foremost fashion experts on speed dial. God only knew the shitstorm of questions and smart-arse comments his sisters would rain down on him, but he’d take whatever they threw at him if it meant more time with Ms. Abigail.
“So, you’re an expert on Australia?”
He nodded. “By the time we land you’ll be saying g’day like a dinky-di, true-blue, Aussie sheila and be able to spot the difference between a bogan and a yobbo.”
She twisted her face like she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. “Aren’t bogans and yobboes just rednecks from the southern hemisphere?”
He shook his head. “Same species, but like everything Down Under they’re more aggressive and venomous.”
Musical laughter erupted out of her as he held out his hand. “So what do you say?”
Her smile faded as she left him hanging and studied him over the top of seductress glasses with the same look she’d regarded his hat with. With each passing instant the tension in his chest grew until breathing became impossible. He was on the verge of surrendering when an evil grin twisted the corner of her mouth. With a dramatic sigh she slowly captured his hand and shook. “I guess you’ll have to do.”
If he hadn’t been so relieved, he might have had the presence of mind to put up a fight, but he’d worry about gaining back the ground he’d lost later. Right now he had thirteen hours to confirm whether his neighbor was as exciting and beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside.
He forced himself to release her hand and adjusted his seat belt. While he resettled the buckle away from his treacherous groin, he fought a desperate battle not to stare at her out of the corner of his eye. Every minute shift of her body shot pulses of electricity up his arm and straight through his chest. Desperate for a diversion, he snatched up the in-flight magazine and leafed through the pages and pages of overpriced gadgets, stupidly impractical watches, and exotic holiday destinations he’d never afford to visit.
“What you did for that mother and her daughter at check-in, that was really nice.”
The teasing tone in her voice had disappeared and left behind a rich, sultry note that had his head snapping around before he’d realized he’d moved. The playful smile she’d tortured him with had also vanished. He shook his head. “Don’t let my mum find out. It’ll ruin her impression of me.”
She chuckled but the laughter didn’t reach her eyes. “Why’d you do it?”
Because he remembered the same desperation and exhaustion pulling on his mum’s features in the years following his dad’s passing. Because he remembered everything his parents had taught him. Because he’d never be able to live with himself if he hadn’t. “It was the right thing to do.”
She studied him as if she were deciphering a puzzle. “Do you always do the right thing?”
His adolescence had been dedicated to mastering every wrong thing in the book and creating a few entries of his own. He’d been trying to make up for it ever since. But as he gazed back at her, a dozen very, very bad things raced through his mind. “Not always.”
Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened, but before she could respond, the captain’s robotic voice echoed through the cabin offering a less-than-sincere apology for the delay in their takeoff. She broke free of his gaze and reached into the seat pocket for the laminated safety booklet as Captain Jonathan Something-or-other asked them to pay attention to the cabin staff demonstrating what to do in an emergency.
He bit back a curse and shoved the magazine away before staring out the window. Nice going, dickhead. Smooth, real smooth.
“I would’ve given you the armrest.” Her honey voice filled the silence left by the safety demonstration.
He lost himself in the huge sunset eyes staring back at him. “I would’ve given you anything you wanted.”
Chapter Four
Abi sat bolt upright and glared at the blank monitor staring back at her. The plane had blasted down the runway, shot into the air, leveled off, and she still hadn’t been able to let go of his words.
I would’ve given you anything you wanted.
What did that mean? Was he just being nice to someone clearly floundering way beyond her depth? Was he planning on passing the time across the Pacific by torturing a woman who had no idea what she’d gotten herself into? Or did all Australian serial killers have superhero bodies, underwear-melting voices, and hot-flash-inducing smiles?
The crazy game she’d played with her totally out-of-reach Aussie stud had become way too real. If a normal, everyday sort of guy with love handles and a harmless smile flirted with her, she’d have known what to do. She’d have drawn in a deep breath, tamped down the excitement fluttering in her belly, and unleashed her devastating wit and charm on her poor, unsuspecting victim. But how the hell was she going to string two words together
when her heart thudded so hard against her rib cage it drowned out the plane’s engines?
Excitement, confusion, and frustration fought for control of her emotions. The excitement was inevitable. The man would’ve reanimated a corpse. And she understood the confusion; things like this didn’t happen to her, they happened to Olivia. But the frustration? Was she annoyed at her neighbor for undoing twenty-eight years of personal development by turning her into a giddy teenager? Or was she irritated at herself for allowing him to do so? Either way, the silence was driving her even crazier. She unclenched her fingers and forced herself to suck in what felt like her first breath since Thor, God of Down Under, invaded her existence.
The poor guy looked like he’d been stuffed into a kiddy seat in the back of his mommy’s people mover. His obvious discomfort was the only thing saving him from the snark she’d stockpiled during their ascent. That and the fact her libido still had control of her body and didn’t look like relinquishing the driver’s seat anytime soon.
His presence was so overwhelming her skin tingled despite the inches of international air space between their arms, and oh holy mother of God, what an arm it was. His forearm had felt like warm steel cable, and it had taken all her willpower not to trace the ridges carved between his muscles with her fingertips. If she’d known her treacherous body’s reaction to touching him, she’d have left him the hell alone because all she could think of was climbing his mountainous torso and tangling herself in his way too perfectly tousled hair. For Christ’s sake, that hair had been trapped beneath a moth-eaten hat just minutes ago and already looked ready to shoot an Old Spice commercial.
The seat belt warning light chimed off, and the captain’s way-too-practiced voice added to the commotion in her head. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to once again apologize for the delay in our departure. We’ll do everything possible to make up the time during the flight.”
Yeah, right. She tuned out the captain and diverted her ever-diminishing reserves of concentration toward the man sitting next to her as covertly as she could. She was vaguely aware of the captain concluding the spiel he must have delivered countless times in his career before his voice sparked to life. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my honor to welcome Sergeant Ryder Harper aboard.”
Against All Odds (Outback Hearts) Page 3
