by S. E. Hall
I rise and walk fast, pulling her away from the counter, and the front of the line she didn’t wait in. “Sweetheart, not only did you just cut in front of all those people, but you seem a bit… unhinged. Talk to me; tell me what you aren’t.”
“Aren’t what?”
“Aren’t telling me.” I chuckle.
“You and that sophisticated tongue of yours.” She rolls her eyes, and I imagine making them roll back in her head… using this sophisticated tongue of mine. “Wears me out. Thanks for all you’ve done, or tried to do, really, but I’m staying in this airport until I figure something out. I can’t wait until tomorrow, Trevor. So please, go about your night.”
“You have no choice but to wait until tomorrow, Lily. That’s not going to change; regardless of whether you choose, stubbornly so, to sleep here, stretched across a row of hard, uncomfortable chairs, or in the hotel room I’ve arranged. Please, take a deep breath and try to see reason. The earliest flight is at seven in the morning, and I swear to you, we’ll be on it.”
“It’s a two-hour flight, Trevor!” She settles between a whisper and screech, her beautiful body trembling, green eyes glossing over with a sheen of defeat. “Even if we leave right on time, that puts wheels on the ground at nine-thirty. Then there’s the whole roll as slowly as possible to the gate thingy, and then we wait for everyone to, again, as slowly as possible, get their kids, crap and out of my way, run to baggage claim by maybe ten, only to wait some more for my bag to finally appear — ‘cause we both know it’ll be the last damn one thrown on the cart. And to round out the slow-motion circus, and only if I’m extremely lucky, I find a cab within another half hour.” Thankfully, she pauses long enough to drag in air, patting down her hair… somewhat askew with all the wild head-shaking and quite animated gesturing.
And then she’s back at it.
“Yeahhh, that’s not gonna work for me. If I’m not at th… where I need to be, by nine o’clock tomorrow morning… everything”— she’s shaking, gulping in more oxygen— “is over. Done. And I lose everything. Again.”
It undoes me, seeing her beyond distraught, so it’s without thought, particularly unmindful of boundaries, that I haul her against me and whisper upon her soft hair. “Lily, where is where you need to be, and what will be even worse? Let me help you, sweet girl. I’m quite capable of… making things happen. Tell me what it is you need, and I’ll make it so.”
She eyes her bag, and I sense her panic rising, approaching an overwhelming level. “I’ll just drive. It’s what, six hours? I can do that,” she spouts, though doing her best to hide reality. She’s scared.
I’m somewhat “scared” myself — that I won’t be able to insert a modicum of rationale in my response. “You’re going to drive through the night?” I jeer, not ask. “Six hours? While you’re upset? That’s your plan?” I manage to cage my scoff, but not my growl. “No.”
“No?” she parrots, hedging for affronted… accomplishing intrigued.
I slowly shake my head.
“No?”
I repeat the motion.
I’ve had eyes on her from the moment she stumbled onto the plane, and has continued to bobble, obviously also aboard an emotional roller-coaster, her way through the day. As long as there’s a beat to my heart, this woman is not navigating anywhere solo. Especially in the dark, route unknown, no closer to “settled” two flutes of champagne later.
Not happening.
“Well then, Mister Kincade, you’ve got another thing coming. I admit, the bossy man thing’s pretty hot, when it doesn’t include you telling me what I can and can’t do!”
“Lily,” my unavoidable laugh joins, “that’s what ‘bossy’ means, beautiful. And ‘man’ means that over my cold, dead body are you driving six hours, alone, at night, While. You’re. Upset!”
Done arguing, I grab our bags, and her hand… then drag the lot toward the exit.
“Trevor,” she hisses, digging in her heels to slow us down, which I ignore. “Trevor.” And still, I simply tighten my hold on her hand and quicken our steps. “Trevor!”
Now I stop dead in my tracks and whirl around to face her.
“What?” I ask, louder than is gentlemanly. When she doesn’t respond, her tiny mouth agape and green eyes wide, I take a moment to assess… then grin, surprisingly amused to realize that here I, Trevor Kincade, am — having a somewhat boisterous, wholly enlivening, argument with a gorgeous, all-but stranger in public. Just as quickly reaffirming my grim expression, I say, “You get my attention and fall silent? All right, then, allow me. What, Lily, could possibly warrant you hopping into a rental car at this hour? What plans can’t be rescheduled until later in the day tomorrow? And what will then be even worse? I can find out, you know. Very close to anything, about anyone, at any time. But I’d much rather you tell me yourself.”
“You can find things out? Private things? About people you hardly know?”
I give an easy nod, and easier smirk.
“You’re an ass. Sitting beside each other on a flight, well, what was supposed to be a flight, does not make us pals! Not sure why it matters to you so much, but I’m positive it’s none of your business. By the way, the bossy thing only works, marginally, when you’re being sexy bossy, not nosy bossy. Thought you should know. And with that, this is where I say goodbye, adieu, nice to meet you…” She reaches for her bag, only to try again, as I hold it up and away. “Are you kidding me?”
“Far from it.” I close the gap, and her mouth, with a gentle finger under her chin. “You’re in a strange town, it’s dark outside, and I’ve made myself clear. You will not be driving anywhere this evening. I can’t, in good conscience, let you leave, Lily. It’s just not in me; not the kind of man I am. But, again, if you tell me what’s so urgent, I will help.”
She fidgets from foot to foot and bites the corner of her lip. Simple, quite common in fact… yet it intrigues me in ways I may never fully comprehend. “It’s personal,” she mumbles.
“What isn’t? Tell. Me.”
“Oh, my God, Trevor, no! I realize you probably don’t get told ‘no’ very often, but surprise! I’m telling you, no, and I mean it.”
“Stubborn.” I grind my teeth and move closer. “Mouthy.” I weave my fingers through the hair at her temple, brushing it away from her neck. “Mysterious.” I dip my head to nuzzle said neck, inhaling her innocent essence. “Not a thing I don’t like, sweet Lily. If you trust me, I. Will. Fix. It.”
Unable to resist, she leans, just slightly, into me and answers in a breathy whisper. “I have to be in court.”
“I can work with that.” I grin against her soft skin, pebbled with goose bumps. “Any court will allow rescheduling if you have a valid excuse, and though I’m neither an attorney or judge, I believe being stranded by a delayed flight is indeed a valid excuse.”
“Not for this.” As I’m starting to suspect is habit, she frantically shakes that head of hers.
“Unless I’m dead, which, I’m obviously not, he’ll pitch a fit to proceed. And he’ll win. He always does. So, I have to make it on time. Plus, I really want to get it over with, before I lose my nerve.”
With a clenched jaw and a dangerous haze of red clouding my vision, I grate, “Who. Is. He?”
She sighs, and I feel the shift — she’s readying herself to surrender, to trust me with her burden. A labored breath later, she squeezes her eyes shut and lets it all come tumbling out, fast and borderline incoherent. “He is Ethan; my soon-to-be ex-husband. The final hearing on my divorce is in the morning, and if I’m not there, Ethan will make sure I lose everything. Every damn thing I’ve worked for my whole life. My savings, car… home! I fixed it up! The hovel, as he called it, is now the prettiest little house on the block, worth three times what we paid. I painted, converted the basement, turned the yard into a work of art. I even watched a TV show and taught myself how to build the cute little fence around the front! He couldn’t tell you what color the mailbox is! He only wants it bec
ause he knows how much it means to me; so that I can’t have it!”
“You’re married?” My head tilts itself.
“Well… typically, in all fifty states, in order to get divorced, you need to have been married first, yes.” I’m grateful for her sarcastic smile, staving off the tears, glistening with their approach. “So yes, technically, I’m married… but only by legal definition. Any of the words, gestures, and promises I’d use to define ‘marriage’ ceased to exist in our… arrangement… a long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“Trevor,” she groans, “I just told you way more intel than intended, which I’m blaming on panic-induced delirium. What more could you possibly want? A PowerPoint? With all the reasons I finally filed in a color-coded list?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous; you have no laptop with which to create a visual presentation… so, you’ll have to make do verbally,” I reply in my best attempt at dry humor, hoping to dissuade her from shutting me out again no sooner than I got her talking.
“Awful lot of discussing me, and none the wiser about you, Trevor Kincade. If that’s even your real name. Let me guess; FBI? CIA? Yeah…” Her mouth twists with amusement. “I can see it; either that, or the guy they send in to berate people to damn death until they talk? Oh, my God, I’ve got it! The IRS! That’s it; I’m right, aren’t I?”
I laugh, entirely, not something I do often. “No. To all three.” She rolls her hand, urging me to continue. “I…” I rub my jaw. “The short answer? I make money; a nice amount of it. Far more than I spend.”
“You don’t have to be so specific.” Her faint giggle’s true volume lay within her expression.
“Oh, Lily.” I chuckle once more. “You are a delight. An uncensored, motiveless delight.”
Further solidifying that fact, she curtsies. Precious.
“Getting back on course, sweetheart; you were saying? Before the bit about the FBI.”
“So much for hoping you forgot.” She sighs, her shoulders and spirit sagging. “Ethan must’ve thought he heard me say, somewhere in our vows, that is was okay to acquaint himself with anyone in a skirt, or dress. Yoga pants. Easily removed jeans. Booty shorts. Any shorts.”
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Meanwhile, I was busy finishing my master’s, keeping our home pristine, his dinners hot and on the table right when he walked through the door, and doing all the bookkeeping for his business, while also always making time to acquaint myself with only him! I own shirts, and dresses, and… I’m actually quite fond of yoga pants! Didn’t matter. One day, I clicked the wrong folder on his home computer, you know, to do his bookkeeping for him… and something made me pause, take a gander. He was paying rent on a plush condo for his favorite acquaintance”— she pauses to breathe, and squelch a sob— “with our money. Anyway, now he’s claiming I didn’t bring anything to the marriage, so I should leave with nothing. That’s why I have to be there. To defend myself. If not, he’ll win again, and along with my trust, dignity, and years of wasted time, he’ll get my home and every last penny too.”
Needing to process, plan, plot — either this Ethan’s death and/or irreversible maiming, a real toss-up — I remain silent a few minutes too long, only causing her more anxiety, I realize, upon hearing the tremor that founds her next whisper.
“Now you know, and I feel like a fool all over again. It was nice meeting you, Trevor. The ending? Eh, not so much, but I’ll live. And, I really do have to go.”
“You most certainly do,” I bite, though not at her, and pull out my cell to angrily punch ‘Call’ to summon Maxwell.
“Um… okay, no. This isn’t happening. Nope. Not kidding, and not happening,” I redundantly stammer, trying to tug my hand from his overbearing, presumptuous — which would really piss me off if it didn’t also feel safe — grip. “Trevor, I’ve almost convinced myself you’re just headstrong, so rich you’re used to getting your way, and a non-homicidal sexy man, but even so…” I take one slow step back. “This? This is too much. I’m drawing the line; right here, right now.” I swipe the tip of my shoe across the sidewalk, drawing that line, an imaginary yet crucial barrier. “Do. Not. Cross it. Please.”
Faintly, yet booming of condescension, he laughs. “Lily, this is the only way, the only avenue, you have of possibly making it to court on time tomorrow. And you’re correct, I am indeed a non-homicidal… sexy man.” He caught that… and he liked it, judging by the pride shining in his smirk. “As is Maxwell. Non-homicidal, that is. Now, come…” He holds out a hand. “Let me introduce you, and we’ll be on our way.”
I shake my head and take another step backward.
“Lily.” It’s a deep, should-be-scary-instead-of-anything-but growl, his hand now reaching. “Sweetheart, you don’t have time for this. I realize” — his tone and dark eyes soften as he closes in on me— “that it’s probably a bit frightening. And you’re right again, it is definitely a risk, getting in a car with a man you’ve only just met.”
He’s close enough now to touch me — which he does — the same large, capable-looking hand I’ve been keeping an eye on slowly rising to caress my cheek. “But I am no threat to you. In fact, things are quite the opposite, and I’ve employed Maxwell as my driver, without incident, for nearly a decade. You’re safe, Lily. I give you my word. Let me help you, get you where you need to be. Perhaps even join you. To ensure things go as they should.”
I glance to Maxwell, standing silent and patiently at the awaiting open rear door — proper little hat, nice suit, kind eyes — and exhale through my internal debate.
“Lily,” Trevor softly murmurs, finally claiming my hand. “If I’m to bring harm to anyone in the near future, it won’t be you.” As ominous as they are obvious, his words send a flattened chill up my spine. He’s alluding to Ethan, a stranger, in my honor… also all but a stranger.
And suddenly, I can’t think of a single reason I wouldn’t go with him. There’s nothing enigmatic about him; Trevor Kincade proudly boasts all he is, has, and is capable of… he also happens to be the most tempting mystery I’ve ever met. And with my surrender to his lead… I’ve succumbed.
He lifts my shaky hand to his mouth, dotting it with several quick, soft kisses. “As much as I love the feel of any small, dainty part of you trembling for me, there’s no need for it, Lily. You. Are. Safe.” His eyes search mine in acceptance, and brighten in color when they find it. “Maxwell, our bags, please,” he orders, then helps me into the car.
As he walks around to the other side, I hurry to gather my breath, and wits, failing on both counts.
“Go ahead and get comfortable. Might not be a bad idea to try for some sleep too; you want to be clear-headed for court. Before you do any of that, though, call and let your attorney know you will be there.” He rattles off my list of instructions the second he’s climbed inside.
“I don’t have an attorney, and I’m plenty comfortable, thank you. I’ll catch up on my sleep when it’s all over.” With my tapered reply, I politely stop short of complete honesty, which would include: ‘Comfy would be kicking off my shoes, but with my nerves what they are, I’m terrified my feet smell. And these hose are smothering me; too bad I’ve been lax about shaving my legs. Also, I might snore, and/or drool; not chancing you catching me doing either. So, sitting up straight, wide awake, the entire ride, it’s gonna have to be.’
“What do you mean, ‘you don’t have an attorney’?” His octave bottoms out. “For God’s sake, Lily, no wonder you fear being taken to the cleaner’s; you will be! Why don’t you have representation? That’s plain ignorant, which you aren’t, so explain.” I open my mouth to tell him off, immediately rebutted by his long finger over my lips. “Hold that thought.” He’s sternly polite, then pushes a button to raise a blacked-out partition between us and our driver, the once “roomy” back seat area now feeling… intimate.
Oh, how I wish the word that just effortlessly came to my mind would’ve been claustrophobic.
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Or scary.
But, it was intimate. No denying it either… my racing heartbeat, suddenly parched mouth, and the exhilarated tingle between my thighs eliminating any chance at convincing myself otherwise.
Or Trevor. His coy smirk very informative… of the fact that he’s well-informed.
“Now then.” He moves closer, laying one arm across the leather behind my head. “We’re alone, total privacy, and I need you to tell me everything. I can’t best help you if not, sweetheart. Start with… why are you without an attorney?”
In this setting, light, proximity… nuances I’d missed before currently captivate me. For instance, his eyes, which I already knew were a deep, dark brown, I now know hold a thin, so faint I feel privileged to discover it, silver ring around the pupils.
Silver.
How unique is that?
His bottom lip, naturally fuller than the top, as is the case with most any pair, has two tiny dents in it — my guess from his teeth… digging in when he’s angry? Stressed? In deep thought? And the long, inky eyelashes that brush his skin when he blinks? Again, another of his fascinating secrets he hides right out in the open.
Perhaps waiting for someone to take the time to learn of it?
Trevor Kincade is more than handsome; he’s masterfully constructed. Beautiful, even. One just has to maneuver their way past the clean, manly scent; firm, broad physique hugged in designer clothing, and disarming charm to pay it due admiration.
“Lily,” my name on his lips recaptures my lost attention.
“Hmm?”
“Why don’t you have a lawyer, my sweet?”
His sweet?
I’ll bet that wouldn’t be a bad gig… one I’d enjoy very much, in fact.
Crazy. Absolutely crazy thought, Lily. Knock it off.
