A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With (Harlequin Presents)
Page 17
Being one of the ‘who’s who’ himself, he’d decided not to make a splash entering the country. In Alejandro’s opinion, if you didn’t want the attention, you shouldn’t act as if you were somebody who needed it. Which meant he was flying commercial and driving the four-hour trip from Edinburgh to the coast a day early. The route would reportedly take him through some picturesque countryside, and he intended to cruise into Dunlosie under the radar.
Still, the hullaballoo he was surely headed for didn’t inspire encouragement that this was going to be anything other than a weekend to endure.
Impatiently Alejandro tossed aside his tablet and angled his wide-shouldered frame out of his seat. He’d never been able to sit still for long.
And that was when a little cough sounded to his left and he looked down.
It was Brown Eyes.
She’d taken a few trips up and down the aisle to the ‘facilities’. Either she had a little bladder problem or, more likely, she was looking for some attention.
He surveyed her coolly. Possibly not the attention she wanted.
With each trip up the aisle her step had become more rolling and he suspected she was a little drunk.
She was also considerably tall for a woman. He took a look down and found the culprits: a pair of very high-heeled turquoise shoes, ridiculously encumbered by ribbons that frothed around her trim ankles.
She in turn was gazing up at him, all brown eyes and carefully cultivated curls. Irritatingly, she was as pretty as ever.
‘Pardon, m’sieur.’
Her voice sounded a little slurred. Definitely drinking.
Unimpressed, he murmured, ‘Maybe you should go easy on the free liquor, señorita, and do us all a favour.’
She blinked. ‘Pardonnez-moi?’
‘You heard me.’
For a moment she seemed to be utterly lost for words. Then she screwed up her nose and stamped her foot.
It took a great deal of his self-control not to smile.
‘Why don’t you move out of the way instead of bullying people?’ she demanded, her French accent doing an excellent job on the precise English she used.
He ran his gaze insolently from the top of her shiny curls to the ribbons cascading over her pointy shoes and back to everything in between.
The in between was rather sweetly distributed...
She backed up a bit, but he wasn’t letting her get away scot-free.
‘You’re quite a piece of work, aren’t you, chica?’ he drawled.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘There are fourteen people in First Class today,’ he spelt out. ‘Your name isn’t written on the plane and the cabin crew aren’t your personal galley slaves. How about cutting us all some slack?’
Her eyes fell away from his. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she mumbled. ‘Now, move, why don’t you?’
It was all he needed. ‘Make me.’
Her chin came up and her rosebud of a mouth dropped open.
He was slightly surprised himself. He didn’t, as a rule, hassle women. Especially silly little girls who needed to grow up.
For a moment he thought those big brown eyes were going to fill with ready tears. She certainly seemed on the brink of something.
So he moved.
Just.
She made a very French ‘ouf’ sound of disapproval, averted her face and stalked back to her seat. Once more in charge of herself. Self-interest on two legs.
Only then she ruined it with an almost furtive look back over her shoulder, as if to make sure he wasn’t following her.
The first finger of doubt touched his shoulder.
He’d made a few hard conclusions drawn from not much.
But life had taught him to pay attention to what people told you by their actions, not their words.
She had barely reached her seat when he heard her give a soft cry.
Alejandro turned—fast.
‘Non, leave those things alone!’
He relaxed, a little surprised at his own reflexes when he didn’t even like the woman. She was back to making everyone’s life a misery.
She followed this up with a hushed volley of what sounded like furious French, but she was speaking so fast it was hard to tell. And all of it was directed at the poor steward, who was tidying up the clutter she had accumulated around her.
Heads emerged into the aisle.
Alejandro swung back into his seat and checked his phone. He was done with her.
There was a message from the groom.
Change in plans. Do me a favour and pick up a bridesmaid on your way in. Answers to Lulu Lachaille. Exiting Flight 338 at Gate Four. She’s precious cargo. If you lose her, Gigi will cut off my balls and call off the wedding.
Alejandro briefly considered texting back no, even as he kissed his peaceful drive goodbye. Weddings were his worst nightmare. Spending four hours in a car with a chatty little bridesmaid didn’t exactly float his boat.
Although the bridal party was bound to be stocked with leggy showgirls, so it might not be that bad...
Dios.
He stuck his head out into the aisle, only to find that the French Miss was leaning out too.
She had the open, hopeful expression of a cartoon princess awaiting aid from one of her magical creatures.
Then she saw him, and her expression darkened and her eyes diminished to dark cat-like slits.
As if on cue a flight attendant appeared at her side, with still water and what appeared to be some form of medication.
A headache? It just got better and better.
He flipped open the attachment Khaled had sent him, but a part of him already knew what he was going to see.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.
A dark-eyed angel gazed seriously up at him from the screen.
She was really quite something.
He angled a resigned glance down the aisle. The only problem was—she was also her.
Copyright © 2016 by Lucy Ellis
ISBN-13: 9781488000867
A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With
Copyright © 2016 by Julia James
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