Her lungs constricted. Her palms grew sweaty. For a moment, the muscles in her legs shook with the remembered fear.
You’re safe. This is a plane, not a box. Nothing’s going to happen.
She drew a deep breath. Swallowed hard. Reminded herself that was over. No one was looking for her. What had happened before was never going to happen again.
Heart pounding, she turned down the aisle and then glanced up at the interior of the aircraft. Not a box at all. Just a plane. Just like the one she’d stepped onto in Boise when she’d started this trip. She let out a slow breath. A plane that was as normal and ordinary and unimportant as her.
She found her seat, stowed her bag in the overhead bin, and then settled in next to the window. She wasn’t convinced the therapy her sister had talked her into had done much good. She didn’t feel like a victim, even if she did have a few moments of panic now and then. But she did like her therapist’s suggestion of finding her “happy place” whenever she felt stressed or anxious or afraid. Mostly because her happy place wasn’t a place at all. It was a person. And hopefully, in a few hours, he’d be as excited to see her as she was to see him.
A woman in her fifties with salt-and-pepper hair took the seat beside her. “You look American.” The woman’s accent was British. She leaned forward, pushing her purse under the seat in front of her. “First time in London?”
“Yeah,” Olivia said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “It shows, huh?”
The woman smirked. “A little.”
Small talk. She could do small talk to get her through this flight. And to keep her from worrying about what Landon’s reaction would be when he saw her. “I didn’t get to see as much of the city as I would have liked. I was only here on a short layover.”
“Oh, then you must come back. London is meant to be experienced, my dear, not laid over.”
Olivia smiled. “I will. It’s a beautiful city.”
The woman buckled her seat belt as passengers continued to board. “Are you visiting family in Spain?”
“No. A friend.”
When the woman lifted her brow, Olivia added sheepishly, “A guy friend.”
“Ah.” The woman leaned her head back against her seat. “The city of counts. Your love is not a count, is he?”
Olivia pictured Landon trussed up in a monkey suit in some fancy castle. Laughing, she said, “No. Not that I’m aware of. And he’s not my love. At least not yet.”
A spark ignited in the older woman’s eyes. “Yet? Oh, there’s a story there, I can tell. Tell me all about him. Where you met and why he’s in Spain. We’ve got several hours to kill.”
Several hours? Suddenly, that seemed way too long. Olivia’s stomach tossed and swirled, but she knew without a doubt that coming to Europe to see Landon was not a mistake—no matter what her sister would say when she found out Olivia had taken a leave from her job and emptied her savings for this trip.
“Well”—that silly grin spread across her lips again, the one that popped up whenever she thought of Landon Miller—“we definitely didn’t meet in the traditional way.”
Her hair is way too red. No way that’s natural.
Landon leaned his elbow against the bar and tried to focus on what the woman in front of him—Shelby, Sharon, no, Chantal, that was it—was saying, but couldn’t keep his mind from drifting.
She’d slid onto the barstool next to him about an hour before. The red hair had caught his attention. And the slinky black cocktail dress. Most women shied away from him on first glance thanks to his size and the scars on his face, but she hadn’t been the least intimidated. He’d offered to buy her a drink, and when she’d asked him what he was doing in the city, he’d made up some lame excuse about being a journalist on assignment, covering hotels for a travel magazine.
She’d bought the ruse, hook, line, and sinker, and now, with her hand resting on his thigh, was sending him every fuck-me sign in the book. Three months ago he’d have already dragged her back to his room, banged her until they were both drenched in sweat and he was on the verge of passing out. But tonight something was holding him back.
No, not something, someone. Someone petite and blonde and beautiful.
“Your drink is empty, mon cher. Would you like another?” Chantal’s accent screamed French, but Landon wasn’t convinced. Something about her felt off. He just couldn’t pinpoint what.
Nothing about her is off, dumbass. You’re off. And until you get Olivia Wolfe out of your head you’ll continue to be off.
“Mon cher?”
Chantal’s fingers sliding higher against his thigh brought his attention back to her, and he gave himself a mental slap. “What?”
“Your drink. Would you like another?”
He glanced at his empty beer glass, as if seeing it for the first time, and told himself to snap the fuck out of it. “No. I’m done.”
“Is there something else you’d like instead?”
The way she drew out the last word dragged his gaze back to her face. Her skin was smooth, her eyes a lush, dark brown, almost black, her lips plump and pink and kissable. She was strikingly beautiful in an exotic sort of way, but there was a hardness to her that was in direct contrast to everything that was Olivia. And even after her flirtatious touching and the last half hour of veiled I’m ready to fuck your brains out mindless conversation, he still didn’t feel a damn thing for her, not even lust.
You will. When you get her upstairs and naked. Biology will take over.
He sure the hell hoped so. Because if it didn’t . . . His mind drifted to Olivia once more, and he imagined her standing in front of her classroom in Boise right now, her blonde hair clipped back, her slim arms crossed over her small chest as she laid down the law for all those teenage boys who were probably fantasizing about her as much as he was. Yeah, if biology didn’t take over and he couldn’t get rid of this mini—who was he kidding? major—obsession, he was in serious shit.
He pushed off the barstool, reached for his jacket from the chair beside him, and turned toward her. “What I want isn’t down here. How about we take this up to my room?”
Approval lit her dark eyes. An approval that tightened his stomach. She unfolded herself from her seat, all long legs and sky-high stilettos Olivia would never be caught dead in, reached for her purse from the bar, and then slid her hand into his. “I like that idea. Very much.”
He led her out of the bar and into the elevator. Several people moved into the car with them, forcing his body into closer contact with hers. Trapped in the corner of the elevator with her at his front, the scent of roses drifted in the air around him.
He looked down at her fire-red locks draped over her shoulders, and noticed the edge of some kind of tattoo peeking out beneath the strap of her dress and all that hair. A curved edge, with what looked like the tip of a sword extending beyond.
The elevator door opened with a ping before he could get a good look at the tattoo, and the people in front moved to the side so they could exit. Muttering, “Gracias,” he followed her off the car. When she paused at the intersection of the hall, he pointed to the right and said, “Eight thirty-seven.”
She headed toward his room. He followed her halfway down the hall, his mind flipping back and forth between images of Olivia and the woman at his front. She stopped near his door and waited while he fished out his keycard and slid it through the slot.
“Merci,” she said as he held the door open, and she swept past, sending him a sultry look, one that still didn’t do a thing for his libido.
Fuck. Landon swiped a hand over his brow. Get over yourself already, dickhead.
She was standing in the middle of the living area of his suite, holding the small black clutch in her hand, studying the room with its high ceilings, intricate molding, and plush furnishings when he emerged from the short hall. Her dress hit midthigh and mo
lded to curves he hadn’t gotten a good look at in the dimly lit bar. She was hot and willing and ready, and he felt as awkward as a virgin on prom night.
He draped his jacket over the back of a chair and cleared his throat. “Um, I don’t have any wine. I’ve got beer and—”
“Water’s fine,” she said, turning to face him. Long fingers with finely manicured, red-tipped nails flipped her long hair over her shoulder. “May I use your toilette?”
“Yeah. Sure.” He pointed toward the set of double doors behind her. “Through there.”
She slinked his way, like a cat on the prowl, and laid a hand on his chest. Tipping her eyes up seductively to his, she sent him an I’m about to rock your world look. “Take off your shoes and get comfortable, mon cher. I love the look of a man’s bare feet.”
Beneath her hand, his skin warmed, but not from arousal, from claustrophobia. The air grew thick and stifling around him. Before he could answer, she turned and disappeared into his bedroom, and, alone, Landon exhaled a long breath, dropped into a chair, and rubbed a hand over his head.
Holy hell. He had a hot chick in his room, ready to screw his brains out, and not only was his body not reacting the way he needed, his head didn’t want to play along either. What the hell was wrong with him?
A cute little schoolteacher was what was wrong with him. One he needed to get out of his system . . . right fucking now.
Calling himself an idiot for the last time, he kicked off his shoes and dropped them on the floor, then tugged off his socks. Cool air washed over his feet, and he flexed his toes in the carpet, feeling the threads beneath his skin, letting the fresh air draw away the suffocating feeling overwhelming him.
He could totally do this. It was just one night. And when it was done, everything would be right again. No more stupid fantasies about having a normal life, a house, and a white picket fence. Because he was as far from normal as a three-headed dragon.
The phone in his pocket buzzed, and he reached for it, happy to get out of his own head for a few seconds.
ADDISON: Your flight time has been changed. You now leave at 0920. Enjoy your extra hour of sleep.
Fucking fantastic. Another hour in limbo. He frowned, more disappointed than he wanted to admit because it was Marley and not Olivia. Another reason he needed to get on with this and forget about Olivia for good.
A knock sounded, and he froze. Seconds passed in silence. When the sound echoed again, he reached for his weapon, which he’d slid into the pocket of his coat in the bar. “Who is it?”
Silence, then a woman’s voice called, “Housekeeping.”
The nightly turndown service. Landon let go of his jacket and set his phone on the bar beside him. Pushing out of his chair, he crossed the small entry hall that led to the door to tell the maid—for the fourth night in a row—that he didn’t need turndown service. His hand closed around the knob, and he pulled the door open, then froze.
“Surprise,” Olivia exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her pixie face.
Landon’s mouth fell open, and his heart picked up speed as he took in the sight of her. She was wearing cute white tennis shoes without socks, frayed capri jeans, and a white, fitted V-neck T-shirt that molded to her slim curves and dipped into her cleavage. A thin white sweater hung from her shoulders, her blonde hair was loose around her face, and her piercing emerald-green eyes danced with excitement. An excitement he felt all the way to his bones.
Her smile wobbled, and she reached for the handle of her suitcase at her side. “I take it your silence means you’re not exactly thrilled to see me.”
A man passed behind her in the hall and glanced their way with curiosity. It took several seconds for Landon’s brain to kick into gear, but when it did, he realized he was standing dumbfounded, she was still in the hall, and passersby were staring.
He reached for her suitcase and pulled it into the room, motioning her to step in as well. “How did you . . . ? When . . . ? When you texted me a few hours ago, you were at school.”
“I lied,” she said sheepishly, moving far enough into the entry so he could close the door. “I was in London on my layover. I wanted to surprise you.” A worried look passed over her eyes as she turned to face him, dimming the excitement he’d seen earlier. “Are you mad?”
“Mad?” Was she nuts? Warmth blossomed all through his belly and into his limbs, distracting him from anything but her. “Not at all. Olivia, I—”
“Oh good.” She released a long breath. “Because that’s not the only surprise I have.”
Her purse hit the floor with a thud, and she stepped close. Her hands landed on his chest, sending tingles all across his skin beneath the thin dress shirt he wore. He sucked in a breath, wanting only to savor the sensation, but before he could, she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. And as the warmth of her mouth slid across his, and the sweet scent of lilacs surrounded him, what was left of his functioning brain cells shut down and flew straight out of his head.
Soft. Sweet. Supple. Her lips were everything he’d dreamed about and more. They were also gone way too fast.
She lowered to her heels and backed a half step away, uncertainty swirling in her gemlike eyes. “You’re not saying anything.” Her top teeth sank into her bottom lip in the cutest, sexiest way. “Are you mad now?”
He didn’t think. He reacted. Reaching for her, he dragged her close once more and closed his mouth over hers. She gasped in surprise, but it didn’t stop him. It couldn’t. Not now. Not after she’d finally kissed him. Licking into her mouth for that first sinful taste, he turned her in the small entry hall and pushed her back against the wall.
Her gasp turned to a moan. Her fingers slid up his arms and then fisted in his hair. Against his tongue, she licked and kissed him back with the same need, the same intensity he was showering on her, her mouth turning greedy beneath his. And her excitement, her own unguarded reaction, only made him groan with the need for more. Pressing into her soft curves, he kissed her deeper, wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her closer, and devoured her mouth the way he’d wanted to devour her for months.
When he finally broke the kiss, they were both panting and the room was spinning around him. He lowered his forehead against hers and just focused on breathing, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to do anything but go on feeling this . . . bliss.
Her soft fingers brushed the nape of his neck. “Okay,” she said, her sweet, warm breath fanning his cheek. “Okay, your being speechless is a good thing.”
Slowly, he lifted his head and looked down at her. Her green eyes once again twinkled with pleasure and anticipation, but now they held a playful glint, one he’d never seen before.
Who was he kidding? He’d never seen it because he’d only spent a matter of hours with her before walking away, then months flirting and daydreaming about a woman he couldn’t have. His chest tightened, even though his blood continued to pump hot and strong, gathering in his groin being so close to her. “Olivia, I—”
She leaned forward, cutting off his words with her lips, kissing him again until he saw stars. “I like you speechless if this is the reaction I get.”
God, he liked it too. Wanted only to go on feeling her lips against his, teasing and taunting him like she was doing now.
She eased back before he could kiss her deeper, before he could taste her more fully. Her hand slid from his nape to his shoulder. “Did you hear that?”
Landon froze and listened, and then he realized what she’d heard. The sound of a toilet flushing.
In a flash, reality came screaming back, slamming into him with the force of a jackhammer.
Fuck. He closed his eyes. And wished like hell this weren’t happening.
Lifting his head, he focused on her pretty eyes, ignoring the soft little crease of skin between her brows that signaled her obvious confusion. “Olivia, I need you to know
something.”
Her gaze shifted from the far side of the room where she’d been searching for the source of that noise, to his face. And his chest twisted harder at what he was about to say. “Whatever happens in the next thirty seconds, I need you to know that when I opened that door and saw you standing there, it was the happiest I’ve been in . . . probably my whole life.”
A slow, approving smile spread across her kiss-me lips. But it quickly faded, and that crease between her eyes deepened. “Why would that change in the next thirty seconds? If you—”
Every muscle in Olivia’s body went tight and rigid, and without even looking, Landon knew what was behind him.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut tight.
“I didn’t realize this was going to be a threesome,” Chantal said at his back. “Not that I’m opposed, but a little warning would have been nice.”
Threesome . . .
The word echoed in Olivia’s mind, not making sense at first, just hovering as if in a fog. Her gaze slid from the redhead in the middle of the room wearing a skimpy black dress to Landon, still pressed against her front, trapping her between him and the wall. Guilt rushed over his rugged features, pulling on the puckered scar on the left side of his cheek, filling his soft brown eyes. A guilt that was like a fist straight to her stomach.
“Olivia,” he said in a low voice, “I can explain.”
Threesome . . .
Little chinks in the chain of consciousness finally clicked into place. His shock at seeing her, this woman standing here now, his text before she’d left London . . .
We need to talk.
A cold chill spread over every inch of her body. She pushed against Landon’s shoulders, needing space. Needing him to let go. Needing to run.
“Olivia, give me a chance to—”
“Let me go.” She pushed harder against him, the force of her shove knocking him back a step, enough so she could breathe.
“Just wait,” he said, holding his hands up in front of him. “And let me explain.”