Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
I leaned as far back as I could, which wasn’t much, and prayed his dick didn’t touch my chin with how he was leaning.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the flight attendant asked coyly.
“You can give the woman some space.”
That voice.
I’d heard it a couple of hours ago at the table behind me.
How…
I whipped my head around to confirm who it was that I heard and found blue eyes aimed at me.
There was no emotion in them, making me realize he didn’t recognize me, but it was most definitely him.
He was still wearing the same suit, sans jacket. His tie wasn’t tied, either. It was stuffed in his pocket and his first four shirt buttons were undone, giving him a disheveled look that was edged with exhaustion.
I looked away, but not before I smiled at him in thanks before turning back around to see that the man’s dick was still right there.
Jesus.
I leaned toward the man at my side, who didn’t seem to mind, and said, “Uhhh.”
“Personal space is a real thing,” the sexy man at my side grumbled darkly. “And you should probably learn to respect it.”
“Oh, sorry,” the male flight attendant apologized. “I didn’t see you there.”
Sure, he didn’t.
He stepped away, allowing me room to breathe, and the ability to return to my own space so I wasn’t invading the man’s space beside me.
“What’s wrong?” the man at my side said.
At first I thought he was speaking to me, but when I turned to look at him, he was looking out of the window and studying the tarmac with his phone to his ear.
“I can’t do anything for a couple of hours while I fly home,” he said. “No, it’s never stopped me before, you’re right. But not this time.” He paused. “Yes, next to someone.” He chuckled. “Thanks, man.” He cleared his throat. “Why are you calling me Finnian all of a sudden, anyway?”
Finnian.
Was that the man’s name?
It fit well.
I could definitely see him being a Finnian.
It was distinguished and befitting a sexy older man with his salt and pepper hair on top of his head and his neatly trimmed beard.
That was the only thing that screamed “nice” about the man, though.
Being a charge nurse at a hospital, and spending eight of my twelve-year nursing career in the emergency room before moving away from the chaos, I came upon all walks of life.
I’d seen nice men dressed badly. I’d seen bad men dressed nicely.
I’d seen just normal men dressed casually and comfortably.
But this man at my side definitely screamed dangerous to me.
As in, stay away.
His tattoos spoke a story of his life, and the darkness I saw in all of them made me pause.
But it was the outline in neon pink of a skull with a hood on the man’s hand that made me realize he was dangerous.
Because I knew that symbol.
Everyone in Dallas did.
The man next to me was a Truth Teller.
I worked with one of those, and he scared the absolute shit out of me.
His wife also worked on our floor, and every time I saw them together it gave me the feeling of watching a lion standing next to a lamb.
That lamb had to be absolutely crazy to get so close to someone so dangerous.
Yet, Aella was the sweetest, most competent person I’d ever met, and she had a great head on her shoulders.
When he wanted to be, Chevy, Aella’s husband, also was fairly nice. But only when Aella was around. When she wasn’t, he was distant, closed off, and scary. Or, scarier.
But they all had that tattoo on their hand.
There was no denying who they belonged to.
I felt my mouth get dry as I looked away from the man who was still talking on the phone, then slipped my headphones back into place and closed my eyes.
I kept them on through takeoff, but ended up having to take them off shortly after because the male flight attendant from earlier touched my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and made eye contact with him.
He looked at me expectantly and I took my headphones off to say, “I’m sorry.”
“Chicken parmesan or Greek salad?”
Was that even a question?
“Chicken parmesan.” I smiled.
“To drink?”
I was scared to ask what my options were because he looked fit to be tied and angry.
“Um, do you have Dr Pepper?” I asked hopefully.
Because that was the only acceptable option right now.
“We’re out,” he denied.
“She can have mine,” the man at my side said. “I’ll take a Coke.”
I looked at him with a soft smile. “Oh, that’s okay. I can just have wa…”
“I can go to the back and check to see if they have any,” the flight attendant offered, cutting me off.
He moved then, heading to the people on my right.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“It’s no problem,” he murmured quietly, his voice deep and raspy.