Colin

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She still smelled of vanilla and jasmine. Her head still fit perfectly under his chin.

Colin inhaled deeply, knowing that if someone caught him, he’d end up looking like a bloody idiot. It was worth it anyway. Cecilia’s scent hit him right in the gut, unfurling in his stomach and spreading through his limbs.

It smelled like home and also like his biggest regret.

She sighed in her sleep, turning over and nuzzling close, and her hair tickled his nose, just like it used to. God damn, did that make his heart ache. He’d searched for her after she’d left. He’d hoped and spent a ridiculous amount of money trying to track her down.

And now she was in his arms again.

What was the American expression? A summer fling? They’d had two of them. Except, it hadn’t just been a fling for him. Not either time.

He’d given her a ring.

Had actually been waiting at the altar when he’d discovered she’d run off with his best friend.

He’d been hurt and too angry for answers at the time. Then later, when that fury had finally calmed enough that he’d wanted them, his family had imploded and he hadn’t been able to spare a moment for a young man’s idiotic emotional needs.

A month after CeCe had left him, his father had dropped dead, apoplectically screaming at a tenant for some perceived slight, and while Colin wasn’t terribly sad to see the old bastard go, he had nearly been sunk by the responsibilities of inheriting the multitude of McGregor estates and businesses. He’d needed to dive in, to streamline because the family was bleeding money and would have been out on their asses if he hadn’t taken the time to learn every detail of each of the companies before deciding which to sell and which to keep. It had taken years before he’d been able to breathe freely, but he was there.

And the deal with RoboTech further ensured that.

The McGregor coffers were secure. His family was safe. And . . . now what?

Or at least, that was what he’d been thinking before he’d sat down next to Cecilia on the plane.

Now his focus was clear and revolved around a certain waifish redhead with piercing green eyes.

Though he supposed waifish wasn’t the right term for her, not any longer. Six years ago she’d still been a girl. Today Colin found himself holding a woman, still slender and petite, but full of curves that his hands itched to cup.

She sighed and shifted in the circle of his arms, and he knew that it wouldn’t be much longer before she woke. She’d slipped off about forty-five minutes after deliberately beginning to ignore him again, but though her mind might be in favor of rejecting any interaction with him, her body seemed to have a different tack. As sleep had swept through her, she’d slumped against him, first her back then her shoulders and head, and then nearly all of her when he’d slid an arm around her to shift her into a more comfortable position.

Her head was tucked just beneath his chin, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other dangling between them and resting on the outside of his thigh.

Thank God it was on the outside, otherwise he might have embarrassed himself.

She shifted again, and Colin took one more inhale, knowing that she would hate both him and herself when she woke and found them tangled together.

The cabin lights flicked on, and CeCe breathed out slowly. Inhaled and he felt her breath catch through the cotton of his suit. Her back went stiff, her hand at his waist curled into a fist.

It was obvious the moment she was fully awake. Mainly because the second she was, Cecilia did her best impression of a cat being wrangled for a visit with the vet. She clawed at his chest, trying to shove herself back into her own seat, and in the process managed to both nearly unman him and catch a chunk of her hair on the buttons of his shirt.

“Jesus, woman,” he ground out, grabbing her hips to steady her flailing movements. She struggled, her elbow connecting with his midsection and then lower. Okay, that was enough. He pinned her against him, trapping those dangerous limbs between them. “I’d like to keep that part. Just hold still.”

“Let me go,” she snapped.

“Certainly,” he replied. “Or at least I will once you’ve released yourself from my shirt.”

Finally, she stopped fighting him. “What?”

“Your hair is stuck . . .”

Fingers came up to feel her scalp, and she winced when she found the tangle. “Oh.”

“If you’ll allow me”—she snorted and he ignored it—“I’ll release you.” But despite the tension in her frame, CeCe didn’t move as he gently worked the locks free. “There,” he eventually said, smoothing a hand down her head and tucking an errant strand behind her ear.

She lurched off him and back into her own seat. “Thanks,” she muttered and swept her hair up into some sort of intricate twist that exposed the back of her neck—

His heart stopped.

He reached across the armrest and gripped both of her arms, fury suddenly filling every cell in his body. “What have you done?”

Where once there had been soft red tendrils, curls he’d loved twisting around his finger as he’d trailed kisses down her nape, now there was nothing but shorn locks, so short that he could see—

CeCe frowned. “It’s been six years. I cut my hair. Big deal.”

“Not the haircut,” he grit out. “That I like. It suits you.” And it did. The bigger question was, “Why the fuck do you have another man’s name tattooed on your neck?”