Cecilia, present day

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Cecilia was thankful to be staying in London for a night. She wouldn’t really get to see anything, but she planned on a longer stopover on her way back to the States.

For now she was happy for a hotel, for some non-airplane food, and for a hot shower and a soft bed.

Not that she’d been uncomfortable in Colin’s arms.

“Shut up,” she muttered, reaching for her book and stuffing it into her tote bag, along with her pillow, her lip balm, and the seventy-three other things she’d managed to strew around during the twelve-hour flight.

“Pardon?” Colin’s voice was slightly rasped, almost sounding unused, and not at all indicative of the fact that they’d just been arguing an hour before.

“Sorry,” she said. “I was talking to myself.”

His lips twitched, his beard glinting slightly in the airplane’s overhead lights. And why hadn’t she noticed it earlier?

The beard was very Chris Evans as Captain America—the second Avengers version where he looked all yummy and scruffy and beyond sexy. Except Colin was a Scot and his accent added a whole other layer of deliciousness that was truly unfair to the female populace.

“So. Not. Fair.”

One black brow sprang up.

She sighed, mentally slapping herself. “Sorry. I’m doing it again.”

He grinned and her panties melted, just slipped right down off her thighs. Okay fine, so the underwear magic act was a complete and utter fantasy, but his effect on her lady parts was not.

She still wanted him.

Once had definitely not been enough, and their single attempt at learning one another certainly highlighted that fact.

He’d given her an orgasm . . . before penetration, that was, but he’d promised her more, better, longer later.

Only later had never come. Not even during their short-term engagement—his family had made sure of that.

It had taken her years of self-exploration and several diligent partners for her to understand her own body. For sex to finally be spectacular. Or, if maybe not spectacular, then at least pretty damned good.

“I always liked it when you did that.”

For a moment, she panicked, thinking she’d been expounding upon her sexual delights aloud before she realized that Colin was referring to her proclivity for talking to herself.

“Well.” She shrugged. “Apparently it’s a habit I won’t ever be able to shake.”

Blue eyes locked with hers. “I hope you don’t ever change.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Everyone changes, Colin. It’s a fact of life.”

“I was hoping you’d say that because—”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please ensure your tray tables and seatbacks . . .” came the flight attendant’s voice through the loudspeakers, declaring them ready for landing before discussing connections and the weather in London.

Cecilia deliberately focused on the woman’s words as she opened her window shade and stared out at the landscape.

But she wasn’t really taking in the view of the gorgeous green countryside or the massive sprawl that was London. Instead, she was trying to forget Colin’s words.

“I was hoping you’d say that because—”

Because what?

No. It didn’t matter. The rest of that sentence was not important.

Except it was.

She closed her eyes.

Dammit.

The rest of that sentence was really, really important.

Her bags were lost.

She was planning a trip to Finland with no end date, followed by backpacking around Europe, also with no deadline, and her bags were nowhere in sight.

“All right?”

Colin. Of course.

He held his carry-on in one hand and looked dashing and unruffled despite the long flight.

She’d expected him to be long gone after the hellish line she’d had to wait in to get through the passport check while he’d breezed through the other shorter queue.

Stupid sexy Scot.

She turned back to the conveyor belt, but her bag had not miraculously appeared.

And so her trip was continuing its fabulous start.

“I’m good.” CeCe straightened her shoulders and pasted on a smile. “Lovely to chat with you.” She turned away but didn’t get far. Colin slipped his fingers through the strap on her bag and halted her escape.

“Is this all you brought with you?”

“I’m fine.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the airline’s well-lit office. “I’ve had airlines lose my bags before. It’s not a huge deal. It’ll turn up, so if you’ll excuse me . . .”

He released her and she left, not looking back, not daring to make eye contact with him again lest he see the longing in her eyes.

This was her trip to find herself again, to prove that she was as strong and capable as she hoped to be.

So off she went to file a lost luggage claim.

Like a calm, responsible adult. Not like a mid-twenty-something who wanted to throw a temper tantrum or lie down and cry . . . or better yet to lie down and sleep.

Instead, she adulted.

And hated every minute of it.