Holt

“Watch where you’re going.”

I quirk a brow at the man that just bumped my shoulder. He reads me correctly and mutters a half-assed apology, just as I switch my brown leather briefcase into the other hand — maybe to avoid a confrontation and maybe to get a hand free for one. It’s up to him.

The stars must align in his favor because the next thing I know, he’s scurrying to the other side of the partition separating us.

It crosses my mind, once again, that I could avoid this. I could forgo the hassle of airports altogether if I’d just wear down and buy a private jet. Oliver Mason, one of my younger brothers, keeps bringing it up, but I keep vetoing the idea. It’s not the money. It’s the pretentiousness of it all. Unless you’re flying weekly or have more money than brains, owning your own jet is a sign you need attention. It’s the more affluent version of the middle aged, balding man driving a cherry red sports car and I have no trouble getting attention without an overpriced toy.

Turning the corner, muttering to myself about how Oliver’s going to be on my case about being late, I collide head-on with another body.

“Ah!”

A flurry of gauzy fabric and long, tobacco-color hair go tumbling in front of me. My mouth falls open, probably brushing against the cheap linoleum of the breezeway, as my eyes feast on the beauty bent on one knee in front of me.

She sits up, her blue eyes in stark contrast to the dark hair that sweeps below her elbows. Her fair cheeks pink as she looks at me, running a hand through her strands as her full lips, a pale red, begin to part.

Holy. Shit.

Travelers scamper around our diversion. They’re no more than a blip on my radar. I’m solely focused on her as I try to put all of the pieces together that are laid, so beautifully, so exquisitely, in front of me.

“Let me help you up,” I offer, extending a hand.

She watches me for a long moment before lifting her delicate palm. The handful of gold bracelets encompassing a narrow wrist clamor together before she places her hand in mine. Her skin is warm and soft—so soft it almost makes me shudder. Immediately, I wonder what the rest of her feels like as I tug her gently to her sandal-clad feet.

She stands, removing her palm from mine, and smooths out the skirt. Pulling at a cord nestled between her breasts, two earbuds pop free. “I should’ve been paying attention. I know better than to listen to an audiobook in the airport.”

“Must be a damn good audiobook.” I cringe at the reply. It’s not my best line, but it’s all my brain can come up with to continue this conversation and keep her standing in front of me for a while longer.

“It’s a podcast, actually, on a recent Supreme Court Case.”

Brains and beauty? No wonder my cock is throbbing.

“Do you agree or disagree with the decision?” I ask.

Her perfectly arched brows pull together as she tries to hide a smile. “Well,” she says, pausing as if she’s unsure whether to answer this question or not. “I believe the Justices followed the Constitution and that is their job.”

“Nice non-answer,” I chuckle, watching a sparkle flicker through her irises.

“I’m an attorney. We never say too much. Or,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “most of us try not to.”

Clearing my throat and, hopefully, my head, I pick up a tube of lipstick at her feet and hand it to her. She takes it without touching me. Instead, her eyes roam over my suit, take in my watch, draw up my arm and over my chest, landing on my face. She studies me with intent. If I turned around right now, I bet she could draw a composite of me with intricate detail.

As if we’ve done this before, we turn toward the baggage claim and begin to walk. Her posture is perfect, her narrow shoulders held just so. There’s a cool elegance to her, a sophistication, a refinement that lures me in, but it’s the simplicity in her eyes that holds my attention.

“Are you in town for work?” I ask.

“No,” she scoffs. “I’m on vacation.” Her long, thin nose crinkles at the end. “For four long days.”

“You say that as if it were a death sentence.”

“I’d rather be working.” She stops in front of a wall of windows. The sunlight streams in, highlighting the red and gold tones in her hair. “My brothers arranged for this, so how could I not come?”

“That was nice of them. My brothers would’ve sent me to work and taken the vacation on their own,” I laugh.

“How many do you have?”

“Four. There’s me, Oliver, Coy, Wade, and Boone.”

“I have three and they’re a giant pain in my ass.” There’s a slight upturn to her gorgeous lips as she says the words and I find myself wondering how much of that I really believe.

“I’ll trade you,” I offer.

Our eyes lock, her grin pulling my own wider, as the throng of bodies hustling around us thickens. A thousand questions are on my lips, an itch to know more about this intriguing beauty in the middle of Savannah International Airport. Before I can figure out which way to go with this conversation, she stops moving by a set of doors.

“I apologize for running into you,” she says. “It was nice to meet you.”

“No, wait.” It’s too quick, too telling—not my style. I make fun of men for tripping over themselves like this, but it comes out before I can think. “Can I take you to dinner sometime this week?”

The question surprises me as much as it seems to surprise her, but I don’t regret it. As a matter of fact, I like the idea. A lot.

She hesitates, her response on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t let it pass. I almost think it’s on purpose, but I’m not sure if she’s fucking with me or if she has plans. Or a man.

For about a half a second, I contemplate if I care about the latter.

I don’t.

My phone buzzes in the jacket pocket of my suit and I know it’s Oliver asking me where I am. I’m never late. But I can’t even mull that over right now, not with her standing in front of me looking at me with the curiosity that’s filling every nook of my mind about her.

“Ugh,” she grimaces, taking a large step toward me as the crowd begins to fill the entire hallway connecting the concord with the baggage claim. “I’m not a big people person.”

“Me either.” I lift my briefcase and step so that my back is against the wall, giving her more room. “So, dinner? Away from all the people?”

“I don’t typically go to dinners with nameless men.”

“That’s an easy fix.” I grin. “I’m Holton Mason. My friends call me Holt. All three of them.”

She laughs, those long lashes fluttering. I fight from reaching out and brushing the stray strand of hair off her cheek, from feeling her skin on the small of her back. There may be a hundred-people swarming around us, but it may as well just be her in front of me. A circus could be clamoring down the hall, complete with elephants and man-eating tigers, and I wouldn’t notice.

“I’m not sure what my plans are, actually,” she says finally.

“Well, let’s meet up and I’ll help you make them.”

“I bet you would, Holt.”

“Ah, you used the nickname. That’s a good sign.” I wink.

“I just feel sorry that only three people like you.”

“Does that mean you’ll give me your number?”

Digging in her bag and pulling out a small notepad, she rips off the bottom of a sheet in a crisp line. She offers it to me along with a pen. “No, but you can give me yours.”

“I could text it to you.”

“And I could exit those doors and get into the car that’s waiting for me. Your call.”

My fingers wrap around the scrap of paper, glancing at her delicate fingers in the process. Visions of them gripping my cock pop immediately to mind and I have to shake them away.

“I can’t say I’ve had a woman refuse to give me her number before,” I chuckle. A part of me wants to not give her mine, just to see if she’ll bend. But when I look at her standing there, there’s a resolution in her eyes. She’s not bluffing. “But there’s a first time for everything, right?” I mutter, scratching out my digits and handing it back to her.

“Thanks.” She presses her lips together and drops the pen and paper into her bag.

“I look forward to seeing you again,” I say as she turns toward the doors.

“Nice to meet you,” she replies with no indication I will see her again and, in a split second, she disappears.

Like a damn fool, I don’t move. I just stand there and watch her, breathing in the remaining notes of her perfume. It’s a second too late before I realize I don’t even know her name.

Shoving my hand into my pocket, it nudges my phone, just as it begins to ring. Again.

“Yeah, Ollie?” I ask, my voice filled with a level of frustration equal to the pulse in my temple.

“Where the hell are you?”

“On my way.”