Chapter Three
An hour after we took off, I was back in the airport lounge. Alone. I had shuffled down the aisle behind Beck and the other passengers, but somewhere between the plane and the lounge, I had lost him. Not that I'd expected him to stay with me. But as I took a seat on the hard plastic chair, I kind of wished he was there.
The moment the panel ripped off kept replaying in slow motion through my mind. I couldn't remember ever being so scared or believing that I was going to die.
And thoughts of death brought back memories of my mum and dad…stepdad. No. Dad. He'd always been my dad; he'd raised me as his own. Even if I had found a birth certificate that said otherwise. And again, I wondered if they had ever planned on telling me the truth.
But once I'd found my birth certificate buried in my mum's office files, the questions kept coming. Who was my biological dad? Why had I never met him? Or had I but just didn't know? Did he know about me? Those questions were why I was sitting in the airport waiting to see if I'd be on another flight to Malta any time soon.
“Here, I thought you could use a little something.”
At the sound of Beck's voice, I looked up as he held out a takeaway coffee cup. He glanced around the lounge over his shoulder before he squatted in front of me.
“There's a shot of brandy in it to help with the shock.”
His serious look disappeared as he gave me a full, cheeky smile. The one he'd given me when he'd caught me eyeing him up on the plane. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago already. His lips parted, revealing white teeth that glinted under the overhead lights. And he had the sexiest dimples on either side of his mouth. I needed something, all right.
Taking the offered cup, I gave him an answering smile. “Thanks. Where did you even get it from?” There was nothing in the lounge apart from rows of blue plastic chairs fastened to the floor, a vending machine in the corner that sold snacks, and another selling books. Along with lots of unhappy looking passengers slumped in the chairs scattered around the lounge. Luggage littered the aisles.
A pang of guilt hit me. Had I made too much of a fuss? All these people had plans. Plans that didn't involve spending the night in the airport.
“I have my ways.” He laughed and gave me a wink.
I shook my head. I bet he did. That grin alone was probably enough to get him most things he wanted. With a fluid grace, he stood then sprawled himself across the chair next to me. Thigh pressed against mine. One arm slung around the back of my seat as he glanced around at the rest of the passengers. The warmth of his arm burned through the thin cotton of my shirt. Made the skin along my neck tingle at the heat of it.
Was he this friendly with everyone? Clearly he had no issue with personal space—judging by the fact that he was all up in mine. Not that I was complaining. Not in the slightest. The spicy scent of his cologne wrapped around me, and my shoulders lowered as I sank back against the hard chair and Beck's equally hard arm.
“So…what's waiting in Malta for you?”
My shoulders tensed again at the thought of explaining my convoluted reasons for flying to Malta. Oh, nothing much. Just found my birth certificate that showed my dad was actually my stepdad. Thought I'd fly to Malta to track down my biological father who didn't know I was going. Or possibly that I even existed.
Aaaand when I put it like that I sounded a little crazy even to myself. Instead, I shook my head and a long piece of my black fringe fell loose from my ponytail.
“Okay. Must be more exciting than me flying out to see my parents for a week.”
My stomach did a little flip at his words. Wished that was my reason for going. That I knew I'd be welcomed with open arms to spend a week relaxing with my parents. But that could never happen, and I had no idea what I would find if I ever got to Malta.
“Excitement is overrated,” I said, turning to smile at him to take the sting out of my words. I took a sip of the brandy-laced coffee and grimaced. It was hot and strong. Hard liquor and I weren't friends. “Thanks for this. And again, I'm sorry I freaked out on you on the plane.”
“It's okay. Everyone's scared of something. A lot of people are scared of flying. Makes more sense than being scared of the sea. Well, not so much the sea but the shoreline.”
Twisting around in my seat to place the paper cup on the floor, I glanced up to see he was serious. No way was a man like him scared of the shore. He had to be at least six foot if our half a foot in height difference was anything to go by. And with those muscles I didn't think he'd have any trouble looking after himself. He didn't look like he spent hours in the gym, but he had enough definition to suggest he wasn't a stranger to one.
I had to be dreaming because this guy was gorgeous…and sweet. Sharing his fears to ease mine. “How can you be scared of the shoreline?”
His lip twitched up to flash one of those dimples at me. “Like I said, everyone's scared of something. It's stupid, irrational. But when I was a kid, my parents took me on holiday to Spain. I loved the sea and was playing around near the beach, jumping the waves when I fell over. Another wave hit before I could climb to my feet, and it was like I didn't know which way was up. It didn't help that I swallowed a mouthful of sea either. My dad dragged me out onto the beach as I coughed up a lung, and my mum had to clean up my leg where I'd scraped it on shells or pebbles.” He shrugged. “I told you it was stupid because I'm fine out in open water.”
His gaze swept the room before returning to mine. “So, are you going to share some embarrassing childhood story to make me feel better?”
Smiling, I shook my head. “I think my near hysteria on the plane was embarrassment enough for one day.”
He let out a chuckle. “You weren't that bad.”
He eyed my hands folded together in my lap before looking over my crossed legs. My whole body warmed under his scrutiny and maybe that kind of excitement wasn't overrated. Or maybe they had dumped part of my sanity along with the fuel on the plane. Because I didn't do…whatever we were doing. Didn't flirt with men I barely knew—if that's what this was. But as his tongue snuck out and licked across his bottom lip, the image of my tongue following that same path—biting that lip—ran through my mind. I shook my head, trying to stop the direction my thoughts were heading.
I might not have wanted to share an embarrassing story, but I did have something else I could share. Leaning down to reach into my handbag on the floor, I grabbed the Tupperware box from inside. I'd packed a sandwich and snacks in case I got hungry on the flight to avoid having to eat the airline food. Removed the lid and pulled out the tinfoil-wrapped brownies I'd baked. Peeling back the tinfoil, I offered one to Beck.
“Oh, those smell delicious. I'm starving.”
I smiled at his enthusiasm. That kind of reaction to my baking was another reason I loved it so much. It was more than making a treat or something to fill your stomach. My cakes could cheer people up after a bad day. Invoke childhood memories of baking with family or celebrations of happy times.
Beck wrapped his long fingers around the piece on top and lifted it towards his mouth. Moaned around the bite he took. A moan that had me preening, head tilting towards him as I ran the silky length of my ponytail through my hand.
“Oh God, that tastes divine. Almost a shame to eat it when it looks like a piece of art. You have to tell me where you bought these from.”
Those words brought a satisfied smile to my face. I may have got slightly carried away decorating them with white chocolate finely drizzled over the top in a criss-cross pattern. Milk, white, and dark chilli-infused chocolate grated curls along the edges, but it had been fun. “Sorry, but you can't buy them. I made them.” Beck's eyebrows rose as his lips wrapped around the brownie to take another bite. His tongue darted out to catch a crumb, and I had to stop my tongue from mirroring his movement.
“Seriously, you made these?” I nodded. “Okay, you need to be selling them because they are the best brownies I've ever tasted.”
I was sure he was exaggerating but still, his words made me sit a little taller and had my chin lifting. He popped the rest of it into his mouth and licked his fingers clean.
“Can I have another?”
I offered the package out to him. “Of course.” As he took a bite, he eyed me speculatively.
“So, no boyfriend waiting at home or in Malta for you then?”
My gaze flicked to his, then quickly away. No way was a guy that looked like him interested in me. Not that it mattered if he was. We were stuck in the middle of an airport surrounded by dozens of people. And hopefully getting back on a plane soon before I lost my nerve and headed home instead. But then I'd never find out who my biological dad was.
“No. No boyfriend waiting anywhere for me.” I snuck a quick glance at his left hand resting on his thigh, but his fingers were bare. “What about you? I mean girlfriend. No girlfriend?”
His lips slowly lifted into that cheeky grin I liked far too much already as he shook his head.
“No, no boyfriend waiting for me. Or girlfriend for that matter.”
My cheeks probably matched the colour of my crimson shirt, but I was saved from embarrassing myself further when a woman dressed in the blue airline uniform stopped in front of us.
“Hi. Ooh, those look delicious. Sorry, I'm letting everyone know that we can't get another plane here tonight, so the flight's been cancelled. If you report to our customer service desk out in the main building, they can help you reclaim your luggage and get you booked on another flight tomorrow. And if you need accommodation for the night, they'll explain how you can claim the cost back.”
I groaned and she gave me a rueful smile.
“I know. We're sorry, but there's nothing else we can do.”
She wandered off to speak to the other passengers, and I checked my watch. Great, it was almost midnight. By the time I found my luggage and sorted out a new flight, it would be ridiculously early in the morning. And it would take at least an hour for me to get home depending on how long I'd have to wait for a taxi at that time of the morning.
“Have you got luggage checked in?”
Beck's question stopped my petulant musings. “Yeah. Have you?”
He held out his arm. “Yes. Let's go track it down and sort out another flight.”
I stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment before I grasped hold of it. Gently, he pulled me to my feet.
This was quickly becoming one of the most bizarre nights of my life. But I grabbed my bag and followed him out of the lounge anyway.