Neanderthal Seeks Human (Knitting in the City #1)(44)
Author: Penny Reid

She nodded, “Sure do, hun. The head is at the back of the plane.” I smiled my thanks and stood to walk toward the back when I came face to face- or, rather- chest to chest with a solid man wall.

“Oh, sorry-“ I backed up a step and grabbed the seat to maintain my balance, my eyes automatically lifting to the face of the barrier.

I immediately regretted the movement when my gaze met that of Quinn McHotpants Sullivan’s.

By the power of Thor!

CHAPTER 17

His hands reached out to my upper arms, presumably to steady me, and we stood looking at each other for a long minute; me gaping, him steadily watching me with an impassive mask and fiery blue eyes. He was even more devastatingly and unfairly handsome than I remembered. It didn’t help that he was wearing a nicely, obviously custom, cut black suit and white shirt and a stunning blue silk tie.

I was the first to break the gaze.

I stepped back and out of his grip, letting my attention drop to the navy carpet, and unnecessarily fiddled with my glasses. I mostly succeeded gathering my wits, finding it helped to focus on how annoyed I was that, once again, the man’s mere presence turned me into a complete flustering kerfuffle.

Abruptly I thrust my hand forward in an offer to shake his hand, “Mr. Sullivan. It’s very nice to see you again.” I glanced up at him as he fit his hand into mine, ignoring how nice his skin felt against mine and that stupid- yes, stupid because it was inconvenient and my vocabulary was suffering due to his mere presence- stupid shock of something like delightful pain when we touched. I tried to give him a professional, firm handshake.

“Ms. Morris.” Even though I felt a small twist of sadness at the formalness of his greeting, his voice sent little shivers down my back and I was further set off kilter. His eyes moved over me in the same open, plain assessment that he always seemed to employ: lips, neck, shoulders, lower.

Our hands hung suspended between us, no longer moving, and I battled to keep myself from turning completely scarlet under his attention. I didn’t move to withdraw nor did I have any desire to break the contact. I felt certain this man had no idea what he did to me just by looking at me and holding my hand. For a split second I imagined that hand elsewhere on my body and I lost the battle against my blush.

I tried to cover my heated embarrassment and, as usual, started speaking without thinking, “This is a nice plane you have here.” his eyes lifted to mine abruptly, “I don’t know much about corporate or private jets. It seems like fuel efficiency is a real problem though as planes are just about the least fuel efficient means of transportation-“

Quinn tipped his head to the side, arresting my attention with his intense stare, “Are you saying you’d prefer to drive to Las Vegas?”

“Well trains can be very nice. Maybe you should invest in a corporate train. There was a study conducted by AEA Technology between a Eurostar train and airline journeys between London and Paris, which demonstrated the trains emitting 10 times less CO2, on average per traveler, than planes. Don’t forget, trains also have sleeping cars for… sleeping.”

Quinn’s mouth curved in an almost non-existent smile, the shade of his eyes seemed to darken, “Planes can have beds too. Maybe I could have one installed on this plane for the next time we travel.”

“How would you decide who gets the bed and who has to sit in a seat?” I blinked at him.

He opened his mouth as though to respond but then suddenly shut it and withdrew his hand from mine, frowning at me, “Good point.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled my attention away from Quinn; Olivia Merchant and Carlos Davies were standing to the side of us, watching our exchange. Carlos gave me a small smile, his eyes narrowed and moved between Quinn and me; but Olivia, who had been the one to clear her throat, was frowning. I hadn’t noticed them approach. In fact, I hadn’t noticed anything but Quinn from the moment I collided into his chest.

“Excuse us, Janie. We’re trying to get through to our seats.” Olivia motioned with her hand toward the empty seats across from Steven and me.

“Oh, sorry.” I stepped to the other side to let them pass then ducked around Quinn, careful to avoid further eye or physical contact, as I sprinted toward the bathroom at the back of the plane.

Once in the safety of the onboard toilet I let my head thump against the wall behind me and glanced at myself in the mirror. I admit it; I am not above talking to myself in the mirror. In fact, I do it quite often. The image I found looking back at me was covered with splotchy red patches, the remains of an impressive blush, and a grim expression.

I wanted- no, I needed to find some way to turn off my intense involuntary reaction to Quinn. He’d only been gone one week and it was like all the progress toward comfort and ease in his presence had dissipated; I was acting like a ridiculous impious teenager.

My boss.

The Boss.

I groaned.

I took a couple of deep breaths and attempted to calm the momentous beating of my heart. Why was it that I felt so painfully self-aware? Was it that I now fully understood how off limits he was? How wretchedly doomed I was to live in the state of perpetual unrequitedness? To my utter despair his presence seemed to make the invisible box in my head explode instantly upon eye contact, scattering the once neatly folded thoughts and feelings all over my pretend closet of calm.

It wasn’t just his physical superiority, not any more. Undeniably, as demonstrated during our initial elevator encounter, the magnificence of his features seemed to render me painfully inept at normal conversation. Now I knew him. I now had memories attached to him: the way he titled his head when he listened, the sound of his voice, the sound of his laugh, his ready responses to my hypothetical questions, how he teased me, the touch of his fingers brushing my hair over my shoulders, the heat of his gaze moving over my body, what his chest looked like after a shower.

The last thought made me groan again as a new tidal wave of tingling embarrassment rushed from my stomach to the tips of my fingers.

I glanced around the small bathroom and wondered how much longer I could remain without raising suspicions as to the state of my physical or mental health. It was the second time in two months I’d considered taking up residence in a bathroom stall. I glanced at my watch; we were scheduled to depart in less than ten minutes. I needed to pull myself together.

I closed my eyes and I went through the normal coping exercises of folding up my reckless feelings but they all seemed to take the shape of black and red lacy lingerie. Frustrated, I bit my bottom lip, hard, and resolved to wash my hands, hoping if I could focus on something as simple as washing and drying my hands I might make it through the next four hours on Quinn Sullivan’s private jet.

I took one more significant breath then exited the safe confines of the toilet stall, smoothing my hands over my thighs. I approached the front of the plane, walking with measured steps, trying to look unconcerned and like a normal, capable, confident human being instead of the awkwardly big headed Neanderthal that I was.

I nearly ran back to the bathroom when I saw that Carlos had taken the seat I previously occupied, next to Steven, and Quinn was seated opposite Carlos; this left one vacancy in the four-seat cluster, the one next to Quinn. I swallowed with effort and hesitated. The men hadn’t yet noticed me. My eyes moved over the cabin and fell on the back of Olivia’s head; she was by herself in the adjacent cluster. The seat across from her might as well have been labeled ‘Janie’s best option.’

Making up my mind I closed the distance and moved to take my best option but Steven- damn Steven!- foiled my plan.

“Janie, no- sit here-” he motioned to the seat next to Quinn, “Olivia will take notes. Mr. Sullivan needs you to review the latest invoices. I was also just telling him about your thoughts on managing Guard Security’s expenditures using the billable tracking software.”

“Oh. Ok.” I looked from Steven’s smile to Olivia’s frown which, if possible, seemed to deepen as I slipped into the seat next to Quinn. I didn’t, however, look at Quinn. I didn’t look at him even as I explained the purpose of the software, how I’d come across the open source project when I was in graduate school, how I’d used it as an effective way to track time spent on tasks and assign effort to each task.

The plane taxied and took off. Steven’s encouraging grin, Carlos’s warm brown eyes, and even Olivia’s somewhat hostile stare settled my nerves. When I finished explaining how the system could be tailored to improve the efficiency and profitability of billings and collections over the current time-only based system I was almost calm.

“Based on historical data, I ran an analysis which, even though highly hypothetical, demonstrates that we could increase revenues even in the short term. Carlos, will you please hand me my iPad? I think it’s under your seat.” I shifted and pointed to my bag.

“Sure thing.” Carlos leaned forward to extract my case.

“It’s an interesting idea.” Quinn’s voice sounded thoughtful and I sensed him shift next to me, leaning closer as I opened the iPad to the bulleted list I prepared on the impact of implementing the software.

“We won’t be able to use the open source product but we could have our team develop something similar in house.” Carlos commented.