Spider

He clears his throat. “Look, I’m sorry about holding up the line earlier . . . with Betty and the flight attendant.”

I shrug. “I’m sorry for being so grouchy. Flying makes me weird.”

“So we can start over?”

I nod, already over it since he sat down, and he smiles, an earnest expression growing on his face. “Since we’re talking music, what did you think of my guitar solo on the song “Superhero”? Did you like the mink coat? It was fake, by the way. I’d never wear a real fur.”

I grow warm, remembering flashes of his well-endowed package in a pair of leopard print bikini underwear as he strutted around in the long fur coat, an outfit he put on just for that song. Only someone with massive amounts of confidence could have worn that ensemble. “If your goal was for women to throw their panties at you—it worked.”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’m hard to resist, but you never know. I like to get serious opinions.”

I roll my eyes at his hard to resist comment, and he laughs.

He takes off his jacket and stretches out his long legs, and his scent drifts in my direction, cedar mixed with the smell of leather. It makes me a little giddy.

We’re sitting incredibly close, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I’m staring at him. He’s just so different with the tattoos and blue hair. My eyes keep sneaking peeks over at him and taking mental notes. I study the word LOST tattooed on his left knuckles.

“You got a name?” he asks a few moments later as he settles his head back against his headrest.

“Primrose, but everyone calls me Rose.”

“Nice. I fancy Rose . . . it’s old-fashioned, but pretty.” He smiles and it hits me straight in the heart . . . devilish, charming, and disarming all at once. His eyes drift lazily over my face, his gaze landing on my mouth and not budging.

My heart skips a beat, and I swallow.

Fact: if men stare at your mouth, they want to kiss you—or you have really bad teeth.

Thanks to Anne, mine are perfectly straight.

But before I can formulate a reply to his comment, everything inside me freezes as the plane begins its taxi down the airstrip.

Spider

WE RACE DOWN THE AIRSTRIP and lift into the air, the pressure making my ears pop. I glance over at Rose and see she’s clutching the sides of her seat, her face deathly pale as we rise in altitude.

“You okay?” I ask softly, frowning at the loss of color in her cheeks.

She does an all-over body shiver, her throat moving as she swallows. “I hate flying—and storms. Plus, the window seat makes me queasy.”

Shit. If I had known, I would have switched with her earlier. “You can have my seat once we get leveled out.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay, I’m settled in now . . . just really cold.”

I hate that she’s cold. Once we get to cruising altitude and can unbuckle our seat belts, I signal to the nearby flight attendant to bring us a blanket.

Heidi brings the blanket, and I hand it to Rose.

“Thank you.” She takes it, our hands briefly touching.

“That flight attendant likes you,” she says, her eyes watching as Heidi sashays off. “She hasn’t taken her eyes off of you since you boarded.”

“She’s not the one I want to like me,” I murmur. It’s rather abrupt and to the point, but I always say what I mean. Why waste time? I want Rose.

I watch her to gauge her reaction.

“Oh.” A blush rises up her face as she busies herself by trying to make the short blanket cover her legs and chest area. I see right away that it’s not going to work.

“Here, I have an idea.” I reach under my seat, pull out my jacket, and arrange it over her torso. I lean over her to adjust it, hitching it up on her shoulder, as I cover her up.

She smiles softly and thanks me, making me blush—which is so weird.

I clear my throat. “I have to warn you though . . . this is my favorite jacket. Girls don’t usually get to wear it, so you’re pretty special. No drooling if you fall asleep, okay?”

She bites her lower lip, the one I can’t stop looking at. “If I drool does that mean I get to keep it?”

“Depends.”

“On what?” she says, and her voice has lowered.

“On what you’re willing to do to get it.”

Another silence fills the air between us as we stare at each other, but it’s not weird or uncomfortable. It’s hot and electric.

She breaks the tension by laughing. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to, so I guess you can keep it.”

I laugh.

Damn. She isn’t going to make this easy for me.

Feeling a bit flustered by her, I glance down at the Kindle she stuffed in the seat. With all our talk earlier and her fear of flying, I nearly forgot about it. I nudge my head at her Kindle and clear my throat. “I saw what you were reading. If you want to learn how to make a man fall in love with you, I can offer some advice.”

She cocks her head. “Really? I hope it doesn’t involve me wearing leopard print bikinis and mink coats.”

“Touché.”

She smirks, looking pleased, and it makes me want to kiss her.

“Who’s the guy you’re reading this for?”

She stiffens. “There’s no guy.”

“Un-uh. There’s always a guy.”

She sighs. “Okay, maybe there is a guy, but my cousin Marge actually bought this book.”

“This dude, he isn’t into you?”

“He’s into a lot of girls, most of them popular—and I’m not.”

Rose deserves a nice guy. I don’t know how I know this, but I just do. “Maybe you should play hard to get.”

“I don’t play games.”

“Ah, a girl after my own heart.” I study her flawless skin, taking in the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks. Her long hair is twisted up in some kind of knot with wavy tendrils hanging around her face, and I picture how she’d look with it falling over her shoulders, caressing her naked tits . . .

She rearranges her blanket and her scent hits me, honey and vanilla mingled together. It’s intoxicating, and I laugh off an odd nervousness, fighting the urge to press my nose against her neck and inhale.

Weird, Spider.

She clears her throat. “If I want something, I go after it.”

“Maybe you should focus on someone else.” Like me, Mr. Next to You On The Plane Who Wants to Fuck You.

She shrugs. “Maybe. He is hot.”

Anger flares in my gut. I’m jealous. How . . . bloody silly.

“Is he as hot as I am?” I curl my arm, tightening my bicep for her.

She half-snorts. “You’re charming, I’ll give you that. No wonder poor Betty fell for it.”

“Seriously though . . . is he?” I want to know—I need to know.

She stares at me, seeing that I’m serious. Her gaze lingers on my tattoos. “He’s . . . different from you, more conservative.” She waves her hands around. “He plays sports. You play guitar.”

“Ah.” At least now I know her type.

“Is the book working for you?” I ask.

“Haven’t tried it.”

“Then practice on me. Use some of those wiles from the book. Let me be your guinea pig, and I’ll tell you if you suck.”

Her eyes widen. You know that rich green color the ocean gets after a storm blows in? That’s the color of her eyes. I lean in closer, taking in the gold around the inner parts of her irises. My finger touches the pout of her bottom lip. “How do you make a guy fall, Rose?” I murmur softly. “Tell me.”