“I bet you’ve never even had a dog.” I smile, softening the words as I study his profile, tracing the lines of a face that’s flawlessly heartbreaking. It’s hard to stay annoyed with someone so damned gorgeous.
He chuckles as he eases into the space and sits down. “I did, a huge mastiff named Noodles. My sister and I used to ride him like a pony, and he loved every minute of it.” He buckles his seat belt and I find myself watching his long fingers, noticing how elegant they are. I recall how those very fingers strummed his guitar the night before. I can’t help but imagine them on my skin as warmth settles throughout everything below my navel.
Get a grip, Rose. He’s too old for you.
“I’m not sure I can trust a thing you say after the lies you told Betty,” I say.
He shrugs. “True story. The sad part is my father sold him along with our estate when we moved to the US. I often wonder what happened to the big lug.”
Estate? He must be rich.
“What brought you to the US? Music?” I’m curious about what makes him tick.
Something flashes beneath the controlled expression of nonchalance he wears, and I stare at him intensely, trying to catch the minute shift in his emotions. He lets out a sigh as his fingers tap nervously on his thighs. “My father wanted out of London, kind of like a fresh start for us.”
Interesting. I’m itching to ask him why the fresh start, but common sense tells me it’s too personal.
“Noodles is a cute name. There must be a story there?”
A quick grin ghosts over his face. “When he was a pup, he’d never beg for scraps. Father had him trained by a puppy school so he knew how to behave, but if Cook ever served a Bolognese sauce with spaghetti—all bets were off. No admonishing or collar zapping would make him stop barking until you put a few in his bowl.” He tosses his head back and laughs. “So, we changed his name to Noodles. Much better than Bertram, am I right?” His gaze slides to me, amusement making the hard lines of his face soft.
No man has the right to be that freaking hot.
I swallow, feeling all of seventeen and completely out of my element. “Yeah. Totally.”
My usually adept vocabulary is sadly missing.
“You got pets?” he asks as his eyes linger on my face. “I bet you’re a cat person.”
“Why would you say that?”
He smirks. “You’re a little prickly . . . like a cat with an attitude.”
Oh. The way he says the word cat, like he likes it, makes me feel . . . fluttery. “I love all animals, but I live on campus at the moment.” The student dorms are a recent thing for me since Anne married and then promptly left for a month long honeymoon. I insisted I would be okay at their house in Highland Park until they returned, but she was adamant that I move into school housing where there was some supervision. Since Anne is on the school board, the administration agreed to let me move in until graduation.
“Ah, a college girl.”
I lie—or at least, I don’t correct him. I nod and clear my throat as I change the topic. “Your band was amazing last night.”
“Thank you. What song was your favorite?”
I loved all of their music, but a few stood out, especially a slow ballad called “Albatross” where Spider sang and played guitar. “The one about the guy lost at sea and all alone.” I pause, feeling self-conscious as I think about the underlying theme of the song and how I related to it. “It was a retelling of the poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, right?”
He nods, looking thoughtful as he cocks his head and studies me. “Not everyone catches that.”
I shrug. “I love literature and music. The song . . . it was about carrying your burdens around your neck? Did you write it?”
He blinks at me. “Yes to both. You’re pretty astute.” He gets quiet, and I can tell I touched a nerve. It’s clear he doesn’t want to get too deep.
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.