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Did I imagine him the whole time?
I smirk a bit to myself.
Never had a guy so eager to get away from me before, but I guess if I were him, I’d want to lurch away from the sick girl too.
Steeling my dizzy vision, I get my bag and stumble through the aisle and off the plane.
Until now, I thought I was okay, holding it together long enough to make it out on my own.
I was wrong.
Because the second the noisy terminal hits me in the face, the migraine gnawing at the back of my brain charges to the front again.
I make it out of the gate, swaying violently, bumping into people who shout their irritation as I weave through the crowd.
Then that red flood over my eyes becomes a drowning roar.
I’m blind.
Blind, fighting for breath, and going down.
My mind feels like it’s swirling down the drain as angry red fades to bitter black.
II
NO RAIN, NO FLOWERS
(AUGUST)
I have a big damn problem in my hands.
Literally.
Considering I made it exactly three steps toward Miss Lark just in time to catch her as she fainted, and now my arms are full of a soft young woman who isn’t able to move.
When the slender blonde introduced herself on our flight, I never expected to wind up in this predicament—even with her silly-ass attempts to distract me from my work.
She’s got my full attention now.
I don’t have time for flirtatious women. It’s nothing new to me, and all they do is break my focus.
Fate’s decided I don’t get a choice right now.
This girl—Elle Lark—is alarmingly light in my arms. Trim, pale, and tangled up in me like a tree branch.
Her wispy strawberry blonde hair floats over my arm, so light and fine it wants to defy gravity rather than falling down gracefully.
What the hell did she say her health issues were again?
Headaches?
She certainly feels fragile.
Blue veins glow against thin wrists. She’s long legs and not much else, a girlish frame that would make my gaze linger if she wasn’t out cold.
Before, I thought she was young—too young for my hungry eyes—but I realize now as I look at her face that it was simply her ivory color and smallness spinning that illusion.
For someone so pale, she’s surprisingly warm against me, a living sunspot draped against my arms and chest.
