“Isabelle.” My lips also curve into a smile.
His handsome face is contorted with strictness, but his remorseful eyes give away his genuine concern.
“I don’t think you’re concussed, but you need to ice it as a bump is already forming.” His minty breath fans my hungry mouth.
I lick my dry lips before replying, “I’m fine, really.”Totally embarrassed, but fine nonetheless.
A gold cufflink becomes exposed on the crisp white sleeve of his business shirt when he abruptly stands then holds out his hand. His brow cocks, wordlessly requesting for me to accept his gesture. I swallow a lump in my throat before accepting his well-manicured, yet still manly hand.
After clasping one hand around mine, his other snatches my satchel from the chair. He grips my hand firm enough to indicate his superiority, but not tight enough to cause pain to my wrist still throbbing from my tumble. His strides are so long and fast, I have to jog to keep up with him.
When he arrives at the frosted door of the first class business lounge, I dig my heels into the carpet, lessening his quick pace. When he stops and turns, the air sucks from my lungs from the sheer closeness of his striking face. Most people would feel threatened by his complex gaze, but my body heightens with anticipation.
He tilts his head, his brow cocking again. If I hadn’t heard him talk earlier, I'd assume he is a mute.
“I can’t go in there.” I gesture my free hand to the luxurious business lounge.
My voice sounds so weak, I almost roll my eyes at my dimness. Yes, this guy standing before me is. . .entrancing, but I’ve had plenty of eye-catching men in my life, and my composure is usually more. . .composed. But this mysterious stranger has me flabbergasted like a teenage girl meeting a member of One Direction.
"I'm underdressed.” My eyes dart down to my Juicy Couture-covered thighs. This time, my voice sounds more how it usually would. Friendly, without sounding like a total pushover.
I suck in my stomach and roll my shoulders when his eyes leisurely scan my body. When his gaze returns to my face, a smile tugs his lips higher. “You look perfectly fine.”
Unsure of a reply, I return his smile. His eyes snap to my lips for the quickest second before he recommences his quick strides to the business class lounge.
“Mr. Holt,” the doorman greets him without so much of a sideways glance in my direction.
So my mysterious companion’s surname is Holt.I like it. It is direct and stern but edgy—just like its owner.
When we arrive at a countertop bar so well polished I can see my reflection in it, Mr. Holt releases his grip on my hand. An squeal escapes my lips when he lifts me to sit on a high-backed bar stool. His effortless lift makes it seem as if I am as light as a feather.
He snags a midnight black napkin from the countertop before leaning over the bar. The material of his suit strains against his back, allowing me a glimpse of a spectacular and firm backside. Flipping open a cooler flap nestled in the bar, he removes a handful of ice. My eyes shoot to the bartender, who isn’t batting an eyelid at Mr. Holt assisting himself to their supplies.
He wraps the cubes of ice in the napkin, then raises it to my throbbing eye. “Hold that.” His voice is more chilling to my body than the ice.
Leaning back over the counter, he snags two crystal decanters from a wired rack before signaling for the bartender. Mr. Holt must be a regular at this establishment because the bartender doesn’t ask what drink he would like. He just grabs a bottle of whiskey from the glass shelves behind the bar and sets it in front of Mr. Holt without a word escaping his lips.
Mr. Holt dips his chin in thanks while pouring two generous nips of whiskey into the glasses. He hands one to me.
“It will help with your headache,” he explains to my shocked expression.
He raises his glass to his mouth and downs the shot of whiskey without a snick of hesitation. My mouth becomes parched from the sensual way he swallows the flaming liquid so effortlessly.
When his tongue darts out to remove the remnants of liquor from his lips, a pulse of desire surges through my body.
Grabbing the glass off the countertop, I drink the generous helping in one hit, needing something to sooth the dryness of my mouth. I grimace, hating the harshness of the whiskey that makes my throat feel like it is on fire. My chest warms as the liquor slides into my gut.
I slam the glass onto the countertop as my watering eyes lift to Mr. Holt.
“Another?” he questions, amused.
Not giving me the chance of a reply, he fills my glass with another large nip before sliding it across the ebony counter. Due to the overgenerous serving, whiskey splashes over the rim and lands onto the glistening countertop. I lift my eyes to his, which are glaring into mine. His expression is neutral, even with his lips curved.
I cock my eyebrow, mimicking his earlier expression. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Holt?”
“Would it make it easier to get into your panties?” he quips back.
The veins in my neck strum as my pulse quickens.
