Mr. Holt arches his brow, making me realize I said my last statement out loud, instead of in my head.
“Are you on your period, Isabelle?” he questions blatantly.
“What?” My voice is barely a whisper.
Although his disrespectful question has credit, I'm too embarrassed to articulate a better response. His captivating allure has so entranced me, I forgot I am smack-bang in the middle of red week.
Seeing the forlorn look on my face, Mr. Holt mutters, “That’s what I thought. There is no way I’ll only be able to sample half of you, Isabelle. I want to tasteallof you.”
Oh god.
My pulse intensifies when his eyes rigorously assess my body. Once his appraisal is finished, he makes his way out of the restroom even hastier than he arrived.
* * *
After gathering the minute smidge of dignity I have left, I exit the bathroom and head back to my seat. The flight attendant's eyes narrow as I walk by. I don't refute her accusation. My flushed face alone warrants her allegation.
Mr. Holt’s gaze strays from his crystal glass when he notices me approaching. His gorgeous lips curve into a seductive smirk that has my insides purring like a kitten.
“Isabelle.” His one word is a ravishing roar.
"Mr. Holt.” I hurry past him to take my seat.
I strive to keep my focus on the brilliant blue sky outside my window, but my quintessential need to know everything gnaws at my insides until I eventually blurt out, “How did you know I was on my period?”
His lips brace the rim of his whiskey glass before his eyes turn to mine. “Other than the fact your Kindle was open on a sappy Mills and Boons romance book and the two empty chocolate wrappers in your satchel, the tampons were the biggest indication.”
A smile tugs at my lips when his face morphs into unease from saying “tampons” out loud.
“They could have been my emergency stash.”
He shakes his head. “Like guys who carry condoms in their wallet?”
When I nod, he alters his position to lean closer to me. “Any guy who tells you he is carrying a condom in his wallet in case of an emergency is full of shit. We only put a condom in our wallet with the full intention of using it the night we put it in there.”
“So, let me guess, the first thing you do when you wake up is place a condom in your wallet?”
He chuckles an intensely scrumptious laugh that awakens my core. “Not every morning,” he answers with a sassy wink. “Just every second morning.”
Ignoring the bitter taste in my throat, I continue my interrogation. “Did you put a condom in your wallet this morning?”
Before he can answer me, a cough sounds from above. Raising my gaze, I'm confronted with the slit eyes of the flight attendant.
Ignoring her, Mr. Holt's entrancing eyes never once leave mine. “No, I didn’t. Why do you think it took me so long to join you in the bathroom?” His reply is loud enough for the flight attendant to hear.
Once she has finished serving him his glass of whiskey, I whisper, “So even if I weren't on my period, we wouldn’t have done anything?”
A dash of excitement melds through me when he leans in close to my side. His whiskey-laced breath flutters my lips when he motions his head to an overweight gentleman seated in seat 3A. The formally dressed man has a white napkin tucked in the front of his ivory business shirt. Oblivious to Mr. Holt's and my intense appraisal, he continues munching on a marinated chicken drumstick.
“He’ll need to replenish his wallet before he goes on the prowl tonight.”
My jaw drops as my blemished cheeks darken. “You didn’t. . . you wouldn’t. . . you can’t ask someone to borrow a condom, can you?”
I’m rambling, but I’d never have the audacity to ask someone to borrow a condom. Although Mr. Holt doesn’t lack confidence, I’m still astounded he was bold enough to do that.
“I’m joking, Isabelle,” he admits a short time later.
My breathing shallows when he leans in intimately close to my neck. “You would have just had to ride me bareback.”
