Oh god, I think I just had a mini orgasm.
Mr. Holt snickers at my reaction before turning his attention back to the glass of whiskey in his hand. I set my focus on the blue sky outside of my window, hoping to calm the heat in my veins. Even after inhaling numerous lung-filling gulps of air, an intense pulse of desire still rages through my body.
* * *
For the rest of my life, I’ll be eternally grateful to Mr. Holt. He once again used his irrefutable sex appeal to divert my panic that usually surfaces during landing, proving sexual endorphins can overrule fear-induced chemicals. If every flight ends up like this one, my fear of flying will soon be non-existent.
Mr. Holt remains quiet as we walk down the gangway side by side, but I feel him glancing my way on numerous occasions.
When we reach the end of the departure gate, I pivot to face him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holt.” I thrust my hand toward him in greeting.
He clasps my hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he lifts it to his mouth to press a kiss on the side of my palm.
“Until Saturday, Isabelle.”
Seriously, his voice alone is sufficient to bring my climax to fruition.
Brazenly, I nod while struggling not to scream in excitement.
With a smile, I remove my hand from his grasp and head for the departure lounge. Every step I take amplifies the pang in my chest. That notion alone is terrifying considering only four hours ago he was a stranger.
Stranger or not, I feel a bizarre kinship flourishing for the charismatic Mr. Holt.
I freeze just outside of the double frosted glass door of the departure lounge. “Don’t turn around, Isabelle; just keep walking,” I chant to myself, not wanting to be disappointed if Mr. Holt isn’t standing at the gangway, watching me.
After rolling my shoulders, I lift them high before walking through the double doors, only glancing back for the tiniest glimpse. A broad grin spreads across my face when my eyes lock with Mr. Holt, who is still lingering at the end of the gangway, tracking my every movement.
Yes!
I wave before dashing into the seating area, not missing his flirtatious wink on the way.
4
Isabelle
My sluggish eyes scan the crowd at Ravenshoe Airport in an attempt to locate Regina. After an intense two-hour flight, I'm beyond exhausted, both physically and mentally.
After inhaling a breath of fresh air, I jerk Regina’s photo out of my satchel and run my eyes over her profile, wanting to ensure I’m seeking the right person. Holding the faded Polaroid picture out in front of me, I walk through a jubilant gathering of people greeting each other, happy their loved ones have returned home or have arrived for a visit.
My eyes flick between the photo clutched in my hand and the lady standing in front of me. Scrutinizing every detail of her face, I compare it to the picture. I’m reasonably sure the person standing before me is a match for the woman in the photo. She has the same black afro hair, high, illustrious cheekbones, freckles along her nose, big brown eyes, and a broad smile. Although I’m now wondering how many decades have passed since this photo was taken?
When the lady I am appraising notices my curious glance, she cautiously strolls toward me. She is shorter than I’d expected and a little rounder, but she has a magnetizing aura.
“Isabelle Brahn?” Her dark brown eyes peer inquisitively into mine.
“Regina?”
When she smiles and nods, I squeal and curl my arms around her neck. Regina is a very dear friend of my Uncle Tobias. By dear friend, I meanclosefriend. Although Tobias would have never admit that in public.
Regina is uneased by my friendliness. I don’t mean to startle her, but I don’t often get the opportunity to meet any friends of my Uncle Tobias. I’m also known for being a little over friendly.
She pulls away from my embrace to glide her hands down the front of her crisp light blue blouse. Her eyes drift around our surroundings, making sure no one witnessed our exchange.
Satisfied no one is watching, her eyes lift to scan my features. “I don’t see the family resemblance.” Her face is void of emotion.
Smiling, I slap her forearm. With a grin, she scoops down to collect my suitcase from the ground before making a beeline for the exit. I promptly shadow her.
A broad grin stretches across my weary face when I spot her car parked in a tow-away section at the front of the departure gate doors. The red and blue lights beaming out of the rear window ensures her car will not be towed.
