The knowledge she is on her period should alter my plan of attack, but what can I say, success doesn’t come to those who back down. She has sparked my interest. Is it more than a mutual attraction? I don’t know, but since I have the means to find out, I don’t need to summarize. I can fact-check.
In an endeavor to show her I’m not the arrogant prick my smirk has been portraying the past two minutes, I bob down to gather up her belongings. Since she’s just as eager to collect her things, our mutual swan dive causes our heads to knock together.
I curse out loud. “Fuck.”
Her swear word is seen in her eyes when her hand shoots up to caress her head.
I thought I’ve been single for the past six years by choice. I had no clue it was because my dating skills are as rusty as the many cabs lining the departure gates of this airport.
While the mysterious stranger makes her way to the plastic chairs stretching from one end of JFK to the other, I gather up her belongings as I tried to earlier. Once I have them placed back into a satchel that should be burned since it’s so hideously ugly, I join her at the side of the bustling terminal. My stalk across the room doesn’t go unnoticed. Not only is the almost ravened-haired beauty eyeing my arrogant strut, so are several other female admirers. My father forever encouraged me to dress for success. I started listening to him when I realized the ladies appreciate it even more than the men I was wheeling and dealing with.
After placing her satchel onto the empty seat beside her, I pinch the pleat in my trousers and drop down so we’re eye to eye. My closeness allows me to take in her features with more diligence. Her looks are enchanting, and her scent has me under a trance in less than a second.
“Are you okay?” I drag my teeth over my lower lip to hide my smirk at her response to my voice. Some may say she’s shuddering like she would if she was beneath me. I’m not so inclined to agree. Her response to my deep tone has merely scratched the tip off the iceberg. She’ll do more than quiver when she’s beneath me. I’ll ruin her for any other man.
When she nods, assuring me she is fine, I run my finger across the angry red bump already forming above her brow. Her response to my touch is even more invigorating than the one she released after hearing me talk for the first time. It has me not wanting to take my hands off her. Alas, even someone as self-assured as me has to act unaffected while crouched in front of a stranger.
After holding two fingers in the air, I ask, “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Her smile makes her even more attractive. It almost feels like a reward, like my chivalry is already reaping benefits. “Two.”
Struggling not to smile as wide as she is, I continue my paramedic ruse. Raquel would be proud some of her skills have rubbed off on me. She’s not a paramedic, just an up-and-coming surgical prodigy who’s taken a couple of weeks off to have a baby. “What’s your name?”
Like it could get any bigger, her smile grows. “Isabelle.”
It is clear she is finding my endeavor to act gentlemanly as humorous as Hugo would if he were here. Although I’m popular with the ladies, I’m not once I’ve had my fill. There aren’t many women willing to accept a one-night stand, and the handful who are usually change their mind once the deed has been done.
I’m not bragging. I am merely being honest.
Once I’ve returned Isabelle’s stare long enough I’m certain she isn’t concussed, I say,“I don’t think you have a concussion, but you need to ice it as a bump is already forming.”
She shoos away my worry with the quickest wave of her hand. “I’m fine, really.”
Not a man who takes no for an answer, I stand to my feet before holding out my hand for Isabelle. Some of the biggest investments I’ve made in the past four years were ones I was told I would never get. You must thrive for what you want, and for some unknown reason, I want Isabelle, and not just in my bed. I want to unearth why she’s sparked such a fierce fascination out of me. She’s beautiful, but there’s more to her than her pouty lips and tempting body. I’m so confident about my assessment, I’d swear on my nonna’s grave, and that isn’t something I do lightly.
When Isabelle places her hand in mine, albeit a little more hesitantly than I would have hoped, I snatch up her satchel before making a beeline for the bar/restaurant that caters for business-class clients at JFK. It is a privately run establishment branched outside of the airport industry, and I am its owner.
Although I dabble in the occasional foreign trades on the stock market, clubs, bars, nightclubs, and real estate are my go-to investments. They’ve netted me a lot of funds the past fewyears, and my establishments are dotted across the globe.
My brutal pace slows a few steps away from the frosted glass door when Isabelle takes more steps back than she does forward. We share the same air when I abruptly crank my neck to face her. She is so exquisite up close, I exhale a rushed breath that she promptly gobbles up.
When I arch a brow, wordlessly demanding an explanation for her tug on the reins, she waves the hand I’m not clutching to the bar. “I can’t go in there.”
The many ways I can kill a man with my bare hands enter my mind when I attempt to work out the reason behind her rejection. She could be one of those wives who refuse to wear a ring. Or maybe the soft cock she’s dating hasn’t stepped up to the plate yet and asked her to marry him. Whatever it is, her excuse will be null and void within days of her blurting it out, if not hours. Whether business or personal, I don’t join any game I do not intend to win. I signed up for this battle the instant I peered down at Isabelle sprawled on the floor, and I intend to come away with the championship trophy.
My ego gets checked when Isabelle murmurs, “I’m underdressed.”
I have no reason to consider her objection. Half the people surrounding her are dressed worse than her, but since it gives me an excuse to drink in her curves without portraying a pervert, I go for it.
It is an entertaining thirty or so seconds, only growing more appealing when I return my eyes to Isabelle’s face and say matter-of-factly, “You look perfectly fine.”
Her smile is every man’s undoing. I guarantee it without a doubt. There’s only one thing that will trump it, but since it is unkosher to kiss a stranger, I’ll have to seek proof for that at a later stage. For now, I recommence my quick strides to the business-class lounge, smirking a greeting to the doorman when he welcomes me by name. I rarely use this airstrip. I prefer less-occupied locations to take off, but I’m a very hands-on businessman. If I own it, you can feel my trademark all over it. Even something as simple as an airport bar has a risky, seductive edge.
The empty wrappers in Isabelle’s satchel make sense when I lift her to sit on one of the many empty high-backed barstools nestled around the bar. Her breath is more chocolatey than minty. I’m disappointed there isn’t as many clientele seated around the bar as I would like, but with the hour being close to dinner, it makes sense. Not everyone considers a glass of whiskey the equivalent to steak and vegetables.
After ensuring Isabelle is comfortably seated, I snatch up a napkin at my side, fill it with ice cubes, then press it to the welt on her forehead. “Hold that.”
Once she has everything under control, I lean back over the counter to gather two crystal glasses from a wire rack before signaling Jamie to bring me a bottle of top-shelf whiskey. Although amused at my impromptu medical station, he does as requested quickly. He’s used to seeing me with a woman on my arm, he just isn’t accustomed to me fussing over her like I am Isabelle. Furthermore, the women I usually date are blonde.
