Page 25 of Loched in Love

He’s missed years, and no one mentioned he’d been stuck for that long.

I start to ask him how he’s taking being around this much stimulation so well, but catch the sharp frown between his brows and the stiffness in his broad shoulders. My gaze follows where he’s staring at a lone couple who are acting as if they’re alone in their bedroom and not in a packed airport in the middle of the afternoon. The woman’s face is flushed as the man presses kisses along her neck, and I glance around and notice more than a few people are watching the display as if it’s live pay-per-view.

Realizing I’m gawking, I turn away and my gaze clashes with Lachlan’s. “Since we’re going to be spending quite some time together, do you have a boyfriend?” The usual teasing demeanor he has is washed away, leaving only sincerity in its place, and his gaze searches mine in earnest.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

As if by light switch, he goes back to his affable self. His form visibly relaxes as he nods. “Good. Now, why are the colors of this place so drab? You’d think they’d paint the walls in cheery colors to invite guests to travel,” he says, shaking his dark red mane of hair.

Our group is called the first set of travelers to board the flight and my gaze travels up his wide back and shoulders watching as he charms the airline agent and hands her our tickets we grabbed earlier. She blushes up at him, barely offering me a glance as she takes them and lets us make our way to the plane.

“How are you taking all this so well?” I ask as soon as we’re out of earshot of anyone.

“All of what?”

“This.” I gesture at the line of people behind us at the dark hall enclosure leading us into the plane, basically everything.

He chuckles and loops an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me to him in a display of affection as we walk along the gray carpeted pathway.

“I’ve had months of Whitley and Connor readying me for humans, but I’ve no worries. We’re going to be just fine, my flower.”

And with this ridiculous line, he kisses the top of my head and sends my heartbeat racing just as we reach the open plane door.

“Welcome to Comfort Airlines,” the smiling flight attendant says in a way of greeting, her blonde hair tied up at the back of her head in a tight bun.

“Hello,” I reply.

I step over the small threshold onto the plane and glance over the rows of blue and gray seats. The first few rows of blue seats are a bit larger and do have inches more in leg room, but I doubt it makes much difference to Lachlan. He’s gonna be cramped up for most of the ride. Ouf.

Realizing we may be a bit smooshed for the next few hours, I sigh and make my way to our row before wedging myself into my assigned seat and wait for him to climb in beside me, still reeling from his endearment.

“What sort of plane is this?” he asks, standing in the middle of the aisle, hand on the handle of both suitcases that are rolling along behind him.

He glances around and looks more agitated by the second as the aisle begins to crowd with people behind him.

“What? It’s a commercial plane. Sometimes the seating is a bit small, but it’s a really short flight to London. What’s wrong?”

“Are you comfortable?”

His gaze is on my thick hips and where the arm of the chair is already digging into my side, leaving an imprint that will likely be red and raw by the time we reach Great Britain. Flights are never comfortable though for a curvy girl like myself. “Well, no. Can you come sit down so everyone can get on?” I ask.

An older man in thick glasses throws a nasty look my way and sighs before clearing his throat. The plane passengers are becoming more disgruntled by the second.

“Out of the chair, lass,” he says, motioning for me to get to my feet.

When I can’t get up easily, having to unwedge myself from underneath the armrest, his lip curls.

“Nope, we’re not riding in this piss pot shaped like a biscuit can. It’s unsafe,” he utters.

“We can’t just get off the plane,” I whisper-hiss at him as he helps me to my feet easily.

“Nonsense,” he utters.

Quicker than I know what’s happening, he grabs hold of my hand and starts walking, using our luggage as a shield to push his way back to the front of the plane.

“What the hell are you doing?” someone shouts.

He walks us a few seats forward toward the cockpit even as curses, expletives, and yelling starts from the multitude of people trying to board the plane, and my mouth drops open for the third time today.