Page 36 of Wicked Heat

“And I was an ass.” Shit, she looked like a cornered rabbit. “I’m so sorry. Blame it on the open bar.”

“Totally,” she’s said, the color coming back to her face. “Open bars are such troublemakers. Damn your frequent flyer perks.”

He wanted to flog himself, but there was never a whip around when you needed one. “So, we’re okay? Because if I⁠—”

“We’re fine.” Her voice was end-of-discussion firm. “The judges have ruled, and it turns out forehead kisses are not only appropriate but also common among friends. I shouldn’t have jumped out of my skin.”

He wanted to say something else. Something witty that would erase the awkwardness. “If the judges say so,” was the best he could do.

“Totally. Completely by the book.” She straightened her bag, then cocked her head. “I’ll just, you know, head on out. And, um, I guess I’ll see you the next time you’re in LA. Thanks again for the lift and the peek into high society. “She reached for his hand, then squeezed it. “Despite the Morning of Maggie, this turned out to be a good day, Ashton Stone. Thanks.”

“A very, very good day,” he agreed.

Then she gave him one final smile before leaving the lounge with her purse and her carry-on.

But she left him the box of cookies.

Four Months Ago—Bree (at the airport)

As far as I’m concerned, rolling suitcases are the greatest invention of all time, far surpassing not only fire (more discovery than invention, but who’s counting?) but also waterproof mascara and buy-one-get-one-free sales.

I’m clutching the extended handle of my rolling bag in one hand, my purse is snug on top, and I’m strolling along like I don’t have a care in the world.

That, of course, is an illusion. Right now, I’m totally weighed down with care.

And what I’m caring about is Ash.

Caring about. Worrying about.

Thinking about.

Yeah, I’m thinking about him far too much. So much that it had taken all of my willpower to decline his offer to walk with me. Honestly, I’m not sure where that resolve came from. Some reservoir of strength I didn’t even know I had, I guess. Because the truth is, sitting there with him in the lounge, sipping our drinks and talking about nothing and everything, was one of the best times I’ve had in a long time.

I’m not sure if that makes him an interesting raconteur or me a very easy audience. All I know for certain is that I had to get out of there. Because if I hadn’t, that silent, throbbing thing growing between us might have ended up going somewhere. And I really don’t want it to.

Liar.

Except I’m not. I’m not a liar at all. I don’t want his kisses. I don’t want his touch. I don’t want to close my eyes and feel his fingertips on my naked skin.

I don’t… and I do.

But it’s don’t that’s going to win. It’ll win because it has to.

Thankfully, I’ve reached my gate, and that puts an end to the Circle of Ash Angst that’s going round-and-round in my head. I check the monitor, thrilled to see that we should be boarding in half-an-hour. Then I take a seat and pull out the book I’d grabbed for the trip. I’m two chapters into an Eve Dallas mystery, when I hear the people around me start shuffling and muttering. Since that’s never a good sign, I glance up at the monitor, then groan as a voice over the PA announces what I’ve just learned: the flight’s been canceled.

Well, shit.

Like everyone else, I get up and stand in line, hoping that they’ll be able to put me on another flight or at least get me out in the morning.

As a rule, airports are not super fun places for waiting. They’re even worse when you’re waiting in line. I spend the time bouncing from foot to foot, irritating the people standing near me, and poking around on my phone as I try to find out for myself if there’s any other way I can get to Manhattan today.

From what I can see, there’s not.

Apparently, I have picked the most popular day in the entire year to travel. Ironic, since there’s literally nothing special about today. Except that it’s the day I want to travel on.

Two hours and many chapters into my book later, I finally reach the help desk. The woman behind it looks almost as frazzled as I feel, but her smile is genuine. “We’re so sorry for the delay. Rest assured that we’re going to get everyone to their destinations. Is your final destination New York?”

“Yes,” I say. The flight terminates at New York, but it has a stop somewhere in the middle of the country along the way. I don’t even remember where.