Irresistibly Exotic Men. Laura Iding
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was when she and Gino immigrated here forty years ago. If she can’t get to it by car or boat, she doesn’t go.”
“Oh.” She jumped as the gears clunked into place. Then he began to gently stroke her knuckles and she blinked.
“What are you doing?”
“Calming you down.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“No?” He continued, his eyes fixed on her pale face. “When were you in a limo?”
“What?” The plane sped up and she dragged in a raggedy breath, but Luke wouldn’t let her look away.
“You said the plane looked like a limousine.”
“Yes.”
He reached up and twisted the knob for the air-conditioning in the overhead panel, and when the cool air flooded down, she breathed deeply.
“A limo?” he prompted, settling in his seat.
“A bunch of us hired one to celebrate our final year of study. My first and last taste of the high liiiii—!”
The plane swooped up, his stomach quickly following, and Beth’s hand gripped his until his fingers began to throb.
He winced and ignored the pain.
Beth swallowed, knowing she was hurting him but helpless to stop. Yet past all that blood-thumping anxiety, his strong hands wrapped around hers and his deep voice murmured gentle inanities that eventually broke through her panic. Yes, she still wanted to jerk her hand away, but the desire to overcome this awful debilitating fear was greater.
She hated losing control. Yet as she kept her eyes focused on Luke, listening to him recite the plane’s capabilities and luxurious interior specifications, she felt something shift. It could’ve been the intimate warmth of skin on skin, or the sensual timbre of his voice. Or maybe it was the promising flicker behind those eyes she wasn’t quite sure she’d seen.
When he leaned in, she did, too, her gaze snagged on that sensual mouth only centimetres away. But it was his scent that made her tummy flip in a completely different way.
Lord, he smelled wonderful. She took a deep, shaky breath, just to make sure. Yes. Oh, yes. She closed her eyes. Ginger, peppermint. Hint of bergamot. And …
“Are you sniffing me, Beth?”
Her eyes sprang open, her face hot. “I … uh …”
His mouth curved. “We’re in the air, by the way.”
“What?” She yanked away and whirled to the window, heart reverberating in her throat.
“You don’t need to look.” He recaptured her hands, forcing her to turn back. “Just keep focusing on me. Just breathe. And tell me about your work.”
“My work?”
“Well, how did you get your own business? Did you go to university?”
“No.” She swallowed, allowing his eyes to command hers. “I did a course at my local college. Four years and I had my diploma in massage therapy. I—”
The plane banked right and Beth tightened her grip.
“Go on.”
She swallowed then continued faintly, “I did a few business courses, worked a bunch of jobs. And here I am.”
“Why massage therapy?”
“Because I’m good at it.” And I like the idea of taking away someone’s pain.
“Your family?”
She bit back a familiar sliver of sorrow. “None.”
His gaze softened. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “What about yours?”
“My parents died when I was fifteen.” She noticed the tightening of his expression, the tiny twitch at the corner of his jaw. “Robbery gone wrong.”
“That’s …” Sad? Awful? Terrible? Beth paused. Any word she chose was inadequate.
Luke took pity on her. “Yeah. Gino and Rosa took me in until I was eighteen.”
Beth flicked a nervous glance out the window, to the clouds floating by, then back again. “You were a gifted child, right? Graduated from a seven-year university degree at nineteen.”
He moved uncomfortably in his seat. “Yep. I’ve been working for Jackson and Blair since then.”
Despite the air-conditioning, she felt the slow trickle of sweat meander down her back, coming to rest at the base of her spine. She shifted, the heavy echo of her heartbeat drowning out the engine’s gentle drone.
After a moment or two, he said, “It’s like a roller coaster.”
“What is?”
“Flying. You start off real fast, take off and roll with the dips and turns. It’s over before you know it.”
She smiled suddenly. “I liked the Tarantula better.”
“The what?”
“You know, the ride that swoops up and down and in and out as it spins?”
Luke grinned. “Gotta say, I’ve never tried it.”
“Really? You do not know what you’re missing.”
“Tell me.”
Beth took one look at his serious expression, debated for half a second then continued.
“My mother used to take me to the annual Bathurst Show. The guy who operated the Tarantula always slowed it down in the middle of your ride and called out, ‘Do you wanna go faster?’ And of course, we all screamed, ‘Yes!’ and he’d yell back, ‘Let me see your hands!’ and then we’d wave our hands above our heads like crazy while he cranked it up, faster and faster.” She sighed. “We flew and it just stole your breath, like being out of control but in a good way …” She paused at his grin then added a little self-conscious one of her own. “Aaaand I’m rambling. Sorry.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“It was.”
They remained that way, held only by their smiles, until Beth sensed something more, something … kind of dangerous and yet somehow comforting lying just below the surface.
She stared. A shot of desire hit the pit of her stomach and spread, heating her body. His gaze slowly slid down to the swell of her bottom lip and she was too late to steel herself. Her breath stuttered out. As he continued his slow scrutiny, her skin began to tingle, an irritating yet anticipatory buzz that spread up from her legs to her belly in seconds flat.
Arousal—hot, dark and unwanted—body-slammed her, stealing her breath, eliciting a small gasp of dismay.
She dragged her hands from his and leaned away, swallowing a murmur as the plane began to descend.
“We’re nearly there,” Luke said as he pulled his phone from his jacket and began scrolling. “You did well.”
“Thanks.”
An intimate, almost tangible silence fell as the plane swooped in for a landing. Beth refused to break it. She couldn’t bear to vocalize what had nearly passed between them.
Because there was no way she was going to succumb to the charms of Luke De Rossi, simple as that.
The landing was a gut-clenching, lip-biting affair, but she managed to make it through without completely losing it. A gray limousine—one of Surfers’ most common modes of