His eyes danced with mirth. “Wow, someone must have it out for me. Think I could sue the search engine?”
“I know a good lawyer if you do.” Before she could stop it, she found herself sharing a smile with him.
Was the air cooking from the car’s heater or had the mood abruptly warmed?
Then Perdie froze still as ice when the whisper of his breath caressed the shell of her ear. “You have a little something—”
The shadow of his hand swooped in her periphery. Her skin prickled at the barely there glide of fingertips, brushing away a tendril at her temple.
“Hmm. Fleck of paper.” He held his index finger to her eye level, then circled his lips, and with a short huff, the speck fluttered away.
In response, Perdie squeezed her thighs tight as if she could lay-away the tingling sensation for when she got back home. Her vibrator was a-calling.
“Which terminal?” asked the driver.
Her eyes shot open—Jesus, when had she closed them?
“Right here.” Carter folded forward, cool as a cucumber. The shared moment vanished.
They exited the car, Perdie’s feet smarting with every step on the pavement. A painful reminder: she needed to shake this Carter guy off her back so she could dig through her hot mess of a suitcase, switch her shoes, and maybe run to the bathroom to change clothes.
Unfortunately, he was dragging her luggage with his own. Fucking polite bastard. She should tell him that she needed out of her business attire, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. A part of her wanted to maintain the illusion that she was a put-together professional woman. One who could wear heels all day without having to make a spiritual bargain with the Patron Saint of Stilettos.
Although she’d do well not to care so much.
She shouldn’t forget that Carter wasn’t just a pretty face, wasn’t merely an exceptional lawyer, but was likely a fuckboy extraordinaire, playing with her for a wee bit o’ fun. As she was older than him and less powerful, she was low-hanging fruit, waiting to be plucked. And lord knew she’d never been opposed to plucking.
Upon entrance to the terminals, Perdie mentally prepared to part ways. She didn’t want to get attached lest she become overly comfortable with the attention of such a beautiful person. Better to cut ties now. She made her way to the Arrivals and Departures monitor, intending to double-check her gate number.
Carter rolled up, wheeling both his own and her luggage. “Damn. Looks like we’re not going anywhere soon.”
Every flight out of North Dakota had been canceled.
Perdie consulted her phone: 7:37 p.m. Central Time, 8:37 p.m. on the coast. Too late to get her company’s travel agent on the line to reroute her destination. Was there any other way to flee North Dakota? Planes, trains, or automobiles? A ridiculous notion. Travel was out of the question tonight. She’d have to find a hotel somewhere and hunker down.
And her fucking shoes still hurt like hell.
“Gimme that.” She grabbed her suitcase handle. Carter’s hands shot up, clearly sensing she was at the end of her rope.
She dragged her suitcase to the hard plastic waiting chairs behind them and plunked down. With deliberation, she toed off her heels, letting them clatter to the floor one by one.
Groaning, she dropped her head back and wiggled her liberated toes in ecstasy. “That’s the ticket.”
“Ahem.”
Carter. Of course, he was still there, waiting for her. He rolled his suitcase to the chairs, then seated himself, spread out like he owned the place, hand thrown across the backrest beside her.
Her spine straightened at his nearness, but then she leaned over to gingerly unzip the front pocket of her carry-on. She reached inside for the flats but they were smushed beneath her toiletry bag. Hmm, this was going to be tricky without opening the entire pouch, revealing the mess inside—she’d packed in haste that morning. And okay, fine, she was messy.
She gripped the heels of the shoes, a little finesse would jiggle them out and—
The shoes emerged from the bag, flinging a small silver object along with them. The object hit the tile with a hollow clink and as if magnetized to expensive Prada, rolled directly to the tip of Carter Leplan’s loafers.
Her vibrator.
“Oh no!” She clambered onto her sore feet, pulling down her hiked-up skirt and coat, before slipping two wobbly steps—nylon and tile were not a great mix—and floundering like a baby lamb squarely onto Carter’s lap.
She landed with an ummph.
As if reflexively, Carter caught her waist, holding her steady. “Jesus, you okay?”
She stilled in shock but her heart raced, chest rising and falling. And yet his body beneath her was...very comfortable. Warm, hard...big. Heat remained high on her cheeks. “No, I’ve passed away. From humiliation.”
Carter’s grip softened.
She twisted to see his face. “You saw, didn’t you?”
He smiled softly. “No idea what you’re talking about. I don’t see a vibrator anywhere.”
Despite the moment, she let out a miserable chuckle. “Don’t judge me.”
“Light blackmail, perhaps?”
“It’s just a vibra—You know what? Doesn’t matter. We’re adults. I’m a grown woman.”
“That—” he shifted weight uncomfortably, his voice strained “—you are.”
“Oh, ah. Right.” It dawned on her that she should really move. In fact, she really should’ve done so minutes ago. What’s the holdup, P?
