In The Arms Of The Sheikh. Sophie Weston

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СКАЧАТЬ to carry concealed, but no, I did not bring a gun.”

      “Good.” That was reassuring. She didn’t want to be detained and body probed by TSA at any point on this trip. That was not the kind of probing she’d had in mind at all. “You do know this is all totally ridiculous, right? My boyfriend is being overly protective.” Ian had never been like that in the past, but it was warming her girl bits now, she had to admit.

      Hunter gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. Lord, the man was attractive. If she were single, she’d want a piece of that. He was the very definition of tall, dark and handsome. Smoking hot. Like five-alarm, sweet and spicy Texas barbecue hot. Finger-licking good.

      He must hit the gym every day, because the man had muscles that were no accident. He’d gotten those biceps by sweating, hard. Melanie began to perspire just picturing it, which was startling and completely inappropriate. She wasn’t normally one who went for bulked-up manly men, but Hunter’s physique paired with that suit was quite a winning combination. His jaw was strong, his eyes an intriguing shade of green. Not that fake contact-lens green you sometimes saw, but a true mossy shade, with flecks of gold.

      Yes, the man had been whacked with a sexy stick, and she could appreciate looking without wanting to touch.

      Too bad he had zero personality.

      And why did she care anyway? She had a boyfriend. A distracted, moody boyfriend, who had stuck her with this hunk of hotness for the next twelve-plus hours. It was nice to know Ian trusted her, she supposed. She wasn’t sure she would have if their positions were reversed. But then again, he had no reason to be insecure. Melanie frequently worried that maybe she was more into Ian than he was into her. That was a thought she quickly banished, though.

      “If you say so,” Hunter told her.

      What was that supposed to mean?

      He glanced down at his phone, then gestured to their right. “This is our gate. Perfect timing. We’re boarding.”

      “Okay.” She started to veer off in the direction of the restroom for a preflight potty break, but squawked when Hunter grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.

      “Where are you going?” he asked.

      Melanie blinked up at him, giving a pointed glance down at his hand, still holding her arm. “To use the toilet,” she said bluntly, hoping that would make him back off.

      It didn’t.

      “You can go on the plane,” he told her.

      “You think someone would buy a plane ticket to get past security just so they could assault me in the ladies’ room?”

      “I wouldn’t rule it out.”

      “Then you live in a sad little world,” she told him. But she obediently got into the boarding line with him. Once Ian arrived in Cancún, there would be none of this nonsense. They were going to hole up in their hotel suite and bang like bunnies, Hunter nowhere in sight.

      She hoped anyway. Things hadn’t been stellar in the bunny-banging department lately. Or any department, for that matter. It was worrisome. She wasn’t ready to pack it in on her relationship with Ian, even if he was often distracted. Even if it had to be a secret. That would be like admitting defeat, and she didn’t do defeat, even when she felt defeated.

      Fifteen minutes later she was settled in her seat next to her stony-faced bodyguard. A bodyguard. It made her feel pretentious and ridiculous. Not to mention somewhat like a prisoner. While she struggled to stuff her very large purse under the seat in front of her, Hunter sat and watched. She could feel his eyes on her as she heaved and hoed, her blond hair falling in her eyes. When she finally sat back up, he just silently handed her an envelope.

      “What is this?” she asked, confused yet again.

      “I don’t know. I was told to give it to you once the cabin door closed.”

      A wisp of fear slithered up her spine. That sounded sketchy, but she instantly dismissed the thought. The envelope was the kind that greeting cards came in. Maybe it was a romantic note from Ian, a gesture to make up for his complete failure to understand how important this vacation was to her.

      Turning her back slightly on Hunter so he couldn’t read over her shoulder, she opened the envelope and pulled out a card. Not a pretty vellum paper card, but the cards they used at the office to send personal notes. It was one of Ian’s mass nudes depicting a dozen people in a tree. Decidedly less promising. She recognized Ian’s handwriting inside.

      Dear Melanie,

      I think we both know this isn’t working. To delay the inevitable in Cancún doesn’t make any sense. We’ve had a good run but it’s time to move on, and consciously uncouple. Enjoy the beach, and I’ll see you at work when you get back.

      Best,

      Ian

      Melanie read it three times, her heart racing as she tried to convince herself there was another meaning to it. But there wasn’t. Ian was breaking up with her. On work stationery. After putting her on a plane with a bodyguard.

      “Oh, my God,” she said before she could stop herself. She grappled for her seat belt, unbuckling it. “I have to go.” She couldn’t sit here; she couldn’t go to Mexico. She needed to get off this plane, away from all these people. She needed to breathe deeply somewhere in private, getting control of her emotions. After she tracked down Ian in Concourse B and asked him how he could be so damn insensitive as to dump her in a Dear Melanie letter.

      Then punched him in the no-nos.

      This couldn’t be happening.

      “What are you doing?” Hunter asked her. “We’re about to take off. Put your seat belt back on.”

      “I have to get off this plane,” she insisted.

      “Are you sick? Afraid of flying?”

      She shook her head, panicking, unable to speak. Ian had purposely waited until she was trapped on board so she couldn’t even discuss it with him. It was mind-blowing and insulting and vomit inducing.

      Hunter’s hand settled on the back of her neck, big and warm, gently urging her head forward toward the seat-back tray. “Breathe,” he commanded. “Take a deep breath, nice and slow. You’re okay.”

      He had a deep voice, smooth. It commanded obedience, so she did as he said, sucking in a lungful of air and letting it back out through her nose.

      “Again,” he said.

      After a few breaths, she felt marginally better. And like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry.”

      The plane was backing up off the tarmac and heading for the runway. She was going to Mexico whether she wanted to or not.

      “Don’t apologize. A lot of people are afraid of flying.” His hand massaged the back of her neck. “Are you okay?”

      She nodded and sat up again, hoping he’d take his hand off her. While it felt good to have him kneading the knots out of her neck, she was acutely aware of how unfitting it was. He got the hint and dropped his hand. Bracing herself, she turned to look СКАЧАТЬ