“No problem.” I throw her a little wink and watch her turn on a dime, walking away. Her retreat leaves me with a hot view of red shoes, long legs, and a fine ass with the perfect wiggle.
Reality hits me as I adjust myself below the belt. I’m thinking about my uncle’s soon-to-be bride. I should feel ashamed, but the feeling doesn’t come. Instead, I can’t wait until she’s back by my side. I want to see the blue of her eyes and her angel-like hair again. I want to stare at her red heels and imagine dirty things.
Yeah, this whole scenario is fucked up beyond belief. If I’m going to be living in the same house as Harlow for the next four weeks, I better get my shit together—fast.
Chapter Six
Harlow
I arrive at the Rochester Airport and realize I’m cutting it close. Sinclair’s plane lands in five minutes. Crap. I begin walking briskly toward the terminal in my new red heels. I’m sure I look ridiculous run-walking dressed like I am, but I want to be on time.
We’ll never find each other if—wait, how the hell am I supposed to know who he is?
James’ annoyance threw him into a fit and he forgot to give me even a vague description. I don’t know the color of his hair. How tall he is. Maybe he’s blond like James? I have no idea.
Once inside the airport terminal, I spot an empty, white Dunkin’ Donuts sack discarded on a seat. I grab the sack, pull a black pen out of my bag, and write in big letters:
SINCLAIR ELLIOTT
Next, I check the terminal arrival screens, see his plane has landed, and fan myself with the sack. My rush to meet Sinclair at the security gate has left me flushed.
Standing at the end of the long ramp, I watch several groups of people walk by. Families arriving to visit loved ones and business people returning from their long week away from home. I haven’t seen anyone Sinclair’s age, around twenty-three, so I keep the sack down for now.
In the distance, I notice a lone man, tall with dark brown hair. He progresses down the ramp in long, graceful strides while adjusting his computer bag. Walking with a purpose, he holds his head high, looking straight ahead, owning the space around him.
I observe the defined muscles of his legs as they flex and ripple beneath his tight, dark jeans. His fitted black T-shirt stretches painfully across his wide shoulders, appearing like a second skin. The label “drop dead gorgeous” wraps around him from head to toe.
As he moves closer to me, my heart beats faster and an unfamiliar sensation courses through my body. I have a desire to meet him, find out more about this man. I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. No matter how hard I try, my eyes won’t leave his god-like form.
He is magnetic and masculine. I’ve never seen a man like him in Rochester.
I stand there like a zombie, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. When he lasers in on me, our eyes lock. He is this intense, dark type of beautiful. He is like hot and tempting sin.
Wait! He is Sin.
I’m not sure how I know it, but I am certain I’ve found Sinclair Elliott. Though … he resembles a Minnesota Viking football player more than a soon-to-be med student.
I hold up the sack with his name on it. With our eyes still fixed on each other, I place it beside my face. He breaks our stare and looks at my hands.
An amused smile forms on his lips as he saunters my way. I forget to breathe, or think, when he stops in front of me. He holds out his hand and tries to introduce himself, but the man towering over me has my heart racing.
He introduces himself as Sinclair and I mumble back a weak greeting. His eyes are a mesmerizing color, brown mixed with flecks of gold.
Lowering my head, I try to hide the embarrassing shades of red I’ve turned. I take a deep breath to regain my composure, raise my chin, and reach my hand out for the welcoming handshake. I want to touch this beautiful man.
After placing my hand in his, he brings mine to his full lips and gently kisses my knuckles. Each small kiss ignites a fire in places I felt would forever be dormant. My knees buckle, but I fight the urge to sway under his heady gaze. Reluctantly, I pull away, my hand still tingling from his touch.
My name rolls off his tongue and I imagine him saying it slower, moaning it with pleasure in my ear. My face burns hot with shame. I shouldn’t be thinking of him like this, shouldn’t be reacting this way.
What’s wrong with me? I have never had an immediate fascination with any man, and he’s the nephew of the man I’m marrying.
Sinclair expresses his concern over my skin’s new shade of crimson, I’m sure. He must think I’m crazy. Time to regroup and get myself together.
I search for the closest restroom. Thankfully, there’s one a few steps away. I ask him to excuse me for a few minutes and he smiles down at me. I almost collapse under the weight of his hypnotizing eyes.