Over the next two hours, she works on my entire body, even my hands and feet. When she's done, another woman enters the dimly lit treatment room to give me a manicure and pedicure, while a third lady carries out a facial. Then, just when I think I can't get any more relaxed, I'm rudely brought back to reality by a small Chinese woman who gives me a full leg wax and a very thorough Brazilian.
Despite the pain, I'm glad everything is neat and tidy for my time with Liam. There's nothing like being completely hairless to make a girl feel like rubbing herself all over her man.
When my flight is called, I'm so high on endorphins, I feel drunk. Maybe that's why I walk out of the lounge straight into the path of a poor, unsuspecting man striding past the doorway. I squeal as we collide, and even though he drops his backpack in an effort to keep us upright, when it becomes clear gravity intends to make us her bitch, he gallantly twists, so he takes the brunt of the impact.
He grunts as his back hits the floor, and half a second later I fall heavily onto his abdomen and somehow manage to jerk my knee into his groin.
"Fuck me!" He turns onto his side and cups his man parts. "Oh, fuuuuck meeeee."
"I'm sorry!" I scramble off him and pat his shoulder in sympathy. "I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry."
He pushes out a tight breath between his teeth. "S'okay. I'm fine." He grunts again and rolls to the other side. "I didn't want to have children anyway. I hear they're overrated. Messy. Loud. Very expensive."
He curls up into a sitting position, and once he catches his breath, he holds out his hand. "I'm Scott, by the way. And I assume you're a hurricane in human form."
I shake his hand and laugh. "That's me. But you can call me Elissa."
"Painful to meet you, Elissa."
He squeezes my hand, and I'm little uncomfortable with how openly he's flirting. Doesn't he know I'm with the world's most amazing man and therefore have no need to flirt ever again?
Oblivious to my indifference, he keeps a hold of my hand as he stands and helps me up. After I get my purse and he grabs his backpack, we turn back to each other.
"So, where are you jetting off to, Hurricane Elissa? Some unsuspecting island nation that won't recover for months?"
"Uh, good question. I'm not exactly sure. I'm flying to Brazil, but after that, I have no clue. My travel plans are a better guarded secret than Area 51."
"So, either you really trust your travel agent, or someone made the travel arrangements for you."
"That second thing. My fiancée, actually."
He grips his chest. "Oh. Ouch. And here I was thinking I had a really cool story to tell our future children about how I met their mother."
I give him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry."
"It's okay," he says with a shrug. "I'm used to all the cool women who knock me over in airport being unavailable. Story of my life." He drops his head and smiles. "I'm also headed to Brazil. I'd say I'll see you on the plane, but ..." he points to the first class lounge, "seems like your fiancée has you with the cool kids at the front of the bus. I'll be slumming it at the back." He gives me a wry smile. "Anyway, I'd better go. I have some cheap alcohol to stock up on before we leave. Maybe I'll see you on the other side."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"Goodbye, Hurricane Elissa. Happy travels to you." He holds out his hand again, and I shake it.
"Bye, Scott. It was nice meeting you."
With a wave, he strides off in the direction of the duty-free stores, and I saunter toward the departure gate.
FIVE
He Sees You When You're Sleeping
It's a truth universally acknowledged that once you fly first class, you're forever ruined for any other type of travel. This was my first experience sitting at the front of the plane, and I couldn't believe that during my ten-hour flight I feasted on gourmet food, slept in a bed complete with designer sheets, and even had a shower. All while soaring thousands of feet above the earth.
Incredible.
When I book flights for myself, I always travel economy, because I can't justify the outrageous expense of business or first class. Of course, Liam has no such qualms. No wonder he always looks happy and refreshed after he travels.
When I get off the plane, I briefly see Scott in the immigration line looking exhausted and more than a little miserable. Ah, the curse of economy. He gives me a solemn wave as I pass, and I wave back. Then I lose sight of him.
After collecting my luggage and heading through customs, I find a good-looking silver-haired man in a collared shirt and slacks holding a sign that reads, "Miss Elissa Holt."
"Hello?"
His face lights up. "Miss Holt! Hello. You're even more beautiful than the picture Mr. Quinn sent. My name is Luis. Please, let me take your suitcase."
He takes control of my luggage and leads me outside to where a slick town car is waiting.
"Luis, how long until we get to our destination?"
"Oh, not long, if the wind is kind to us."
"Wind?"
He nods sagely.
"Don't suppose you can tell me anything about where we're going?"
"I'm afraid not. Mr. Quinn was specific about it being a surprise."
I sigh and close my eyes. "I hate surprises."
???