Sitting on a plane, possibly thinking about you (and not dying) too x
Three and a half hours later, Dred stood in the Toronto airport wearing a gray hat pulled low over his forehead. He looked down at his phone, shoulders hunched, in a feeble attempt to fade into the background. Periodically, he’d look up to check the board, and his heart sped up a little when he saw that Pixie’s flight had landed.
At his feet were two cups of Tim Hortons coffee, a double-double for him, white for her, and a bag containing his favorite honey cruller donuts.
The doors opened, and Pixie walked out pulling a bright purple carry-on. He saw her before she found him. Yeah. With sparkling eyes and a bounce to her step, excitement emanated from her. When had he last felt that outside of performing, that genuine, heartfelt optimism? Wanting to draw out the moment of anticipation a little longer, he waited for her to find him. Looking at Pixie’s figure in that fitted sweater dress and open leather jacket made his balls tighten. The smile that broke out across her face when she finally saw him lit up the terminal.
With a squeal, she let go of the case handle, and threw her arms around his waist. “I’m in Canada. And I’m alive. I feel like I should kiss the floor like the Pope does or something.”
Dred laughed and wrapped her in his arms, savoring the feeling of her pressed up against him. He sighed, enjoying the vibration he felt when they were together. Some couples felt a sense of peace, but he felt the hum of potential. Of something . . . more. “It’s good to see you, Pix.” He kissed the top of her head. That lovely shock of deep purple hair. He wondered what color her hair was naturally. So many things they didn’t know about each other. Banking all worries of recording, and DNA tests, and timelines, Dred stood and held her, turning from side to side gently as he took comfort from her very presence. Pixie moved with him, her head buried against his chest.
The exterior doors slid open and an icy blast filtered through, piercing them with its sharp fingers. Pixie shivered as she looked up at him. “I feel like I survived the plane ride but I think Canada’s lame-ass attempt at spring might kill me.”
Christ, those eyes. And those ruby lips that had KISS ME written all over them. Dred lowered his head to hers.
“I told you, I’ll keep you warm, Pix,” he murmured before pressing his mouth to hers.
Her lips were soft, and she tasted of peppermint. He threaded his fingers through her hair. The way her body fit up against his was sweeter than a two-part harmony. Lust gripped him with a fervor he’d never felt before. He couldn’t get enough of her, his hands wanted to be everywhere at once. This wasn’t a kiss. Kisses in his world were fleeting moments of enjoyment, a temporary distraction. But this. Her mouth opened against his and his tongue danced, fucking danced, with hers. It was honey crullers, an epic song lyric, and the Leafs winning the Stanley Cup all rolled up into one erotic package.
His hand tightened around her, holding her indecently close. When she moaned into his mouth, he came undone. Her hands crept up under his T-shirt, her smooth fingertips cool against his skin. An airport cart wheeled by and beeped.
Shit. They were still at the airport. Struggling to regain his composure, he ran his nose along Pixie’s jaw to her ear.
Fuck all the people going by him in a whirl. Fuck the group of tourists laughing as they walked by. And fuck the Greater Toronto Airport Authority for building the airport so far away from his fucking bed.
Chapter Seven
Holy shit. Between that kiss, and the freezing cold air they walked out into, Pixie was breathless. Any worries about their reunion being awkward were washed away by Dred’s glorious lips. Unfortunately, they were immediately replaced with worries that he would expect so much more from her while she was here. And more was the problem. Or it had been.
Pixie stopped to look up and watched the flakes swirl toward her and whip around her head. “Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes,” she muttered to herself with a smile.
“You okay, Pix?” Dred asked, coffee in one hand, her case in the other. The sight of him, tall and brooding in black, carrying a small purple carry-on made her laugh.
“It’s the first time I’ve seen this much snow.” It was beautiful, and bitingly cold. She shivered and took a sip of hot coffee.
“We don’t normally have this much in April. Here.” Dred stopped as they reached the shelter of the multistory lot, put the case on the ground by the pay station, and took off his thick coat.
“What are you doing?”
He bundled it around her, taking care not to spill the coffee, and she immediately felt the warmth. “There. Was worried you were going to bite your own tongue off the way those teeth were rattling.”