Page 27 of One Little Kiss

“Here you go, honey.” Joanna hands me a paper towel on her way by.

“It’s okay,” I shriek as the plane rocks again.

Standing suddenly, Colton reaches into the overhead bin and produces a T-shirt before anyone has a chance to yell at him.

My knuckles are turning white on the armrests, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s slipping it over my head.

“Colton?”

“Baby, I fucking love that dress, but if you don’t put this on, I’m going to be fighting a hard-on the rest of this flight.”

Embarrassment and shock have me forcing my arms through the shirt quickly. As my head ducks into the soft, gray material, I realize he’s taking care of me. Again. I catch sight of myself as the material floats into place. My thin summer dress is entirely see-through now that it’s wet.

“Oh,” is all I can think to say as my head pokes through his shirt that smells unfairly sexy.

“When you decide to show me that lacy pink bra, I want it to be your choice. Not because I’m a klutz who spilled a drink on you.”

I should be upset by his presumptuous nature, but there’s not a single part of me that is. On any other man, it would be cocky. On Colton Montgomery, it’s hot as hell.

“We’ll see, Colton. We’ll see.”

* * *

“I’ll meet you on the other side of customs, okay?” Colton sounds slightly panicked. I know he’s pissed off that we can’t go through the checkpoints together, but he has some sort of international travel pass or something and I don’t, so I had to wait in line with eight thousand other travelers.

“Okay. I’ll be fine, Colton. Seriously, I’m a big girl. I’ve traveled by myself before.” His concern is endearing, but you’d think he’ll never see me again by his expression. “Honestly. I’ll see you on the other side. Go,” I shoo him, and he reluctantly leaves me in the queue.

Definitely not Peter Pan.

* * *

It’s two hours before I get my luggage and make my way through security. Lanie wasn’t kidding that it could take a while. My heart sinks, knowing I didn’t get to say good-bye to Colton. But my mind knows it’s for the best. The more time I spent with him, the harder the inevitable end would be.

Dragging my suitcase, my head down, I smile sadly at Colton’s T-shirt I’m wearing over my dress when my phone chimes with an incoming message.

It’s about time. I’ve had no service this entire time, and I need to check in with Mom and Wes. Fishing my phone from my bag, I roll my eyes when I see Claire’s name. My frenemy since kindergarten. I’m old enough now to realize we’ve had a toxic friendship at best. I debate just erasing the message, but I notice it’s a video and curiosity wins out.

Claire: You lucky bitch! Just look at this hotness you get all to yourself for two weeks!

Claire: Video Loading.

Claire: You’re not seriously still mad about what happened with Travis, are you?

Claire: Are you seriously that selfish?

The video finally loads. It’s of a well-dressed man dancing. Or drunkenly swaying is a better word for it, I guess. He’s surrounded by women, and the man to his left is yelling something about him getting any pussy he wants. “Use ’em and lose ’em,” the pig shouts.

Why the hell is she sending this to me?I go to swipe the video away when the man in question stumbles into the camera and all the blood drains from my face.Colton.

“Mr. Westbrook,” the faceless camera operator asks, “how do you feel about being labeled a pussy magnet? The Westbrook Heartbreaker? Do you like having a different woman every night?”

Loud, masculine laughter has me pulling up short. Straight ahead is a group of men. A lot of sexy, smiling men, and Colton is in the center of them all. His eyes dart back and forth.

He’s searching for me.

That’s when I recognize Lanie Cross standing beside him and reality hits me like a tsunami. Living in Vermont, I’ve heard the tales of the Westbrook billionaires Lanie brought home with her. I don’t live in Burke Hollow, but a town that size doesn’t acquire a family of billionaires without the entire state taking notice.

He isn’t Colton Montgomery. He’s Colton Westbrook. Brother-in-law to the woman who employed me for the next two weeks.