A Touch of Crimson Read Free

concourse. A low whistle of appreciation escaped her. Perhaps her luck was finally turning around. She would certainly welcome a silver lining after the day she’d been having so far. Her takeoff from Raleigh had been delayed almost an hour and she’d missed her original connection. From the looks of it, she had barely made her rebooked flight, if the number of passengers standing by the gate was any indication.
    Finishing her assessment of the crowd around her, Lindsay returned her attention to the most decadent-looking man she’d ever seen.
    He paced sinuously along the edge of the waiting area, his long jeans-clad legs maintaining a precisely controlled stride. His thick black hair was slightly overlong, framing a savagely masculine face. A cream-colored V-neck T-shirt stretched over powerfully ripped shoulders, hinting at a body worthy of completing the package.
    Lindsay pushed a lock of rain-damp hair back from her forehead and cataloged every detail. Unadulterated sex appeal—this guy had it. The kind you couldn’t fake or buy; the kind that made handsomeness a bonus.
    He moved without looking, yet unerringly avoided a man who cut through his path. His attention was occupied by a BlackBerry, his thumb rhythmically stroking over the trackpad in a way that caused places low in Lindsay’s belly to clench.
    A drop of rainwater slid down her neck. The cool, slow trickle heightened her physical awareness of the guy she was devouring with her gaze. Behind him, the view of the tarmac revealed a gloomy gray late-afternoon sky. Sheets of rain pelted the windows framing the terminal. The inclement weather was unexpected, and not just because there’d been no rain in the forecast. She always anticipated weather conditions with uncanny accuracy, but she hadn’t felt this storm coming. It had been sunny when she landed, then began pouring buckets shortly after.
    Usually, she loved rain and wouldn’t have minded having to step outside to catch the interterminal bus to her connecting flight’s gate. Today, however, there was a morose quality to the weather. A weight of melancholy, or mourning. And she was empathetic.
    As long as she could remember, the wind had spoken to her. Whether it shouted through a storm or whispered through stillness, it always conveyed its message. Not in words, but in feelings. Her dad called it her sixth sense and he went out of his way to act as if it was a cool quirk to have instead of something freakish.
    That inner radar drew her to the luscious man by her gate as much as his looks did. There was a brooding air about him that reminded her of a brewing storm gathering strength. She was strongly attracted to that quality in him . . . and to the lack of a wedding band on his finger.
    Pivoting, Lindsay faced him head-on and willed him to look at her.
    His head lifted. His gaze met hers.
    She was hit with the sensation of being buffeted by the wind, the gusts whipping through her hair. But there was none of the chill. Only heat and seductive humidity. Lindsay held his stare for an endless moment, riveted by the drawing pull of brilliant azure irises, eyes that were as tumultuous and ancient as the fury of the weather outside.
    Inhaling sharply, she turned and walked to a nearby gourmet pretzel shop, giving him the opportunity to chase her obvious interest . . . or not. She knew instinctively that he was a man who pursued.
    She reached the counter and glanced up at the menu. The smell of warm, yeasty bread and melted butter made her mouth water. The last thing she needed before sitting on her ass for another hour straight was a carbohydrate bomb like a giant pretzel. Then again, maybe the rush of serotonin would soothe nerves jangled by the sensory input from the large number of people around her.
    She ordered. “Pretzel sticks, please. With marinara sauce and a diet soda.”
    The clerk relayed the total. Lindsay dug into her purse for her wallet.
    “Allow me.”
    God . . . that voice. Tantalizingly