A Touch of Crimson Read Free Page B

seat, then asked, “Do you have friends picking you up? Family?”
    No one was meeting her. She had a shuttle reserved to take her to the hotel where she’d be staying until she found a suitable apartment. “It’s not wise to share that sort of information with a stranger.”
    “So let me address the risk.” He shifted with sleek fluidity, reaching into his back pocket to grab his billfold. Withdrawing a business card, he held it out to her. “Call whoever is expecting you. Tell them who I am and how to reach me.”
    “You’re determined.” Also used to giving commands. She didn’t mind. She had a strong personality and needed the same in return, or she took the lead. Docile men were fine in certain situations, but not in her personal life.
    “I am,” he agreed, unabashed.
    Lindsay reached for the card. His fingers touched hers and electricity raced up her arm.
    His nostrils flared. He caught her hand; his fingertips teased her palm. He could have been stroking between her legs, given how aroused she became from that simple touch. He watched her with an almost tangible sexual heat, dark and intense. As if he knew what her hot buttons were . . . or was set on figuring them out.
    “I can tell you’re going to be trouble,” she murmured, tightening her grip to still his questing fingers.
    “Dinner. Conversation. I promise to behave.”
    Holding him captive, she reached for his business card with her other hand. Her blood was thrumming through her veins, roused by the excitement of such an immediate, unruly attraction. “Mitchell Aeronautics,” she read. “But you’re flying commercial?”
    “I had other plans.” His tone was wry. “But my pilot dropped out unexpectedly.”
    His pilot. Her mouth curved. “Don’t you hate when that happens?”
    “Usually . . . Then you came along.” He pulled his BlackBerry out of his pocket. “Use my phone so whoever you call will have that number, too.”
    Lindsay reluctantly released him and accepted the phone, even though she had her own. Setting her soda on the worn carpet, she stood. Adrian rose with her. He was affluent, elegant, mannered, solicitous, and drop-dead gorgeous. Yet as polished as he was, there remained a dangerous edge to him that titillated a woman’s basest instincts. Maybe the crowded terminal was provoking her sharp senses. Or maybe they just had a combustible sexual compatibility. Regardless, she wasn’t complaining.
    Leaving her pretzel bag on the chair, she moved a few feet away and dialed the number to her father’s auto shop. While she was occupied, Adrian walked to the gate counter.
    “Linds. You’re there already?”
    She was startled by the abrupt greeting. “How did you know it was me?”
    “Caller ID. It shows a 714 area code.”
    “I’m on my layover in Phoenix, using someone else’s cell phone.”
    “What’s the matter with yours? And why are you still in Phoenix?” A single parent for twenty years, Eddie Gibson had always been overprotective, which wasn’t surprising considering the horrific manner of Regina Gibson’s death.
    “My phone’s fine and I missed my connection. I’ve also met someone.” Lindsay explained the situation with Adrian and relayed the information from the business card. “I’m not worried. He just seems like the kind of guy who could use a little resistance. I don’t think he hears the word ‘no’ very often.”
    “Probably not. Mitchell is like Howard Hughes.”
    Her brows rose. “How so? Money, movies, starlets? All of the above?”
    She assessed Adrian from the back, taking advantage of the opportunity to check him out while his attention was diverted. The rear view was as impressive as the front, revealing a powerful back and a luscious ass.
    “If you sat still for more than five minutes, you might know this,” her father said.
    God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d read a magazine, and she had stopped paying for cable television years ago. She rented movies and