| Lauren Summers sucked the lemon juice from the jet-black polish on her nails, never once letting her green gaze stray from the foreboding figure of Jacob Kincaid. He sat on the other side of the aisle, his blue eyes closed. She grazed her teeth over her thumb, before licking it clean, and savoured the acidic citrus sliding down her throat. Picking up the little plastic cup, she then drained what was left of the gin and tonic and dropped the naked peel onto the remaining ice cubes yet to melt.
“Can I get another?” she asked when an air hostess passed by, picking up empty cups and cans, and dropping them into a black bag hanging off the end of her trolley.
“Of course,” the hostess replied with a fake smile. She took tins from the cart, snapped them open, then placed them on the cream tray in front of Lauren, along with a clean cup. “Ice and lemon?”
“Thanks,” Lauren said, peering at the man opposite. He fascinated her. He had since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him.
She’d been following the Kincaid family for weeks. Well… Nathan Trevell, actually. When he left the safety of the pack assigned to him, the Council of American Paranormal Activity had sent her to track him down. It didn’t take him long to find the youngest Kincaid boys, then follow them up to Faol Hall, hidden away in the Cairngorms of Scotland. Lauren had kept on his tail, but not closely enough. And now he was dead—killed by Tess Lowry, girlfriend of Zane Kincaid.
Unable to retrieve the magic Nathan had stolen from the witches, Lauren had thought she might be able to return to Boston, but CAPA, and her mother, had other ideas.
“Mr. Kincaid?” The air hostess gave him a genuine smile.
Lauren thought most women must smile at Jacob. He was one of those men who was perpetually brooding, with an air of mystery worn around him like a superhero’s cape. He was also incredibly attractive, with piercing blue eyes she could have drowned in, and wavy red-brown hair that fell to just above his shoulders, she wanted to run her fingers through.
Lauren caught her breath and put her hormones in check. He was just another job—nothing more. He was also a werewolf; a huge no-no. Witches and werewolves were forbidden to be friends, let alone have an intimate relationship. They were incompatible, genetically.
“Whisky,” Jacob grunted, and the woman poured another drink into a clean cup before handing it to him.
Despite their spacious business class seats, Jacob still managed to fill his with his broad frame; his body rippled with muscle a weightlifter would have envied, threatening to tear his shirt if he moved awkwardly. His strong jaw was covered in a short brown beard, a shade darker than his hair, which he had a habit of raking his fingers through when he thought.
“Would either of you like a final snack before we land?” the air hostess asked.
“No thanks,” Lauren said graciously. Jacob shook his head, and the air hostess continued down the aisle, asking the same question to other passengers.
“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Jacob grumbled, not looking at her. He picked up his drink and took a swig, hissing when the golden liquid hit the back of his throat. She’d been listening to him speak with that delicious accent for several hours now. The soft Scottish lilt of his deep tone was soothing, and she hadn’t grown bored of it. She didn’t think she ever would.
His elbow hung over the armrest, vibrating in time with the plane’s engines. They’d entered American airspace and had begun their descent.
“Tell me more about yourself.” She relaxed into her seat and adjusted the seatbelt’s buckle. Quickly, she glanced around the rest of the compartment. Were there were any other members of the paranormal community onboard—anyone she needed to be concerned about? It was part of her training to always be alert, although she figured Jacob’s heightened senses would probably identify a possible threat before she could.
“You seem to know enough already.” He pressed back into the headrest. The muscle that lined his cheekbone ticced.
“Yeah, about your company and family, but not about you. Not anything personal, anyway. We’ve been sat on each other’s laps for almost half a day, and I still don’t know anything about you.” |
