British Black Sheep - Lauren Smith Page 0,5
to be nice.”
“I’m teasing. Please, do tell me what brings you to London.”
“I’m a ghostwriter.” She nudged the edge of her backpack under the seat with a toe of her brown boot.
“A ghostwriter? What do you write?”
“Mostly nonfiction. I work with people who have lived amazing lives, gone on incredible journeys, or made incredible discoveries. But they don’t always have natural writing talent. When they work with me, I bring magic and structure to their stories.”
“It sounds like you enjoy your job,” he mused as he twisted his champagne glass by the stem.
“I do.” She looked up at him, her confidence returning. “What do you do? Oh wait, I bet I can guess.” She twisted in her seat to eye him critically and tilted her head slightly as she held her drink.
“Oh? And what am I then?” He set his glass down on his tray and crossed his arms, offering her his most charming smile, the one that made even married women consider hiding their wedding rings.
“You are…” She squinted one eye, and the adorable expression on her face almost made him laugh. “An investment banker.”
“Bravo!” He leaned toward her a little, closing the distance between them. “What gave me away?”
She rested her chin on her hand as they stared at each other, only a few inches apart. A spark traveled between them and damned if he wasn’t tempted to close the distance and kiss this stranger. He’d had sex a few times on a plane but that was only for fun when there was a thrill. And for some reason this woman, the opposite of his usual tastes, was thrilling the hell out of him. He usually dated tall leggy blondes who looked like they came right off the runway, and she was the opposite of all that.
He was completely fascinated with Brie’s soft, natural appearance and the playful relaxed way she interacted with him. There was a hint of sexual interest from her; he could see it every time her blue eyes swept down his body, but she wasn’t trying to lure him in or catch him. If anything, he sensed she was fighting to keep her distance.
“What gave you away?” she repeated softly, drawing out her explanation in a way that tantalized him. He had to admit he liked her voice. It wasn’t husky and low, nor was it high and girlish. It had hints of energetic delight, yet it was tempered by a soft sensual note. Forget writing books, the woman should narrate them.
“Yes, tell me, what revealed my job?”
“Expensive leather briefcase…” She squinted one eye again as though peering through a microscope. “Your perfectly tailored suit, that haircut—”
He reached up to drag his hands through his hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he demanded.
She giggled, the effects of the champagne were starting to show. “Nothing,” she replied with wide, guileless eyes that didn’t fool him one bit.
“Then what did you mean?”
She gestured vaguely at his head. “You know.”
“No, darling. I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” He rather liked his hair. To think that it might be… what was he thinking? His hair was just fine.
“It has that whole overly perfect look to it,” she explained and took another drink of her champagne, emptying the flute.
“It’s not overly styled.” He took his time each morning to get the look just right. It wasn’t overdone. He was certain of that.
“It so is,” Brie asserted confidently. “You need it more like—” She leaned over, closing the distance between them and dug her hands into his hair. It was clear she was messing up his hair.
“Very funny,” he grumbled.
“I thought so.” She winked at him, but her hands didn’t leave his hair.
Fuck… Her fingers threading through his hair felt good. Too good. He tried to prevent himself from being aroused by her touch, but it wasn’t easy. She ran her fingers through his hair a few more seconds, biting her lip in a way that did not help his condition whatsoever. Maybe he should just get her into the bathroom and—
“Like that.” She pulled her hands free of his hair, but he reached out and caught her wrists before she could retreat.
“I’m almost afraid to go look,” he muttered. His hair was probably standing completely on end. Alec brushed his thumbs against the skin of her wrists before letting go.
She laughed. “You have to go look, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” He slid off the seat and went to the first-class bathroom and peered at