It Wasn't Me - Lani Lynn Vale Page 0,6

me.

“That one.” He pointed at another military plane. “They’re taking supplies to Fort Hood.”

I nodded, and once again found myself in a plane with my hand in the man’s that I only met about twelve hours before.

“Y’all ready?” the captain asked.

Jonah nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The captain’s eyes flicked to me, my hand in Jonah’s, then he smiled.

“All right, take your seat and get strapped in, we’ll be on our way here shortly.”

Jonah gestured to the two seats facing backward, and I buckled my self in before blowing out a breath.

“I really do hate this,” I told him.

“Was there anything in particular that struck this fear?” he asked. “Something happen?”

I shook my head. “No. Not necessarily anything big. I watched a few too many movies with plane accidents, I guess.”

He chuckled and stretched his long feet out in front of him.

With the plane not moving, and me not quite freaking out just yet, I finally had the chance to check the man out.

He was very attractive.

Like, I’m talking, holy shit, if I’d seen him walking down the street, I would’ve stuttered if he talked to me, attractive.

His eyes were a deep shade of blue, kind of like the color of the blue jeans he was wearing. His hair was a russet, reddish-brown color that women would’ve paid a mint to reproduce at a salon.

He had a square jaw that was covered in scruff. Not quite a beard, but definitely not clean-shaven.

He had a nose that had definitely been broken quite a few times, and dimples that appeared when he was smiling or talking about something amusing to him.

I hated my dimples. Honestly, I felt like they made me look fat.

But on him? Wow, they looked good.

So good, in fact, that I wanted to lick them.

I was torn, because on the one hand, I knew the man would look sexy as hell with a thicker beard. But on the other, if he had more of a beard, you wouldn’t be able to see the dimples as well as I could.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

“I’m looking at your dimples,” I told him honestly. “I hate my dimples. You rock yours. I was just curious if you liked yours, too.”

I honestly couldn’t believe I’d just told him the truth. What was going on with me? I swear to God, I had to be impaired in some way. The flying was impairing my judgment, that was for sure.

He shrugged. “Used to hate ‘em when I was a kid. Now, not so much. They’re just there, on my face. Most of the time they’re covered by a beard, anyway.”

“This isn’t usual? For you to see them?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “I shaved my face when I was in that accident. My boss said I’d look more professional. Whatever. So I did, and I’m regretting it now. Especially seeing as it was forty below there and I didn’t have anything to warm up the lower half of my face like I usually do.”

I grinned. “I did notice that you were standing there, in the snow, working on a plane. I’m fairly positive that the missing beard didn’t bother you that much.”

He grinned then, and it did weird things to my body.

One, I was tingling in my lower half. As in, he was making me want to jump on him and ride him like I stole him.

Two, my usually stagnant heart thumped hard.

I wasn’t the type to date frivolously. I was very selective in my partners. I thought about a lot of them very hard before I even went on a date with them. I’d been on five, maybe six dates if you counted the one that I asked to be let out of about thirty seconds into it. Him drawing this kind of reaction out of me was rare.

Very, very rare.

I wasn’t sure what it was.

I wanted to go out on a date. I just had a lot of trouble getting interested. And staying interested.

It was also why I was the only virgin left out of my three sisters. Even my baby sister had found someone to rid her of that pesky piece of tissue.

“Now what are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Dating,” I told him, semi telling the truth. “About how my sister set me up on a blind date that I’ll have to cancel when I get home.”

“Why will you have to cancel it?” he asked.

I grimaced and crossed my arms over my chest.

“I didn’t want to go on