Hold On (Play On #2.5)(32)

“I’d like tae upgrade tae first class, please,” he said in a deep, loud, rumbling, very attractive accent that did nothing to soothe my annoyance with him for cutting in front of me.

“Of course, sir,” the flight attendant answered in such a flirtatious tone I was sure that if I was tall enough to see over the big guy’s shoulder I would see the flight attendant batting his lashes at him. “Okay, flight DL180 to Boston. You’re in luck, Mr. Scott. We have one seat left in first class.”

Oh hell no!

“What?” I shoved my way up next to rude guy, not even looking at him.

The flight attendant, sensing my tone, immediately narrowed his eyes on me and thinned his lips.

“I was coming here to ask for an upgrade on this flight and he,” I gestured to my right, “cut in front of me. You saw him do it.”

“Miss, I’m going to ask you to calm down and wait your turn. Although we have a very full flight today, I can put you on our list and if a first class seat opens up before the flight, we will let you know.”

Yeah, because the way my week was going that was likely.

“I was first,” I insisted, my skin flushing because my blood had turned so hot with anger at the unfairness. “He whacked me with his laptop bag pushing past me to cut in line.”

“Can we just ignore this tiny, angry person and upgrade me now?” the deep accented voice said somewhere above my head to my right.

His condescension finally drew my gaze to him.

And everything suddenly made sense.

A modern day Viking towered over me, my attention drawing his from the flight attendant. His eyes were the most beautiful I’d ever seen. A piercing ice blue against the rugged tan of his skin, the irises like pale blue glass bright against the sun streaming in through the airport windows. His hair was dark blonde, short at the sides and longer on top. And even though he was not my type, I could admit his features were entirely masculine and attractive with his short, dark blonde beard. It wasn’t so much a beard as a thick growth of stubble. He had a beautiful mouth, a thinner top lip but a full, sensual lower lip that gave him a broody, boyish pout at odds with his ruggedness. Gorgeous as his mouth may be, it was currently curled upwards at one corner in displeasure.

And did I mention he was built?

The offensive laptop bag was slung over a set of shoulders so broad they would have made a football coach weep with joy. I was guessing he was just a little over six feet, but his build made him look taller. I was only five foot three but I wore four inch stilettos, and yet, I felt like Tinkerbell next to this guy.

Tattoos I didn’t take the time to study peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeve of his Henley shirt. A shirt that showed off the kind of muscle a guy didn’t achieve without copious visits to the gym.

A fine male specimen, indeed.

I rolled my eyes and shot the flight attendant a knowing, annoyed look. “Really?” It was clear to me motorcycle-gang-member-Viking-dude was getting preferential treatment here.

“Miss, please don’t make me call security.”

My lips parted in shock. “Melodramatic much?”

“You.” The belligerent rumble in the Viking’s voice made me bristle.

I looked up at him.

He sneered. “Take a walk, wee yin.”

Being deliberately obtuse I retorted, “I don’t understand Scandinavian.”

“I’m Scottish.”

“Do I care?”

He muttered something unintelligible and turned to the flight attendant. “We done?”

The guy gave him a flirty smile and handed him his ticket and passport. “You’re upgraded, Mr. Scott.”

“Wait, what—” But the Viking had already taken back his passport and ticket and was striding away.

His long legs covered more ground than mine but I was motivated and I could run in my stilettos. So I did. With my carry-on bumping along on its wheels behind me.

“Wait a second!” I grabbed the man’s arm and he swung around so fast I tottered.

Quickly, I regained balance and shrugged my suit jacket back into place as I grimaced. “You should do the right thing here and give me that seat.” I didn’t know why I was being so persistent. Maybe because I’d always been frustrated when I saw someone else endure an injustice. Or maybe I was just sick of being pushed around this week.

His expression was incredulous. “Are you kidding me with this?” I didn’t even try not to take offense. Everything about this guy offended me.

“You,” I gestured to him, saying the word slowly so his tiny brain could compute, “Stole. My. Seat.”

“You.” He pointed down at me, “Are. A. Nutjob.”

Appalled, I gasped. “One, that is not true. I am hangry. There is a difference. And two, that word is completely politically incorrect.”

He stared off into the distance above my head for a moment, seeming to gather himself. Or maybe just his patience. I think it was the latter because when he finally looked down at me with those startling eyes, he sighed. “Look, you would be almost funny if it weren't for the fact that you’re completely unbalanced. And I’m not in the mood after having tae fly from Glasgow tae London and London tae Phoenix and Phoenix tae Boston instead of London tae Boston because my PA is a useless prat who clearly hasn’t heard of international direct flights. So do us both a favor before I say or do something I’ll regret… and walk. Away.”