Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hamish awoke with a start, grabbing onto the slender wrist of the hand gently shaking him awake. With the sound of gunfire still ringing in his ears, he almost threw a wild punch.

Chloe jumped, her soft smile snapping into a look of shock at his reaction.

God, his eyes were burning and his brain fuzzy, and she was not an enemy soldier hunting him in Afghanistan. As if unsure he could trust her not to morph into one once he was fully awake, he grudgingly let go of her wrist.

"My pardon," he mumbled and rubbed his face.

"We're boarding," she said, just as, over the intercom, the first group was called to the head of the line already forming near the gate.

Grumpy as hell from lack of sleep, he stiffly unfolded himself from his curled position, taking up only three seats this time, and checked his ticket. He was in the next group to be called, so no need to hurry. He rubbed his face.

"I have to get in line," the pretty lassie before him said. "Are you going to be okay?"

He gave her a thumbs up, and she smiled again. God, smiles like that should be kept for husbands. Boyfriend, at the very least. But definitely not strangers in airports who hadn't known a woman in years, not since he'd come home from the Gulf War.

"Don't go back to sleep," she said, by way of goodbye.

Giving her another thumbs up, he turned in his chair to watch as she walked away. Her hips had an all-too-sexy swish he had a hard time not ogling, but she was far too friendly. Not only had she given him private details about her travel, but there was a naivete about her that just didn't sit right with him. She shouldn't be traveling alone. Whatever man had let her go without him was a fool, completely undeserving of her or any woman. He certainly wouldn't have let her go. In fact, if she was his, he'd have been butt in the uncomfortable airport seat right beside her, and every time she became too chatty about her trip, he knew at the first private opportunity, he'd have put her across his knee to paddle her bottom a hot cherry-red that would make the twelve-hour flight across the pond memorable, at the very least.

But she wasn't his, and he didn't get to spank her, much less think about her in that way. Fortunately, she was the renter who'd reserved his little highland cabin for the next ten days. Between now and the time she left, he'd find the time to lecture–no, inform –her on proper traveling etiquette. He'd make sure she got home safely. Especially while dressed in that thin blue sundress that did absolutely nothing to hide her delectable curves.

Stop looking at her curves , he ordered himself. Turning in his seat, he forced himself to stare at the floor until long after she'd boarded, until it came his turn to get into line.

Considering the length of that line, the plane was likely full. Hopefully, the next twelve hours wouldn't have him sitting next to another crying baby the whole way or, worse, a Chatty Cathy. He needed sleep, and he had every intention of spending every minute of his flight getting it.

Soon it was his turn to board. He got on the plane and one glance down the aisle told him, yes, the plane was full. There would be no swapping seats if he did get a noisy seatmate. He sighed and braced himself to tolerate it with patience and a smile, as his mother had often said.

Well, he'd be tolerant if he had to, but he wasn't going to smile.

Good God, and there she was, Chloe Hardt, tucked into a cramped seat by the window with a guy in a business suit in the middle seat beside her. The aisle seat was empty. Hamish checked his ticket. Was that his seat?

Nope, he realized when a somewhat overweight woman not six people ahead of him swung her luggage into the overhead compartment and squeezed herself into the aisle seat.

Hamish didn't care how much she might have overflowed her seat, restricting the already limited elbow room. But the guy sandwiched between both ladies had no business making the fuss he did over it. He, as well as the rest of the passengers, got an earful as Hamish made his way to his own seat. Fate being what it was, his was the window seat located directly behind Chloe's.

"Jesus," the man in front of him grumbled. "Can't you suck it in a little?"

Through the crack in the seats, Hamish watched as the heavier woman flushed uncomfortably. She leaned sideways, away from him, but the seats were too narrow for that to help.

"That's not very nice," Chloe told the man, and Hamish's already short temper got even shorter when the guy turned on her, snapping, "Who the fuck was talking to you? Shut your fucking mouth."

"Don't talk to her like that," the other woman protested. "It's me you've got a problem with."

"And who wouldn't, you fat, ugly slob–"

Hamish got up out of his seat.

"–show some fucking respect for everyone who has to fly next to you and stop stuffing your face."

As soon as the last three passengers moved past him to their seats, Hamish swung back into the aisle and, with each hand braced on the backs of the seats the woman occupied as well as the person in front of her, he leaned well over, putting his glowering face practically in the man's.

"I can't help but overhear your discussion."

"Pretty sure the whole plane did," someone in the row of seats across the aisle said disapprovingly.

Temper firmly in check, Hamish calmly offered, "If it will shut you up, swap me seats. I'll sit with the ladies, and you can have my window seat."

"I'm afraid of heights. It's why I don't have this window seat."

"Be scared of me," Hamish said flatly. "It'll benefit you more in this situation, I guarantee it."

Someone behind Hamish whistled, low and impressed.

"Such a nice man," an elderly woman loudly whispered. "Emily, get his number. You need a nice man in your life."

"Oh my god, Mom, I've been married four years now. Would you stop already?"

The guy glared at Hamish before launching up out of his seat. "Fine. Get out of my way."

Hamish stepped aside far enough to let the other pass into the aisle, where he stopped and did his best to look down his nose at Hamish. He was six inches too short to make that look work, and Hamish wasn't one to back down.

"If you ever threaten me again," the man said, straightening his tie, "I'll have you hauled off this plane in handcuffs. You don't know who I am."

"I know you're nae half as important as you'd like me to believe," Hamish coldly replied, his accent deepening, darkening. "Otherwise you'd be in first class, nae coach."

The male Karen's face flushed a deep, seething red. Surprisingly, he didn't keep protesting. But with a snap of his fingers, he signaled to a flight attendant already coming up the aisle to the back of the plane. Just as if she were heading right toward them.

"Miss," the man demanded. "I need another seat. This one is too… hostile."

"So I heard," the attendant said, clipped and short. "No worries. I've already checked with the captain." Blossoming into a sunny smile, the attendant bent to tap the overweight woman on the shoulder. "On behalf of British Airlines, we would like to apologize for this man's behavior. We'd also like to upgrade your ticket to first-class, for free, of course. Would you like to come with me, please?"

Chloe brushed Hamish's shoulder when she leaned out far enough to grin at the blushing woman seated on his right. "Oh, lucky you!"

The woman excitedly whispered back, "I've never flown before, much less in first class!"

Chloe softly squealed when the other woman did. "I'm so excited for you!"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" the male Karen exclaimed.

"Please take your seat, sir," the attendant told him with a thoroughly disingenuous smile. "We're about to depart." For the chubby woman, her genuine smile returned. "Can I help with your carry-on?"

The woman jumped up to grab her bag only to have the attendant take it from her. Flashing Chloe and then Hamish grateful smiles, she followed the attendant back to the head of the plane.

"How nice of them," Chloe whispered to Hamish. "I'm so happy for her!"

She was too, Hamish realized. She settled back in her chair, smiling broadly even as she turned her lovely face toward the window.

His gaze roved her, taking in the soft curves of her face and her honey-blonde hair, that couldn't have been any longer than to her shoulders, pulled back into a ponytail that was more like a bunny-tail.

He quickly looked away, before the low throbbing in his stirring dick could add its own two cents to the conversation he already knew he shouldn't be having with himself. He glanced back over the top of their seats to see the Karen gaping after the flight attendant. Noticing Hamish staring, his mouth snapped shut before he threw himself into his seat.

"Bump her seat so much as one time," Hamish whispered through the crack of his and Chloe's bucket seats, "and you won't believe how fast I come over the back of it."

A slow smirk split the Karen's previously frowning mouth. "It'll be worth a black eye for the chance to send you to prison," he promised.

"All right." Lifting his hips, Hamish dug a heavy ring of keys out of his pocket and, without a word, pressed it into the palm of Chloe's hand. He ignored her wide-eyed stare and said, "My car is the silver Kia Sorento in long-term parking. Just press this button and when you get close, it'll chirp and flash its lights. This key," he said, letting the fob drop to select a house key, "goes to the cabin. The security code is 8843. Got it?"

Whispering the code to herself, her brow buckled with uncertainty but she nodded.

He winked at her. "There's a good lassie."

She blinked, the apples of her cheeks pinkening, but otherwise she didn't react.

Turning back to glare at the Karen through the crack between their seats, Hamish softly said, "Ready when you are, laddy."

The other man's smile vanished. Finally and with a loud harrumph, he flung himself against the seat back. Folding his arms across his chest, he glared out the window and, as far as Hamish knew, never looked his way again.

Fine with him.

Facing forward, Hamish didn't look at him either. Noting the flight attendants taking up their positions to give their pre-flight instructions, he settled into his chair.

"Seatbelts," he said before he could catch himself.

Looking into her lap, Chloe immediately followed his lead.

His lead, he noted, not the attendants' currently demonstrating how the seatbelts worked.

She glanced up at him, like any wide-eyed Little he'd ever taken under his authoritative wing.

She's not mine , his brain kicked in.

Yet , his throbbing dick added.

Haud your wheesht , Hamish thought, fiercely silencing both voices. And still, before he could stop himself, he told her, "Good girl."

She squirmed in her seat, blushing a bright, hot pink.

Jesus, Hamish , he thought, shaking his head at himself. You know better than this.

Unable to trust himself, he slumped into his seat, folding his burly arms across his chest. He wasn't anywhere near tired enough anymore to fall seamlessly back into sleep, and every time Chloe moved beside him, her slender arm brushed his. As if his body needed any further excuse to react to her forced nearness.

"Coffee rules still apply," he said, far more brusquely than he meant to. Knowing he had no right to do it, he still ordered her, "When they take the drink orders, I want tequila, if they have it. Order whatever you'd like too, my dime. You can wake me then."

If he'd done it just to see how she reacted, he was horribly disappointed. Instead of a resounding, ear-boxing "fuck you", she brightened and snapped out a civilian's sloppy version of a soldier's salute. "Yes, Sir."

She looked cute as a fucking button doing that.

Jesus Christ. How was he going to survive the next ten days with her? If he didn't learn fast how to keep her out of his head, how to keep his years of self-imposed abstinence from imagining Littles where he was sure none existed, then he already knew how her vacation was going to go for him. He'd be so… so… screwed.

Just not literally.

Damn it.