Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Chloe stared at the harried man on the other side of British Airlines' customer care counter, her hands tightly clasped over her rapidly sinking stomach.

"D-Do," she stammered, before catching herself. She swallowed hard and did her best to get her trembling voice under tight control before trying again. "Do you know where my luggage is?"

The attendant was calm, collected, and so accustomed to being yelled at that he'd been braced for it from the moment she tentatively stepped up to the counter. He looked at his computer, rapidly tapping away at the keyboard. He was quiet for a moment.

"Australia," he finally replied in his "r" rolling accent. "It might be a day or two before we can get it to you." Belatedly, he added, "Sorry."

He didn't look sorry. Rather, his "my-paycheck-isn't-big-enough-to-put-up-with-this-shite" expression clearly said he wished she'd go away so he could attend to the irate demands of the next grumpy person in line.

Her stomach dropped all the way to the floor.

"We'll call you when it comes in and have it personally delivered to you."

Shoo, shoo, in other words.

She hated how plaintive she sounded when, in a tiny voice, she said, "B-But all my painting supplies were in there."

"Sorry," the man said. He still didn't look sorry. "Is there anything more I can do for you?"

Yes, help me ! Chloe wanted to shout. But that would be rude and, after all, it wasn't his fault her luggage got lost. He probably went through enough in a day not to need her hurling abuse on top of it.

Shoulders slumping, Chloe left the desk. After only a few steps though, she stopped again. Pulling out her wallet, she carefully counted through the $700 she'd saved up for visiting the sights and purchasing souvenirs. If she had to, she supposed, she could buy a canvas and enough art supplies to at least start her first painting until her luggage arrived.

Closing her eyes, she held her wallet to her chest, self-soothing while she formulated her contingency plan. This was her second thing to go wrong. Her vacation was definitely covered in that department now.

"It's smooth sailing from this point on," she whispered to herself. She opened her eyes only to find Hamish standing at the conveyor that had delivered everyone's luggage but hers. It was an empty area now. The only two people left from her flight that she could see were her and the openly frowning Hamish. His burly arms were crossed over his broad chest, his gray suitcase standing close to his hip. There was a good thirty feet separating them, but when he stroked his tongue across his teeth, she could practically hear his disapproving tsk from here.

She flushed hot, her bottom tingling in ways it had no business doing for a man she barely knew. Why was he frowning at her like that, anyway? It wasn't as if she'd deliberately lost her suitcases. The airline had done that.

She didn't deserve this.

Swinging her backpack carry-on up onto her shoulder, she marched herself past him, heading for the transportation area with her pert nose tipped up and her jaw set. She ignored his disciplinary glare and congratulated herself when her anxious feet managed the Herculean task without stumbling.

I'm calm, confident, and collected , she told herself. I'm –

Her wallet was suddenly yanked right out of her hand.

Chloe spun with a gasp to find Hamish directly behind her now, holding it up for her to see. "Tell me I didn't just watch you counting your money in the middle of the airport lobby, with every scumbag watching you?"

When he was angry, she noted, her tummy clenching into the most delectable twist of eagerness, his wonderfully thick brogue got even heavier.

They were too close. She needed to get distance between them, but already her feet held her rooted to the floor. Every tingling nerve in her body felt as if it was awakening from a long slumber. She'd never felt anything like it and had no idea how to deal with it now.

Without waiting for a response, he snapped, "You need a damned chaperone. God knows, my country loves its tourists, but there ain't a place on Earth free from crime." He suddenly thrust a censoring finger practically under her nose. "You, little girl, are a menace to your own safety."

Stung, she was still struggling to come up with a suitable response when he slapped her wallet back into her hand. He took her backpack off her shoulder and slung it over his own. Turning his back to her, he ordered, "Well? Put it in already."

Chastened, and then miffed because nothing like this had ever happened to her and she had no idea how he could so easily make her inner Little jump right up to the very surface of her, she reluctantly obeyed.

"What now?" Hamish asked. "Rental car?"

She recoiled at the very thought. "No! God, no."

The big highlander beside her damn near cracked a genuine smile, the first she'd yet seen him attempt. His mouth didn't move, but for a moment she thought she saw his green eyes light up, practically sparkling.

"If you Americans didn't insist on driving on the wrong side of the road…"

"Same could be said for you Scots," she pointed out, disgruntled.

"Och," he snorted, "but we were a country long before you. If your lot weren't so stubbornly insistent on being nothing like England, you wouldn't have this problem."

If only he weren't so right, she might have been able to think up a suitable comeback. As it was, she dropped her gaze to the floor so he wouldn't see how sullen she'd just become.

"I have a bus to catch," she muttered, snapping about on her heel and heading out of the airport to the parking garage. His heavy footsteps followed her. She thought she heard him chuckle, but she was just annoyed enough not to look back at him.

The weather was cool. Not cold, but chill enough to make her wish she had her coat. Unfortunately, it was in Australia where it was definitely not needed. Not at this time of year.

Rubbing her arms, she stepped off the sidewalk and would have trudged across the passenger unloading area to where entire rows of rental car companies were situated in the six-story parking garage across the street. According to her pre-bought ticket, her bus company was located near them. But no sooner did her foot touch down on the pavement than a large hand grabbed her by the back of her sundress, hauling her immediately back a step just as a taxi drove right through where she'd been.

It honked at her, but she wasn't paying attention to that either. When Hamish abruptly spun her around to face him, her attention became instantly trapped by his stern frown. That utterly authoritative look of his instantly froze her in place. Her stomach flipped, but as anxious a feeling as that was, it was also… exciting? Surely not, and yet here she was, her knees trembling and her hands wringing one another. If he noticed, his glare didn't soften.

In a softly dangerous tone, he said, his accent deepening, "Were you nae taught as a wee one how to cross a busy street?"

Her breath caught in the back of her throat, preventing her unwelcome mewl of distress from escaping. She nodded.

"Bairns can be excused for forgetting to look both ways, but you know better. Don't you, Chloe?"

Her name on his lips made her shiver. She had no idea how to answer that. She just stood there, drinking in his disapproval while rubbing and wringing her fingers nervously.

"I'm nae talking to hear my own voice." The lilt in his voice turned that simple statement into a warning that set her stomach to quivering. "Answer me, Chloe. Do you or dinnae you know better?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

He tsked, glaring as if trying to decide what he should do with her. Her bottom crawled and, when he finally held out his hand, palm up for her to take, for one thrillingly scary moment, she thought he was about to actually spank her. Right here and now, at the scene of her "crime", where everyone could see.

Her whole arm tingled when she hesitantly lay her hand into his. Her whole body flushed hot as he, checking the flow of traffic, walked her across the road to the parking garage, just as if she were a child.

Warmth heated her insides, flowing down in liquid waves to pool low in her abdomen, despite the burning of her embarrassment. Or was it because of her embarrassment? he'd definitely just tripped her Daddy Dom radar.

She'd read about Daddy Doms for most of her adult life, but had never had one herself. It was one of those things a recluse painter like herself just had to get out of the house to find. She had no idea where to go. The frozen aisle at the grocery store? Not likely, since she couldn't think of a single thing in frozen foods that screamed, "Attention Daddies, potential Little shopping here". Except maybe shark-shaped fish sticks or dino chicken nuggets. But if that actually worked, after all these years of munching down dino nugget snackies, she figured she'd have a Daddy of her own by now.

Her hand tingled in his, the warmth of his palm creeping into her skin and flowing up her arm straight to her already muddled brain. Her heart was beating harder and faster than normal. She'd never felt anything like it, not for anyone.

Maybe if someone had taken her by the hand, like grumpy Hamish was doing right now, and walked her like the real Little girl she longed to be across a busy road, maybe she'd have felt just like this, but she doubted it. This was all Hamish.

She shivered as they passed from the full view of the sun into the cool shade of the parking garage. He was going to let go of her hand now, she realized. She was glad, more than ready for this nerve-wracking tingle to go away. Expecting his inevitable release, she even gave her captured hand a slight tug, but to her surprise he didn't let go.

Pausing a moment to collect his bearings, she spotted the sign high on the cement wall marked Charter Buses .

"This way," he said briskly and, her hand still tucked in his firm grip, walked her a winding path through the rental cars toward the check-in desk.

Did he like holding her hand as much as she secretly did?

Now, her tummy was tingling, too.