“I didn’t say I was mad about it,” he says. His gaze sweeps over me again. “It’s just kind of stalker-fan-like.”
I nod. “Good point.”
Suddenly, he grumbles something that sounds like, “Jesus Christ,” and steps around me. He heads to the baggage claim carousel, where there’s now only one bag circulating. He pulls the big black garment bag up and hefts it over his shoulder.
Did he bringsuits?
I know a bunch of his personal belongings were delivered earlier this week and are already at the apartment we’ve set up for him. Still this bag is surprisingly huge and unless he hangs jeans and t-shirts, he’s got slacks and jackets in there.
Wow, Alex really doesn’t understand small-town Louisiana.
He strides back toward me quickly.
“Okay, so?—”
All of a sudden, he drops the bag and wraps a big arm around my waist, hauls me up against his body, my feet off the floor, and seals his mouth over mine.
Shocked isn’t even the right word.
I have no idea what’s happening.
Except that Alex Olson doesn’t just look good and smell good, he tastes damned good too.
He had to have been chewing gum or something. Or do hockey gods just automatically taste like spearmint?
Doesn’t matter. When he tips his head and relaxes his mouth against mine, slightly opening his lips, I do the same. Then his tongue strokes over my bottom lip and I think I sigh. Because at that point his tongue slips in along mine, and the tingles from earlier are a thousand times stronger as they race from my scalp all the way down my body to my toes.
But just as abruptly, he pulls his head back and stares at me.
I stare back. I don’t know what to say. My first instinct is to start kissing him again.
He takes a deep breath and then puts me down.
“So. People in Louisianaarevery friendly, but that’s not generally how we greet strangers here,” I say, smoothing down the front of my overalls. And not commenting on the dirt streak he now has on his white t-shirt.
He glances to his left. “I saw the guy in the hat come around the corner. I figured this was a good way to hide both of our faces. If he’s going to recognize me, I assume he will definitely recognize you.”
I take note of the fact that we are now standing with my back against the wall, and Alex’s back to the rest of the airport. He is blocking me from anyone else’s view, and no, I don’t think anyone would be able to tell who either one of us is.
I peek around his very broad shoulder.
I see Wilson’s back, yes, including one of his usual hats. He’s facing away from us scanning the area.
I blow out a little breath. “Good thinking.”
Alex hasn’t moved back away from me, and I have to tip my head back to see his eyes.
“I guess we should just stay here until the coast is clear,” he says.
No complaints from me.
“You swear you’re not a crazy stalker?”
“I can prove it.”
“Go,” he says simply.
“I can tell you something that proves I’m here to save you from them rather than just some random fan.”
