Then a voice cut over the din of airport chaos, approaching until it reached just over my shoulder.
“Sorry! So sorry! Thank you, love.”
Love?
I snapped around to find Hudson approaching me, confident and chipper as ever.
Oh no. Not just approaching me. Coming in for a cheek kiss.
Which I completely botched by turning my head at exactly the wrong second.
There wasn’t enough time to avert. By the time I realized what was happening, Hudson’s lips were already brushing against mine.
It was the softest of touches. Feather-light. Nothing more than a brush. Still, my knees went weak.
He kissed me. Hudsonkissed me. By accident, but…
I’d just been kissed.
And worse?
I wanted more.
If he noticed my osculatory distress, he didn’t let it show.
“Sorry,” Hudson said, laying the charm on thick as I reeled, lips still buzzing with the taste of him. “She was just holding my bag. Here’s that sweatshirt you left at the airport lounge, baby. My girl, always forgetting things. Everything okay here?”
I slipped the sweatshirt on, trying to play the dutiful girlfriend—though not entirely sure why. My brain was still too scrambled from the lip-lock.
Mr. Check-In raised one eyebrow. “That’syourbag, sir?”
“Yeah, and I have extra leg room, so I think I have a dedicated overhead bin, right?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Great. Let’s board. Shall we, dear?”
It took me a too-long beat to realize he was talking to me.Iwas his dear. At least for the moment. And he had swooped in, playing the boyfriend, to save my bag from the hell that is the luggage hold.
With two quick, resigned zaps of his ticketing gun, Mr. Check-In welcomed us aboard. Hudson reached for my bag…
At the exact same moment thatIstepped forward to get it.
We collided, our tangled feet kicking the bag forward…
A familiar sound rattled from the beaten old fabric. My heart stopped.
The ticket agent’s face tightened as he inspected it. “I’m sorry, is your bag…vibrating?”
Yep. It sure was.
The same vibrator I’d used on myself last night, buried in the depths of my backpack, was currently going so hard that its momentum was literally scooting the bag across the carpeted floor. I choked. “No, no, it’s not—”
But Hudson reached for the bag with a casual air. Like everyone in the terminal wasn’t currently watching us because they suspected we were carrying either a bomb or a vibrator. Mr. Check-In’s expression flared, clearly delighted at the possibility of catching us in a bag-related lie.
“I’ll ask again: That’syourbag, sir? Remember, lying to an airport official is a crime, andbothof you could be in trouble—”
Flatly, Hudson fished out the vibrator and held it aloft for inspection without a hint of shame.
