The door swung open. And there she stood, the French vixen herself.
She’d changed out of those sweats, alright. And into a pair of black yoga type pants. Form-fitting clear down to her ankles. The tank top was still there, plain to see beneath a pale pink, large-necked sweater that hung low on her shoulders. The messy bun, he realized with a dose of warmth flaring low in his belly, remained in its haphazard place.
“Hi,” he rasped.
A knee-weakening smile spread over her full, pouty lips. “Welcome back, Emmitt. Come on in.” She’d pronounced the first part of his name correct—the Eh sound—but the latter part came out more like meet than mitt. The truth was though, Emmitt kind of liked the sound of it.
Sloane took a step back, crossing one ankle behind the other, and waved an arm toward the room. Emmitt was familiar with these cabins, having stayed in a few of them himself until his own private cabin was built, but this one felt very different as he stepped inside.
The soft, floral scent had something to do with that, no doubt, but he wasn’t sure what else set it apart. Perhaps it was simply the woman’s presence alone.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” she suggested. “I have my laptop computer ready. We can get started straight away so you can get back to your evening.”
Emmitt took a seat on the corner of the couch, pleased to find that she’d softened up a bit. Or so it seemed. Would she sit next to him or leave a space between them?
He set his eyes on her as she locked the cabin door and made her way toward the coffee table where her laptop sat. A rose-colored metallic number with a fairly small screen, from the looks of it.
She knelt on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. “I appreciate you being so cooperative,” she cooed in that pretty accent while cracking open the laptop. And yes, now that it wasn’t the annoying message playing on repeat over the phone, Emmitt was digging the sound of her voice. “I know it is likely quite frustrating to put your tours on hold, and I want to, how you say,acknowledgethat.”
Emmitt nodded. “Thank you.”
“Truth is,” she added, “I can get a little insensitive when I am met with opposition. I have a job to do, and when stuff threatens to get in the way, I do not always respond appropriately.”
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got me beat,” Emmitt said with a laugh. “Ineverrespond appropriately. But once I realize I’ve messed up, I’m usually pretty quick to apologize. Which reminds me—I’m sorry for acting like a jerk. I think I just had to accept that I have to let a lot of people down. I don’t like doing that.” There, that was the right approach.
Sloane moved from the floor to the spot beside Emmitt on the couch. At once, that scent was back full force. Floral and crisp, like a fresh bouquet of rain-splattered roses. He inhaled deeply, associating her with memories he’d made over the years. Like trailing through Princess Grace Rose Garden in Monaco as a child. Or visiting the Botanical Gardens in Montreal, that very fragrance thick on the breeze.
A jazzy piano riff started up on the video as an announcer popped onto the screen in head-to-toe fifties-style pilot garb. Talk about cheesy. A dose of irritation sprang hot in his chest as he started talking about the basic of the basics.
“I think it’s only fair to tell you that I have a photographic memory. Everything I learned—and I meaneverything—is all right up here.” He tapped the side of his head with a finger.
Sloane studied him for a moment, contemplation in her blue eyes. A small smile tugged at one corner of her lips. “Don’t tell me…” she started, a broader smile cracking through. “You were a straight A student like me.”
“Like you?”Whoa,why did he like that idea so much?
Sloane backed away and gave his arm a playful slap. “Yes, like me,”she said, offense clinging to her tone. “I have a memorization gift as well.”
The cheesy announcer on the laptop rambled as Emmitt glanced down to where Sloane’s hand had landed—at the inner bend of his elbow. Good thing he’d worked on his arms today at the gym. He flexed the slightest bit.
“Pardon,” she mumbled as she removed it.
Why in heavens name was he still wearing his jacket? “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m a pretty affectionate person myself. According to my sister, Andie—who had all of us take this test a while back—physical touch is one of my love languages.”
“No kidding? I made my brother, Gabe, take that test too. Just to see if my intuition about him was correct.”
When she left it there, Emmitt’s curiosity piqued. “So what are your love languages?”
She shrugged, dragged her eyes from the video, and gave him a quick glance. “I like physical touch too.” As soon as the comment left her lips, Sloane planted her hands down to either side of her and inched slightly away from him.
Hmm.Maybe he was coming on too strong.
Emmitt considered that as the video played on. He also considered every tiny movement she made throughout the hour, even the subtle ones. Twice, she looked over at him, caught him glancing back at her, and darted her eyes back to the glowing screen.
She was into him, he could feel it. First with the whole hand-on-his-arm thing. And then with the mention of the things they had in common—that being physical touch.Come on, he had this in the bag.
But now was the time to scale back a little. He needed to act indifferent as they parted. By putting off an air of disinterest, Emmitt would gain an edge of mystery, something that—in his experience—drove women wild. It was a good thing he’d remembered that before the video came to an end. Moments ago, he’d been entertaining the idea of asking her to lunch after their first flight course.
“So,” Sloane said once the screen went black. She leaned far over the opposite end of the couch to flip on a lamp before continuing. “I was thinking that maybe, at tomorrow’s rendezvous, we could take lunch or dinner after the flight.”
