A smirk crests his lips. “You’d be surprised. I own over eight hundred thousand acres of private property on Coleson Ranch. Leasing that out alone sets me up to live well above my means for the rest of my life. And that’s just a portion of what I do.”
I realize I know nothing about Southern living.
“Can’t say we have jobs like that in the city.” I smile just thinking about a cattle farm in Miami. We live two entirely different lives.
Stetson looks at me like he wants to know more, but doesn’t fish for details. “I am really surprised I haven’t seen you before. I mean, I know Alyssa usually flies with me, but I figured I’d have at least met you a time or two.”
“Maybe we have and just don’t?—”
“I would have remembered.”
I shouldn’t feel butterflies over his forwardness. His words of kindness.
Why is he being so kind to me?
“Yeah, well, I have regular clients I typically fly with, too. Makes sense. And besides, this was a one-time job.”
“That’s a shame,” he mutters, his voice low.
I feel his eyes searing through me. I don’t look at him, but face forward and stare into the shelves of liquor bottles like they’ll speak for me. It would be much easier if Stetson Cole were a royal asshole and easy to ignore.
But he seems like a genuinely nice guy, and that’s posing a serious threat right now. I’m physically unable to ignore him. Not because I can’t, but because I don’t want to.
“Has anyone ever told you how stunning your eyes are?”
Oh, he’s smooth.
“Can’t say they have,” I say, shrugging as I turn to face him again. I can’t decide if I want to be front and center to his watchful eye, or completely out of sight.
Wrong move, Cove. Wrong fucking move.
“Brown…” I draw out, and my voice sounds strained. I’m fighting for my life over here while Stetson gazes at me with perfect ease, like he never wants to look away. “Brown isn’t really an eye-catching color.”
“Oh, but that’s where you’re very wrong, Cove. Cognac is pristine. It’s rich, warm, and inviting. A fucking indulgence.”
What on God’s green earth is happening right now?
My body is on fire, and the man isn’t even touching me. It’s his words that sing praises across my skin. I can’t handle this right now.
It’s obvious I’m craving a dirty compliment like never before. Except, nothing about his compliment was dirty. It was sweet. But my mind is horribly misguided, thinking he asked which tit I prefer be sucked first.
“I never did like cognac,” I retort, hoping he’ll stopcomplimenting me and we can move on from this conversation. I should just get up and leave.
Not like I won’t see him on his flight home. I’ve got another two hours to wait on him and dickwad.
A velvety chuckle escapes his lips, and it’s when Stetson’s massive hand lands on top of the bar that my body freezes in place. It’s huge. Likely bigger than the circumference of my face, corded with thick veins and calluses.
I swallow and wait. Wait for his words to do more damage than good. I’m already starting to break, and goddamn it, I can’t. I don’t want to wonder about this guy. To see him as the better of two evils. But I can’t look away from the working of his hand as he swirls the condensation from his glass between the tips of his fingers while he speaks. “I really wish you did. I haven’t been able to look elsewhere since we met.”
“Some women might say that’s kind of creepy, Stetson,” I tease, and I’m well aware I’m deflecting. It’s what I do.
“Maybe that’s why it feels necessary to tell you. Because I know you don’t find it creepy. You’re different.”
If I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I’d be a billionaire.
“Look, I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, but it isn’t going to work with me. We board in”—I check my watch—“less than fifty minutes, and I really need to get the cabin ready for takeoff.”
“How can I see you again?”
