Chemistry

“Final call for boarding. Flight 175 to Philadelphia at gate B34,” a gate attendant announced over the loudspeaker as Caitlyn strolled her carry-on past, searching the signs overhead for her own gate number.

“Passenger D. Carter, that’s passenger D. Carter, please. D. Carter, report to the ticketing counter at gate B37, please,” urged another voice.

Despite the early hour, the airport was already bustling with activity. People chattered to one another from the nearby seating areas, or rushed by headed for other connections—some searching overhead, like her, and others with their faces buried in their phones.

Turning sideways, she quickly dodged one such oblivious traveler, a tall, handsome young man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts in a particularly careless rush.

“I beg your pardon,” she mumbled as he brushed past without even noticing her.

Stopping, she watched his retreating figure and felt the butterflies leap in her belly. Obviously, he wasn’t the one here for her. But somewhere, probably making his way to their gate just like she was, a man was here for her. The thought made her nauseous with nerves.

“It’s going to be fine,” she reassured herself in a whisper, continuing her search. “What’s the worst that could happen? We hate each other and spend the trip alone anyway?”

She heaved an anxious sigh at the thought. Then, spying her gate, veered towards it.

“Caitie!” a chorus of female voices rang out and she startled, glancing across the partially-filled chairs to where a few acquaintances were seated.

Alex’s coworkers obviously—only he’d referred to her as ‘Caitie’. Everyone else called her Caitlyn.

They were the ones who’d suggested this tour group to him three years ago, doubtless to get it filled and ensure they got to take their trip. She couldn’t remember a single one of their names, but she knew for certain they hadn’t attended his funeral. That thought hit her bitterly.

Forcing a smile, she waved. “Hi.”

Despite her trepidation, she gave them a few seconds to offer her a place with them. When it wasn’t forthcoming, she veered towards the nearest available seat, one of two empty between other passengers awaiting the flight, and prayed none of them would try to engage her.

She tucked her carry-on beneath her knees to keep the aisle between seats clear for other passengers, then eased her book from inside it. Scooting back in her chair, she ducked her head and opened the cover, preparing to wait until boarding call.

Nibbling her thumbnail, she was well into the first chapter and thoroughly engrossed in the story when a large pair of feet stopped before the empty seat beside her.

“Pardon me, miss. Is this seat taken?”

Casting a brief glance about to verify that it was her the voice was speaking to, Caitlyn gave a tight little shake of her head. Then she shifted her elbow to the opposite armrest, the one she was sharing with a sleeping child, half to give the newcomer the space and half to discourage any potential conversation. Picking up her place easily, she returned to her book.

She didn’t know how long she’d been reading when a prickling started, her introvert internal antennae, picking up attention lasting more than a few seconds directed her way. Looking up slowly, she skimmed the crowded seats and into the walkway beyond. It took a moment to find the owner of the eyes upon her, but when she did, Caitlyn nearly dropped her book.

He was tall, at least a couple of inches taller than Alex had been. And the man was seriously hot, with an intense pair of eyes that studied her in return. Flushing into her roots, she tried to break his gaze, feeling her core heat like a nuclear reactor in meltdown.

Good grief. Rachel hadn’t been kidding. The physical manifestation of what she’d idealized as she’d answered the bejillions of intrusive questions on The Duke Agency’s client matching paperwork was a supreme specimen. He smiled, then waved and a hard shock rippled through her.

Was this their introduction? It was definitely non-traditional, but she had to give it to them—it definitely felt like an organic encounter. A knot started in her stomach. What was she supposed to do? Wave back? Smile? She glanced around discreetly and quickly determined there were no empty chairs near her. She couldn’t invite him to sit down, so was she supposed to go to him?

Lifting her gaze again, she felt the pretzel knot unravel, deflating like an untied balloon. She barely suppressed her huff of disappointment, watching as another young woman emerged from the row of seats behind her. The handsome stranger met her quickly at the end of the aisle of seats. They came together, kissed rather more passionately than Caitlyn would have considered appropriate for a public place, then moved into the flow of traffic along the walkway towards another gate.

Wow.

The entire non-existent interaction was both a huge letdown and a tremendous relief. Dukes were supposed to meet the companionship needs of their clients, but it wasn’t a dating or escort service. What was it Rachel had said? Something ‘physical’ wasn’t part of the package, but as far as she was concerned, between consenting adults, what happened with the right chemistry was what happened.

Well, she—or rather her long-neglected lady parts—had definitely been geared for physical. And towards a perfect stranger. How embarrassing! It was worse than being a teenager again.

She tucked her boarding pass in between pages as a bookmark. What the hell am I doing? Good grief, this is insane.

She was on the verge of packing her belongings and leaving the airport altogether when a high-pitched shriek cut through the air like the slash of a sword. Startling violently, she pivoted in her seat glancing over her shoulder the direction of the continuing cry.

“Sweet Jesus. With pipes like that, I hope to hell that child’s not on our flight,” the man beside her drawled.

A wide smile split Caitlyn’s face at the absolute dread she heard in the low, and delightfully masculine voice. “I can relate. That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she blurted before she could stop herself. Turning to right herself in her chair, she made eye contact with the speaker and froze.

His hair was cropped short, military-style, but he wore it longer than regulation and the leather-brown curls were a bit wild on top, but appealingly so. Having caught her eye, he beamed, a rakish grin of straight white teeth that was utterly devastating.

Unable to help herself, she smiled back shyly.

“Ooph. I didn’t mean to disturb your reading. My bad.”

He extended a hand to her in introduction anyway. Unconsciously, Caitlyn took it, studying the spiraling tattoos up his corded forearms, wondering vaguely if he had tats anywhere else on his body.

“I’m Duke. Duke Carter.”

Shocked, her eyes flicked up to his and she stared for longer than was probably appropriate before finally getting a tentative grip on her whirling thoughts.

“Duke,” she repeated, one brow lifted in question and a slow smile tugging the corners of her lips. “Seriously? That’s the best you got?”

His piercing green eyes danced with amusement, and in a way that she didn’t understand was possible, his grin grew lazy and downright seductive. Inside, her lady parts were all aflutter, reminding her in no uncertain terms of the neglect she’d given them since Alex’s illness. Obviously, they were through with that.

‘Instant chemistry’.

Wasn’t that what Rachel had told her? Well, she had to admit, The Duke Agency had hit the nail on the head with this one.

Duke Carter was undeniably a piece of art. An entirely lickable piece of art.

“Yup,” he drawled, then continued though she hadn’t asked. “My dad was a huge fan of the old westerns. You should hear what my younger sister’s name is.”

Unable to help it, she giggled, then cursed herself for sounding stupid. “Now I’m afraid to know.”

He gave a low chuckle that peppered goosebumps over her, leaning his elbow on the armrest between them and drawing closer. “I’m at a bit of a disadvantage here, darlin’. You know who I am, but you didn’t introduce yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed and she peered into his face. Was he toying with her? He obviously knew who she was—he couldn’t have managed this introduction otherwise. Frankly, she couldn’t have been more pleased. It felt—well, comfortable. Right.

Even seated, it was apparent he was tall, maybe over six feet. Though leggy and lean, it was clear he had a workout routine that kept him in good form. Unlike her pasty lab-rat complexion, he was tan and healthy-looking and gorgeous in his purely alpha male magnetism.

“Caitlyn Maddox,” she managed in an embarrassingly breathy rush, barely audible over the overhead announcement from the gate attendant, summoning a D. Isaac to the gate desk.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he purred, finally releasing her hand. “This your first trip to Italy?”

“Yes. Is it yours, cowboy?” she shot back, then nearly fell out of her chair with mortification. ‘Cowboy’? Good grief! What was wrong with her? There was no denying his southern accent, but her mouth had gone off sans filter and it had come off as unintentionally yet horribly rude.

If Duke Carter cared, he gave no sign of it. That lazy smile was back, slowly unraveling her at the seams. “Nah. I was in Florence a couple years ago with some buddies.”

She wondered suddenly if the southern accent was an affectation, or if there was a genuine story she could get out of him, even if she couldn’t get his actual name.

“Doesn’t seem like the kind of place guys like you go on vacation,” she parried quickly, stunned silent when those piercing green eyes of his met hers and pinned her to her seat.

Casually, he dropped his phone into his breast pocket with his boarding pass. “Wasn’t. We were in Germany. For Oktoberfest. Return flight was diverted to Florence, then cancelled for two days due to weather.”

“So you made the most of it?”

He patted his lean, hard belly and she viciously suppressed her whimper of blatant lust. “Damn good wine and the best pasta I’ve ever eaten, even if it did make me fat.” He gave her a flirtatious wink and she nearly fell out of her chair.

Caitlyn gave a derisive snort. “‘Fat’. Who worries about fat when they’re going to Italy? I’m looking forward to making the most of those.”

“You know something, darlin’? Now, so am I.”