EMBER - Part Three (The EMBER Series, #3) (10 page)

"You were on a flight from Milan to JFK the week before last." His blue eyes rake over my black dress. "You were wearing a red skirt, white blouse and your hair was pulled back, tight, into a ponytail."

What the fuck?

I part my lips to say something, anything, but the dark haired, bearded stranger isn't done yet.

"You sat in business class, first class, actually on that flight. You were assigned seat 2B."

I was. I remember it clearly because I'd asked for that specific seat. It's the one I always request. I wouldn't say I'm a nervous flyer but if I can quiet my anxiety over being thousands of miles in the air in a confided space with dozens of strangers, I'll do it. That particular seat has always kept me safe so why mess with a good thing?

"You walked out of the lavatory. I was standing there, next to you and I remember the scent of your perfume." His hand reaches down. I don't protest as he gently grabs my wrist and brings it to his face. He inhales, slowly.

I look around the room, wanting to find a familiar face that will ground me in this moment. There's no way this is happening. I'd remember if this man sat next to me on a flight. I'd recall the curve of his strong jaw and the sound of his voice.

"I'm sorry. I don't remember," I admit.

"Allow me to introduce myself then." He slides his fingers up my wrist until his hand is cradling mine. "I'm Landon Beckett. Captain Landon Beckett."

"Captain?" I ask carefully, realization washing over me.

His full lips curve into a wry smile. "Yes. I was piloting the airplane."

My stomach knots. It's him. I thought I'd never see him again. There's no way he knows about the conversation I had with the woman sitting next to me. He can't know that, can he? "It's nice to meet you."

"It's my pleasure, Ms. Marlow or can I call you Tess?"

I take a step back as I feel a flush race over my body. "How do you know my name?"

"That's an interesting story." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Where do I begin?"

Coming This Summer

F
eaturing Gabriel Foster

"How long have you worked here?" His voice is cultured, deep and smooth. It's not uncommon to hear a voice like that in this boutique. I've worked here for six weeks now and at least twice a week a man with too much money and an insatiable need to see young women dressed in expensive lingerie will come waltzing through the doors.

"Welcome to Liore," I say softly as I glance to my left to where he's standing.

I have to look up. He's large, not just in height but in his shoulder's breadth. His eyes are a rich brown, his hair just as dark. His nose is sculptured and his jaw has a definite curve to it. The suit he's wearing is dark blue, perhaps even black. It's hard to tell under the chandelier lights that decorate this opulent space. 

"Isla." His eyes hover over my chest before they settle on my name tag. "It's nice to meet you, Isla."

"It's lovely to meet you..." I pause. It's not only because I've been instructed to grab the name of each customer to give them a personal shopping experience. I want to know his name.

"Gabriel," he offers with a light touch of his hand on mine.

The name is oddly familiar. As I work to place it, I see him peering across the boutique at my boss. "Is there something I can help you find, Gabriel? Are you purchasing something for a girlfriend, or perhaps, your wife?"

His expression shifts slightly. "I have neither."

That's a pity but it's not. This is exactly the type of man I envisioned in my mind's eye when I arrived in Manhattan. I graduated from high school less than two years ago and my dreams of attending Julliard on a scholarship had vanished as quickly as my clean record when I broke one too many rules in high school.

"Is there something in particular that you're looking for?" I catch the faint wave of the hand of one of my co-workers across the aisle. I ignore it because when a customer is ready to buy, the store could be engulfed in flames, and I'm not moving an inch. The commissions here are the highest I've ever earned in retail and the secret to guarantee a big sale is to make the customer feel as though they're the only one in the boutique.

His eyes scan the various bras we have displayed before they move to the lace panties and garters. "If I asked you to try something on for me, Isla, would you do that? Would you take me into one of the change rooms with you?"

I've read the employee handbook. No, I skimmed it briefly while on my way to work that first day weeks ago. The number one rule is to never take a customer into the rooms. Men who lead you into those quiet spaces are craving more than a private fashion show. I know that. "I'm sorry, Gabriel. That's against company policy."

He studies my face carefully. The dark shadow around my blue eyes looks hideous in the alarming bright light of the morning, but in here it's sensual and alluring. My shoulder length blonde hair is straight today, a sharp contrast to my high cheekbones. I'm here to sell lingerie and the light pink wrap around dress I'm wearing accentuates everything it needs to. He hasn't walked away yet, so he's still primed to buy.

He closes the short distance between us as he steps towards me. "You don't strike me as the type of young woman who follows all the rules."

It's tempting. Not just because of the extra money I'd find in my pocket. "I don't follow rules, Gabriel. If you want a private show, I can come to your office after work."

His brow cocks with the suggestion. "Is that something you offer to customers often?"

I've never offered it before. "I only offer it to the ones who peak my interest."

"I'll give you my card." His hand dips into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

I take it from his long, elegant fingers and look down at it. I don't have time to read the details before my boss is upon us.

I turn to look at her but she's staring at Gabriel. Her hand leaps to his shoulder.

"Mr. Foster," she says slowly. "I see that you've met our newest girl. Isla, you're explaining everything we offer to Mr. Foster, yes?"

I look down at the card of Mr. Gabriel Foster, the CEO of Foster Enterprises and the man who owns this boutique.

"Isla has been very cordial." He glides the tip of his index finger along my wrist. "She's coming by my office today. I'll expect you at four, Isla."

"At four," I repeat back. "I'll be there at four, Sir."

His eyes skim slowly over my body before they stop on my face. "Don't be late and bring those samples we spoke of."

I freeze as his hand runs up my arm before he brushes past me towards the front of the shop.

Coming Soon

T
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D
eborah Bladon has never read a romance hero she didn't like. Her love for romance novels began when she was old enough to board the bus, library card in hand to check out the newest Harlequin paperbacks. She's a Canadian by heart, and by passport, but you can often spot her in New York City sipping a latte and looking for inspiration for her next story. Manhattan is definitely her second home.

She cherishes her family and believes that each day is a gift for writing, for reading, and for loving.