Just What She Wants by Barbara Elsborg

 
     
    Chapter One
     
     
    Even with nothing to declare, Indie always felt guilty when she came through customs. As she stood in line, she bit back the urge to shout, yes, I’m bringing three bikinis, my best underwear, and a butt plug into the country, and instead kept her head down. She didn’t actually have a butt plug. Well, she did, but not in her luggage because with her luck, her bag would burst open and Medium-sized Pink Thing would roll to the feet of some gorgeous stranger who might well have asked her out had he not seen her naughty secret.
    She smothered her sigh of relief when the sniffer dog moved on. The mutts were probably trained to listen for guilty exclamations. She’d never taken illegal drugs in her life, yet the dogs always found her luggage particularly fascinating. Probably because whenever she took care of her brother’s cat, it slept in her bag. The customs official took the form she’d filled in, gave it a quick glance, and waved her on her way. Despite misgivings about coming on her own, she felt a ripple of excitement at being in another country with the chance of being someone other than Poor Indie , if only for a couple of weeks.
    A short monorail journey later, she emerged into the vast atrium of Orlando International Airport to be confronted by the most enormous Christmas tree she’d ever seen. It looked amazing, smothered in shimmering lights and huge silver, red, and purple balls. She swallowed, but the lump in her throat didn’t shift. She’d planned to escape Christmas with all its trimmings and memories, but she suspected she nurtured a forlorn hope.
    As instructed by email, she made her way down the escalator to baggage claim though she had nothing to collect. She’d carried her bag with her from the first carousel situated just past the immigration desks. Her gaze settled on a tall, slim guy with jet-black hair wearing sunglasses who stood next to her destination. He stared straight ahead, and the tight set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the rigid way he held himself upright, told her he was in pain.
    Indie smothered her gasp when she stepped in front of him. With a lean face, stubbled chin, and sharp cheekbones, he was handsome enough to make angels pant with lust, and he held a sign saying Heden. He was hers—sort of. She’d never swooned in her life but thought she might be about to.
    Think of something clever to say .
    “Hello. Me you looking for? Indiana.” Oh, blast .
    “Excuse me?” he said.
    Deep breath . “I think you might be waiting for me. My name’s Indie Jones. Lisa couldn’t come. She broke her leg this morning tripping over her mother’s dog. Winnie’s small and cute, cream colored, and blends into the carpet. Oh, the dog, not the mother.” Shut up .
    Even without seeing his eyes, she recognized the look, the sort reserved for annoying children about to be sent to bed with no supper, and hopes of him feeling even a tiny bit of what she felt turned to sludge.
    He held out his hand. “Kyle Landon.”
    As he wrapped his large, tanned hand around hers, muscles between her legs tightened in a way they usually only did in bed, with a bit of help. For the last year, with only her help.
    “Indiana Jones?” he asked.
    She gave him points for not smirking. “My parents were huge fans of the movies. Obsessive nuts, actually, and yes, I know Indiana was really the dog’s name, but I’d rather be Indiana than Henry or Junior.” She grinned. He didn’t smile back. Oh well , good looks and a sense of humor were a lot to ask for.
    “How many bags are we waiting for?”
    “None.” She pressed her lips together to stop any more crap pouring out about how lovely not to have to wear a coat and a scarf and gloves.
    “Great.” That did warrant a slight upward twist of the lips, and he took her bag from her hand. “Two more guests to pick up from carousel seven and we can go.”
    As they set off along the polished floor of the concourse, she