Curve Struck (A Celebrity Stepbrother Romance) by Christa Wick Page B
Authors: Christa Wick
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his chair, his broad shoulders denting the soft leather as he stared at her. Once again, his gaze made a trip from head to toe to head, this time without the clinical coldness.
"I have a very hard rule, Melanie Lee," he teased as he sunk the first hook into her. "No matter how much a drunken female is trying to seduce me, no matter where her hands or lips try to roam on my body or the dirty promises she whispers in my ear, I always say 'no.'"
Melanie stared at him, mortification spreading through her chest and out her limbs.
Was he telling her she had done just that? Tried to seduce him? Put her mouth on him?
"Wh-what are you saying?"
He smiled a canary eating grin then jabbed a finger at the tail end of the plane. "You don't want to know what I'm saying. Now go sit down."
Chapter Nine
Exiled to the loveseat, Melanie woke her iPad and dug out her art stylus from the bottom of her bag. Opening a drawing application, she started to sketch, the lines seemingly random and angry with the way her wrist whipped her hand across the screen.
Art was the only thing she could ever concentrate on when her mind was in turmoil. Not just lines on paper or pixels on screens, but the physical manifestations of her drawings, especially the costumes. Despite having her blood in a boil over Declan's arrogance and rude behavior, she managed a small smile as she remembered the first fancy dress of her mother's that she had altered -- completely without her mother's permission, of course.
She had been six. The dress had been layer upon layer of some gauzy material she hadn't yet learned the name of. With no access to needles and thread, she'd used scotch tape to piece her creation together. Lots and lots of scotch tape.
Her mother had been horrified and it had been Melanie's first lesson that when mommy said "yes," or "okay" while her nose was in a book, it really meant "not now."
Her father had bought her mother a replacement dress, but he had also taken Melanie to a fabric store and found someone to give her sewing lessons and then, for her seventh birthday, he bought Melanie her very first sewing machine.
The small smile she had nurtured grew bigger but also turned sad. She missed her father, even if he had always put her mother first. Being George Archer's second best girl was still more than most daughters got from their fathers.
More than most women got from any mean, really.
Returning to the cabin, the flight attendant stopped in front of Declan. Forcing herself not to look, Melanie kept her eyeballs glued to the plump female archer who was finally emerging from the lines she had been laying down.
Over the low mechanical hum of the plane at cruising altitude, she heard Declan talking to the woman, the words haphazardly reaching her ears and in too small a quantity to make sense.
Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...
Studiously avoiding turning her gaze toward the front of the cabin, Melanie saved the file, closed the drawing app and imported the sketch into a painting app. She fiddled with colors, trying to decide on a palette for her archer, something that would be both strong and feminine.
Absorbed in the process, she didn't realize Declan was heading toward her end of the plane until he was a few feet away. She pulled her outstretched legs closer to the loveseat, absently glancing to her right where the door to the restroom was located.
Declan slid onto the loveseat next to her.
She dropped her art stylus, the slim pencil like device landing on the curve of her stomach. She grabbed at it, fumbled and sent it tumbling toward Declan.
Capturing the stylus, he half-offered her to it, the look in his eye and the shape of his mouth threatening to play a game of keep away.
No, no, no, no. What the hell was he doing? She needed him to ignore her, for her own sake.
The half heard words came back to her.
Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...
"You ordered her away?" she asked about his conversation with the flight
"I have a very hard rule, Melanie Lee," he teased as he sunk the first hook into her. "No matter how much a drunken female is trying to seduce me, no matter where her hands or lips try to roam on my body or the dirty promises she whispers in my ear, I always say 'no.'"
Melanie stared at him, mortification spreading through her chest and out her limbs.
Was he telling her she had done just that? Tried to seduce him? Put her mouth on him?
"Wh-what are you saying?"
He smiled a canary eating grin then jabbed a finger at the tail end of the plane. "You don't want to know what I'm saying. Now go sit down."
Chapter Nine
Exiled to the loveseat, Melanie woke her iPad and dug out her art stylus from the bottom of her bag. Opening a drawing application, she started to sketch, the lines seemingly random and angry with the way her wrist whipped her hand across the screen.
Art was the only thing she could ever concentrate on when her mind was in turmoil. Not just lines on paper or pixels on screens, but the physical manifestations of her drawings, especially the costumes. Despite having her blood in a boil over Declan's arrogance and rude behavior, she managed a small smile as she remembered the first fancy dress of her mother's that she had altered -- completely without her mother's permission, of course.
She had been six. The dress had been layer upon layer of some gauzy material she hadn't yet learned the name of. With no access to needles and thread, she'd used scotch tape to piece her creation together. Lots and lots of scotch tape.
Her mother had been horrified and it had been Melanie's first lesson that when mommy said "yes," or "okay" while her nose was in a book, it really meant "not now."
Her father had bought her mother a replacement dress, but he had also taken Melanie to a fabric store and found someone to give her sewing lessons and then, for her seventh birthday, he bought Melanie her very first sewing machine.
The small smile she had nurtured grew bigger but also turned sad. She missed her father, even if he had always put her mother first. Being George Archer's second best girl was still more than most daughters got from their fathers.
More than most women got from any mean, really.
Returning to the cabin, the flight attendant stopped in front of Declan. Forcing herself not to look, Melanie kept her eyeballs glued to the plump female archer who was finally emerging from the lines she had been laying down.
Over the low mechanical hum of the plane at cruising altitude, she heard Declan talking to the woman, the words haphazardly reaching her ears and in too small a quantity to make sense.
Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...
Studiously avoiding turning her gaze toward the front of the cabin, Melanie saved the file, closed the drawing app and imported the sketch into a painting app. She fiddled with colors, trying to decide on a palette for her archer, something that would be both strong and feminine.
Absorbed in the process, she didn't realize Declan was heading toward her end of the plane until he was a few feet away. She pulled her outstretched legs closer to the loveseat, absently glancing to her right where the door to the restroom was located.
Declan slid onto the loveseat next to her.
She dropped her art stylus, the slim pencil like device landing on the curve of her stomach. She grabbed at it, fumbled and sent it tumbling toward Declan.
Capturing the stylus, he half-offered her to it, the look in his eye and the shape of his mouth threatening to play a game of keep away.
No, no, no, no. What the hell was he doing? She needed him to ignore her, for her own sake.
The half heard words came back to her.
Out...cabin...PA...remainder...flight...
"You ordered her away?" she asked about his conversation with the flight
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