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Authors: Rosie Dean
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again very quickly. My eyes flashed open and found Duncan’s steady gaze. He nodded, ‘You okay?’
My stomach performed another somersault. I swallowed. ‘Yes thanks.’
‘Nasty bit of turbulence,’ he said. ‘I expect we’ll be through it soon.’
Swoop and soar!
I clutched at the armrests of my seat. Now would not be a cool time to confess to motion-sickness. I wasn’t usually affected on proper airlines unless the turbulence was catastrophic.
Swoop!
I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes again, humming quietly to myself.
‘Chloe, give me your hands.’
I opened my eyes again. Duncan was forward on his seat, holding his hands out to me. What was his game? We hadn’t even got to the his’n’hers suite, yet.
Soar and swoop!
‘Here!’ he said, more firmly.
I lifted my arms and placed my hands on the table. He took each one in his own and turned them over. I watched in confusion as he slid his thumbs along the inside of my wrists and pressed them into the soft tissue between the tendons. There was a slight crease between his brows and, up this close, I could make out a birthmark close to his hairline.
He looked up. ‘This is an acupressure point. It helps stop motion-sickness.’
I nodded, too stunned to speak.
He smiled. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen the colour drain from someone’s face quite so quickly. But if you think you are going to be sick, we have bags for that.’
I nodded again. The nausea subsiding – more through shock, I suspected, than alternative therapy. I stared at his hands. They were warm and strong. I sat mesmerized, like a volunteer in a hypnotist’s stage show.
The plane did another roller-coaster impression and my hands clutched at his forearms. ‘Sorry!’
‘Feeling sick?’
‘I’ll survive, but I’ll be glad when it calms down.’
He frowned. ‘You and me both.’
I’ll just bet he was. The prospect of Chloe going one-two-three-retch all over his classy jet would be enough to piss anyone off.
The turbulence only lasted a few more minutes and, once the pilot announced we could remove our safety belts, Duncan released my wrists and retrieved his laptop, before immersing himself in some work. I slid my arms across my waist, and hugged them to me; the impression of his fingers still firmly indented on them.
I focused on the table for several minutes, until I dared to make a brief study of his seriously handsome face, which now peered intently at the contents of his laptop screen. It was the same face I’d seen back at the TV studios, and the same face I’d watched laughing at Mum’s stories. But now, I had a sneaking suspicion, it was the face that would fuel my imagination for the rest of the trip. Much against my better judgement.
Chapter 7
‘This is gorgeous,’ I muttered to myself as I stood on the balcony of my room. I was looking out over the hillside stretching down to the town of Sitges. The sun’s rays were seeping through the sleeves of my blouse and warming my skin. This wasn’t exactly the his-n-hers suite Beth had predicted but the quality was excellent and the view spectacular. What a shame I only had a couple of days here.
The moment we’d arrived at the hotel, Duncan had excused himself to attend a meeting but suggested I take a tour of the exhibitors in the Sala Picasso, so I could familiarize myself with the different companies before I set about schmoozing them.
Despite being geared up for my first foray into schmoozing my prospective investors, I was faced with exhibition stand engineers and frazzled technicians – not a mover or a shaker amongst them. Not even the twitch of a corporate dynamo with deep pockets. But I was able to suss out the scale of the venue and where the Big Boys were located. Plus, I garnered a small library of leaflets to help cure my insomnia.
By the time I was through touring the exhibition stands, I needed a drink. The terrace outside was dotted with tables and umbrellas. I wanted time to
My stomach performed another somersault. I swallowed. ‘Yes thanks.’
‘Nasty bit of turbulence,’ he said. ‘I expect we’ll be through it soon.’
Swoop and soar!
I clutched at the armrests of my seat. Now would not be a cool time to confess to motion-sickness. I wasn’t usually affected on proper airlines unless the turbulence was catastrophic.
Swoop!
I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes again, humming quietly to myself.
‘Chloe, give me your hands.’
I opened my eyes again. Duncan was forward on his seat, holding his hands out to me. What was his game? We hadn’t even got to the his’n’hers suite, yet.
Soar and swoop!
‘Here!’ he said, more firmly.
I lifted my arms and placed my hands on the table. He took each one in his own and turned them over. I watched in confusion as he slid his thumbs along the inside of my wrists and pressed them into the soft tissue between the tendons. There was a slight crease between his brows and, up this close, I could make out a birthmark close to his hairline.
He looked up. ‘This is an acupressure point. It helps stop motion-sickness.’
I nodded, too stunned to speak.
He smiled. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen the colour drain from someone’s face quite so quickly. But if you think you are going to be sick, we have bags for that.’
I nodded again. The nausea subsiding – more through shock, I suspected, than alternative therapy. I stared at his hands. They were warm and strong. I sat mesmerized, like a volunteer in a hypnotist’s stage show.
The plane did another roller-coaster impression and my hands clutched at his forearms. ‘Sorry!’
‘Feeling sick?’
‘I’ll survive, but I’ll be glad when it calms down.’
He frowned. ‘You and me both.’
I’ll just bet he was. The prospect of Chloe going one-two-three-retch all over his classy jet would be enough to piss anyone off.
The turbulence only lasted a few more minutes and, once the pilot announced we could remove our safety belts, Duncan released my wrists and retrieved his laptop, before immersing himself in some work. I slid my arms across my waist, and hugged them to me; the impression of his fingers still firmly indented on them.
I focused on the table for several minutes, until I dared to make a brief study of his seriously handsome face, which now peered intently at the contents of his laptop screen. It was the same face I’d seen back at the TV studios, and the same face I’d watched laughing at Mum’s stories. But now, I had a sneaking suspicion, it was the face that would fuel my imagination for the rest of the trip. Much against my better judgement.
Chapter 7
‘This is gorgeous,’ I muttered to myself as I stood on the balcony of my room. I was looking out over the hillside stretching down to the town of Sitges. The sun’s rays were seeping through the sleeves of my blouse and warming my skin. This wasn’t exactly the his-n-hers suite Beth had predicted but the quality was excellent and the view spectacular. What a shame I only had a couple of days here.
The moment we’d arrived at the hotel, Duncan had excused himself to attend a meeting but suggested I take a tour of the exhibitors in the Sala Picasso, so I could familiarize myself with the different companies before I set about schmoozing them.
Despite being geared up for my first foray into schmoozing my prospective investors, I was faced with exhibition stand engineers and frazzled technicians – not a mover or a shaker amongst them. Not even the twitch of a corporate dynamo with deep pockets. But I was able to suss out the scale of the venue and where the Big Boys were located. Plus, I garnered a small library of leaflets to help cure my insomnia.
By the time I was through touring the exhibition stands, I needed a drink. The terrace outside was dotted with tables and umbrellas. I wanted time to
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