Stone Cold Surrender (3 page)

decided
he’d
better
let
her
know
what
was
going
on
before
he
embarrassed
them
both.

He
noticed
that
the
sun,
shining
through
the
airplane

window,
hit
her
features
at
such
an
angle
that
they
glowed.
Even
her
hair
appeared
thick
and
luxurious
and
fanned
her
face
in
a
way
that
made
her
look
even
more
attractive.

Leaning
over
quietly,
so
as
not
to
startle
her,
he
breathed
in
her
scent
before
getting
a
single
word
out
of
his
mouth.
It

was
a
fragrance
that
turned
him
on
even
more
than
he

already
was.
The
aroma
seemed
entrenched
into
her
skin
and
he
was
tempted
to
take
his
tongue
and
lick
a
portion
of
her
bare
neck
to
see
if
perhaps
he
could
sample
a
taste
of
it.

Stone
shook
his
head.
Since
when
had
he
developed
a
fetish
for
a
woman’s
skin?
He
enjoyed
the
art
of
kissing,
like
most
men,
but
wanting
to
taste,
nibble
and
devour
a
woman
all
over
had
never
been
something
that
interested
him.

Until
now.

He
pushed
the
thought
to
the
back
of
his
mind,
deciding
it
was
too
dangerous
to
even
go
there;
he
leaned
closer
and
whispered
softly
in
her
ear,
“The
plane
has
leveled
off
so
you
can
let
go
of
me
now.”

She
snapped
open
her
eyes
and
quickly
turned
her
head
to

meet
his
gaze.
A
part
of
him
suddenly
wished
she
hadn’t
done
that.
He
found
himself
staring
into
the
most
beautiful
set
of
brown
eyes
he
had
ever
seen.
They
were
perfect
for
the
rest
of
her
features
and
something
in
their
dark
depths
made
his
body
almost
jerk
in
the
seat.

She
was
simply
gorgeous,
although
in
truth
there
wasn’t

anything
simple
about
it.
She
literally
took
his
breath
away.
And,
speaking
of
breath,
he
watched
as
she
drew
in
a
long,
shaky
one
before
glancing
down
at
her
left
hand.
She

immediately
snatched
it
off
his
thigh.

Awareness
flashed
in
her
eyes
and
total
embarrassment

appeared
on
her
face.
“Oh,
oh,
I’m
so
sorry.
I
didn’t
mean
to
touch
you.
I
thought
my
hand
was
on
the
armrest.
I—I
didn’t
mean
to
act
so
improperly.”

When
Stone
saw
the
degree
of
distress
on
her
face
he

decided
to
assure
her
that
he
would
survive.
The
last
thing
he
wanted
was
for
her
to
come
unglued
and
get
all
flustered
on
him.
And
he
really
liked
her
accent.
It
was
totally
different
from
his
Southern
drawl
and
had
the
unmistakable
inflection
of
a
northeasterner.
She
was
definitely
someone
from
one
of
those
New
England
States.

“Hey,
no
harm’s
done,”
he
tried
to
say
casually.
“My
name
is
Stone
Westmoreland,”
he
said,
introducing
himself
and

presenting
his
hand
to
her.

She
still
looked
embarrassed
when
she
took
it
and
said,
“And
I’m
Madison
Winters.”

He
smiled.
“Nice
meeting
you,
Madison.
Is
this
your
first
flight?”

She
shook
her
head
when
he
released
her
hand.
“Nice

meeting
you,
too,
and
no,
this
isn’t
my
first
flight,
but
I
have
a
definite
fear
of
flying.
I
try
using
other
means
of

transportation
whenever
I
can,
but
in
this
particular
situation
time
is
of
the
essence.”

He
nodded.
“And
where
are
you
from?”
he
couldn’t
help
but
ask,
her
accent
affecting
him
just
as
much
as
her
touch
had.
Just
listening
to
how
she
pronounced
her
words
was
a
total
turn-on.

“I’m
from
Boston.
I
was
born
and
raised
there.”

He
nodded
again.
“I’m
from
the
Atlanta
area,’’
he
decided
to
say
when
moments
passed
and
she
hadn’t
taken
the

liberty
to
ask.
Whether
it
was
from
shyness
or
disinterest,
he
wasn’t
sure.
But
as
far
as
he
was
concerned
it
didn’t
matter
if
she
wasn’t
interested
in
him.
He
was
definitely

interested
in
her.

“I
love
visiting
Atlanta,”
she
said
moments
later.
“I
took
my
class
on
a
field
trip
there
once.”

He
raised
a
brow.
“Your
class?”

She
smiled
and
his
stomach
flipped.
“Yes,
I’m
a
teacher.
I
teach
music
to
sixth
graders.”

Stone
smiled,
surprised.
He
would
never
have
figured
her
to
be
the
artsy
type.
He
remembered
taking
band
when
he
was
about
eleven
and
learning
to
play
the
clarinet.
His
band
teacher
had
looked
nothing
like
her.
“Must
be
interesting.”

Her
smile
widened.
“It
is
and
I
enjoy
what
I
do.”

He
chuckled.
“Yes,
in
this
day
and
time
it’s
good
when
a
person
can
enjoy
their
work.”

She
stared
at
him
for
a
second
then
asked,
“And
what
type
of
work
do
you
do?”

He
hesitated
before
answering.
As
a
bestselling
author
he
used
a
pseudonym
to
ensure
his
privacy,
but
for
some

reason
he
felt
comfortable
being
truthful
with
her.
“I’m
a

fiction
writer.”

A
smile
tilted
her
lips.
“Oh,
how
wonderful.
Sorry,
but
I
don’t
recall
ever
reading
any
of
your
books.
What
exactly
do
you
write
about?”

Stone
chuckled.
“I
write
action-thriller
novels
under
the
pseudonym
of
Rock
Mason.”

She
blinked
and
then
gasped.
“You’re
Rock
Mason?
The