“Have you read all her books?”
“Several times,” she replied.
“Is there sex in it?” Hopefully, that question would elevate the somber mood some.
“Oh, yeah,” she replied, a wry smile stretching her lips.
I pulled a face, and Xanthe laughed.
“I’ve never understood why so many guys shun romance and sex in novels,” she said. “I mean, you watch porn, right?”
My cheeks heated up. Behind her glasses, Xanthe’s eyes sparkled with merriment.
“Maybe.”
She snickered at my admission, and, damn, it was adorable. Packing up her leather-bound book and tiny laptop into her bag, she then unbuckled her seat belt.
“I’m just going to use the restroom,” she explained as she stood.
As she made her way down the aisle, I watched her ass sashay. Xanthe was quite sexy when she walked.
Xanthe
“What sane person comes up with that kind of stuff?”
I did.
Taking the time to get my emotions in check before heading back to my seat, I splashed some water onto my face. It wasn’t the first time a person had questioned my sanity—hell, it was the reason I had a pen name—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last either.
However, coming from the man who would be gracing the covers of my series…it’d stung. Sure, I had dealt with far worse from critics and reviewers, and so had countless other authors.
What the hell kind of person is he expecting to meet on Friday? I wondered.
Before I had been able to hide my shock and hurt, Ollie had seen it. He’d apologized for insulting me—although I wasn’t sure if it counted, considering he didn’t know I was Elaine. I wanted to prove to him that perhaps the woman was nothing that he was imagining. After his asshole behavior in the airport, I’d introduced myself as…well, myself because he’d been such a prick, and he didn’t need to know I was the woman he’d be working with.
He’d apologized for being a prick, too.
Okay, so maybe Ollie isn’t as big of a dick as I originally thought.
I’d decided to hold off on telling him I was Elaine H. Ford to show him that I wasn’t unhinged even if what was in my mind was, as he’d put it, gross. If he decided he liked me on the flight, then when we met again on Friday, he’d know he wasn’t working with a psycho.
Ollie was quite charming. I was starting to like him—aside from his assumption of my lack of sanity. He still carried an air of arrogance, but I felt it had more to do with everything he’d accomplished for himself rather than a sense of entitlement. He was gifted in his field—I’d taken a few classes, and I understood the basics of photography—and the way I saw it, he was disappointed for becoming known more for his good looks than his talent.
And, damn, was he good-looking. Ollie was so much larger in person. A big man, he looked like he should be out wrestling dangerous wildlife and building log cabins in the woods. Maybe it was the beard. Sure, it was all the rage for guys to grow one these days. My father had sported a beard my whole life, and I thought that was probably why I loved them so much.
Ollie’s hands though…they gave him away. His elegant long fingers moved with a grace that bespoke of having to handle delicate objects.
He certainly had style, too—dressed in expensive designer jeans that hugged him in all the right places and shiny boots made to look slightly used in the color of a camel. His upper body showed a decent strength beneath a white T-shirt and button-down denim shirt over it. He obviously worked out.
I loved his haircut. His black hair was cropped close to the sides of his head around the ears and in the back, but the top was long and thick.
He was more of a diva than Elaine H. Ford could ever be, and the thought put a smile on my face.
With more confidence, I headed back to my seat, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt and to maybe see if he thought I was truly insane. Scooting to the window seat, I silently let him know he was welcome to sit with me. Ollie eyed the seat I had previously occupied and then met my gaze.
Ollie’s eyes were the color of whiskey, which weirded me out. Donovan Colt had eyes the color of whiskey, and that was just a little too convenient for me. I’d imagined this character and written him into existence long before I’d ever known he had an actual, genuine real-life counterpart. It was just so bizarre.
Unbuckling his seat belt, he stood and crossed the aisle, and I found myself enchanted by his smile. As he settled into the seat next to me, I caught a whiff of some mouthwatering cologne. It smelled expensive, light and woodsy.
“So, what made you move to Amsterdam?” he asked, looking into my eyes.
He had such a pleasant deep voice. It rumbled and soothed some part of my psyche.
“The weed and live sex shows,” I replied. I was joking, of course, but I’d said it in my deadpan sense of humor.
Whiskey eyes going wide, he gave me a startled look. Then, his beard twitched, and I caught a flash of his pearly whites. I wondered if he bleached his teeth or if they just looked so white against the blackness of his beard.
“Yeah, I guess I can say the same,” he stated, which made me smile. Blinking, he stared for a moment before facing forward.
“After graduating university, I moved there to help my great-aunt in her bookstore,” I told him. “It’s really just a place for me to be where I can write and still interact with other humans. Otherwise, I’d sit in my writing cave all day. What about you?”
“Some years back, I went there on holiday with my best friend, and we decided that we wanted to open a studio there. It’s a wonderful city filled with beautiful people.”
“What’s it like, working with models? Are they just normal people when they’re not in front of the camera?”
“Sure.”
“Are they nice?”
“Yeah. Most of them are down-to-earth. They have other jobs, other interests. But I do more with photography than just taking photos of models.”
He did. After finding out that my Donovan was the photographer, I had gone back to check out Ollie’s other work, and he seemed to truly enjoy taking photos of nature.
“So I’ve seen. I love the Holland album you have up on the website. Some of those early morning shots are just breathtaking. The one of the crow on the wooden fence with the rising sun is one of my favorites.”
Ollie came to life before my eyes then. Animated, he was brilliant with the passion his craft inspired.
Oh, man. I’d opened up the floodgates.
His eyes brightened, and his voice dipped into a rich, smooth timbre as he told me about going out that morning to get those shots. “Early morning is my favorite. That sunlight is just unbeatable, in my opinion…”
He rambled on about several different shoots he’d done around Holland. Since I had studied each of the pictures posted on the web page, I understood most of what he was talking about.
When the flight attendants made their rounds with food, Ollie smiled sweetly at me. “Would you mind if I joined you for lunch?”
I sighed dramatically. “I don’t know. You’re not a mouth-breather, so I’m guessing you chew with your mouth closed, too.”
He chuckled. “I assure you, I do.”