Free Decline (Declan Reede: The Untold Story #1) by Michelle Irwin

in my hand, I’d finally signed autographs for almost everyone who wanted one. The one I hadn’t signed was a copy of Gossip Weekly thrust in front of my nose. Even I had my limits in vulgarity.
    Once I’d broken free of the pack, I headed straight for the airport lounge, thankful that I had a membership considering Danny had only sprung for premium economy rather than the usual business class seat. I hid away in the corner with my back to all the other passengers and my cap tipped low over my face. I just wanted everyone to leave me the hell alone. There was enough shit going through my mind without needing to worry about other people.
    I waited until the last normal call before I boarded. I really didn’t want to be stuck on the plane any longer than necessary, but I also didn’t want the airline to call my name over the loud speaker, effectively telling everyone in the airport that I was one of those arrogant people who think the whole plane should wait for them. Not to mention the risk that they’d announce my name on the plane as well, thereby informing everyone that they had a celebrity in their midst.
    Walking up to the attendant at the gate, I handed over my boarding pass. When I did, I flipped her the best smile I could manage in the circumstances. Although I was positive it was more of a grimace, she let it slide and returned with a lifted lip of her own. She directed me through to the tunnel and then I entered the plane.
    The next flight attendant looked at my ticket and pointed me in the direction of my seat. When I followed her directions, I smiled. There was a fine piece of tail bent over across the seats already. No doubt that gorgeous arse belonged to the person who would be sitting next to me for the duration of the flight. Or at least the first leg of it. More than enough time to find out if I’d have her joining the mile-high club, regardless of the doctor’s no-nookie rule.
    As I walked closer, I admired the view. Whoever it was, she was struggling to get something out of her carry-on bag. Then I saw it. The now sickeningly familiar cover of Gossip Weekly .
    Fuck .
    At least ten hours, and possibly another twelve if we shared similar seats on the next leg, stuck next to someone who not only read Gossip Weekly , which would have been bad enough at the best of times, but who also had the issue with me ungraciously gracing the front cover as their early inflight entertainment.
    The woman stood, and, if possible, things got worse for me. She was a fucking brunette. Which meant there wasn’t even a chance of me trying to add another notch to my mile-high club belt if by some miracle she was impressed by public displays of lewdness and wanted an example of my prowess.
    Great .
    It was crystal clear the flight was going to be an hours-long torture test.
    She pulled her bag up from the seat and tried to stow it in the overhead compartment, but was just a little too short to balance it properly. I watched her struggle for half a second, her blouse pulling up away from her stomach and displaying a sliver of her silky-smooth, milk-coloured skin. When it was clear she couldn’t do it alone, I closed the last of the distance between us and reached my hands up to help. Even though I wasn’t really in the position to be lifting anything, the bag looked light enough.
    “Would you like some assistance?” I offered.
    At first, I assumed that I’d startled her, because she froze and everything she held in her hands came toppling down on top of both of us. I wasn’t prepared for it, so the bag slipped straight through my hands, knocking off my hat and sunglasses as it fell.
    I stumbled to catch my hat and then dropped to the floor to retrieve my sunglasses.
    “Fuck!” I cried out as the move caused a sharp stabbing in my injured side.
    Not wanting to be an arse, despite my injury, I put my hand out to help my seat-neighbour with her carry-on. At some point, she’d bent down too. Her breathing was shallow and