He nods and begins scratching his name across the sheet. “How about you?”

I furrow my brow. “How about me, what?”

He glances over at me and smirks. “Would you like me to sign something for you? A piece of clothing…bare skin, perhaps?”

I grimace because I don’t exactly know what he’s famous for. If I had to guess, factoring in the kids’ reactions, I would say he’s a pro athlete of some type. Still doesn’t mean I need, or even want, his autograph—especially not on my bare skin.

“I’m good, but thank you.”

He lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a first.”

Suddenly I feel bad for sort of insulting him. He was nice enough—if you call ordering a worker around nice—to give me a seat in first class. I should at least try and be gracious.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. If you would like to sign something for me…that would be great.”

Mr. Cold chuckles as he hands me back the paper with his signature just in time for another autograph request to come from the back. “Don’t ask out of obligation. I hate that shit. Do what you want, not what you think people want you to do.”

His words hit me and remind me that’s exactly what moving to Detroit is all about. Like a good little girl, I’ve always done what’s expected of me. I went to a Christian college to please my father, and dated boys from our family’s church so the guy would fit my family’s ideal mold of what a good boyfriend should represent—all to please Father. None of it made me happy. Every time I wanted to explore the world, or taste some of the different fruits life had to offer, I was always reminded that some fruit is forbidden for a reason. Frankly, I was sick of always being told what to do and how to feel. I take a deep breath. It’s time to start living my life on my own terms.

“You know what? You’re right. I don’t want your signature. I don’t even know who you are.”

His gaze snaps to me and my newfound toughness wavers a bit under the intensity of his stare. Panicking slightly, I feel the need to backpedal. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the seat, but I don’t want an autograph.”

He smiles and a tingle erupts in my belly before spreading through the rest of my body. He’s got a great smile, and paired with those gorgeous eyes of his, it’s a deadly combination of sexiness. I imagine many women have lost their ever-lovin’ minds because of that smile.

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

My heart does a double thud as I swallow hard and try to remember what my own name is. That smile is causing me to go a little batty myself. Not that anyone could blame me. After all, this stunning man just called me “beautiful.”

“Anna Cortez.”

His eyes dance with amusement.

“Cortez,” he repeats.

The way my name rolls off his tongue sounds so sensual and naughty. It’s almost as if he’s trying to turn me on and make me squirm on purpose for turning down his stupid autograph. “Is that Spanish?”

“It is,” I answer simply. “It means ‘courteous.’”

“Ah, sassy and smart, I see,” Mr. Cold teases. Or at least…I think he’s joking. It doesn’t seem like he’s pissed or anything because he’s still grinning. “It’s nice to meet you, Anna Cortez.”

“Likewise, Mr…”

Oh damn. Do I call him Mr. X? Or do I refer to him as Mr. Cold like the flight attendant did? I hate being stuck in these awkward social situations. I’ve never claimed to be a big people person.

Luckily for me, he fills in the gap. “You can call me Xavier.”

Things begin to click for me. “Is that where the X comes from?”

“It is.”

I lick my lips before I wonder out loud, “How about the ‘Phenomenal’ part?”

His eyes flick down to my lips and then back up again. “I could tell you, but I think it’d be a whole lot more fun if I showed you where that portion of my name comes from.”

Why do I have the distinct feeling that this man has just propositioned me after sitting next to me for less than ten minutes? No one, other than me, gets into these jeans that fast. “I think I’m good without that too.”

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Anna?” Xavier asks, trying to feel me out.

“I’d like to think so, but if you asked my father that question right now he might tell you I’m the spawn of Satan,” I respond easily, and then immediately wish I could take the last part back. I tend to ramble when I get nervous, thus exposing all my secrets and this guy is the last person who needs to know my life history. Besides, it’s not like he really cares anyhow. He’s obviously one of those kinds of guys Father always warns me about. The kind who only wants one thing.

Xavier shakes his head. “I’ve met some actual demons from hell and trust me, beautiful, you’re the furthest thing from evil I’ve been around in a long, long time. Your father needs a wakeup call. I could tell the second our eyes met that you were a sweet one.”

“You…you noticed me…before?” I question, blown away that the little eye lock we shared when he got on the plane had made an impression on him too.

He goes back to signing his name and shrugs. “I always take in every inch of my surroundings, and any man would be a fucking fool if he didn’t notice you.”