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Because it takes a lot of work to make Mondays fun, we at Inkspell decided to start a blog feature we like to call Eyecandy Monday. Each Monday we will feature the characters from one Inkspell novel and share with you all the fine details and tasty tidbits we can dig up about these interesting and well written main characters. We want to revisit some of our favorite hotties from our favorite stories! As we revisit our eyecandy, we are sharing with you an excerpt to wet your appetite about the character and the story. After all, you can't get enough of book eyecandy!
EXCERPT:I stared at the seats. The empty one was the window seat. The other seat was occupied. By a seriously good looking guy sleeping peacefully. He filled the seat to capacity. His broad chest was hugged by an olive green shirt that said MARINES in all caps.
I chewed my lip. “Can I sit somewhere else?” I asked, hating to wake him up. And hating that my seat was by the window.
“I’m up,” he said suddenly, rubbing a hand across his face.
I jumped. “Holy crap. I thought you were sleeping.”
He grinned and I stared. Good looking didn’t cut it. He was seriously hot. And he had a dimple. A really adorable dimple.
“Nah.” He smiled. “Just resting my eyes.”
“Oh,” I said.
The attendant cleared her throat; there were a few people waiting behind me. Great, no pressure. It’s not like everyone, Hot Guy included, needed to know I was freaking out. The words spilled out: “I have a weakness for guys with a military haircut.” Smooth, Jen, really smooth. I tried to smile, but I’m not sure it worked.
Sparkly blue eyes met mine. And for a few seconds the cabin of this first class airplane didn’t feel like an upscale coffin. His eyes were amazing…distracting…
But then he turned, shifting his long legs so that I could squeeze by.
“It’s okay,” I offered. “You can take the window seat.”
I had no desire to look out the window. Actually, I’d prefer not to look out the window. If I had it my way, I’d take a sedative and have them wake me when we arrived in Los Angeles. But sedatives weren’t an option, not anymore—not for me.
He glanced at the flight attendant who was hovering behind me. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”
I looked at the attendant, a little thing with a tired face and swelling ankles. “Sorry, Miss Smith.” I had to admit, she looked sorry. “If we’re not full, you might be able to move around once we take off. We’ll have to wait and see.”
I didn’t miss what she was saying. No guarantees, and right now I was stuck here…by the hot guy. I took a deep breath, shoved my ponytail off my shoulder, and forced a smile onto my lips. “Alrighty, then.”
Clutching my leather bag to my chest, I forced myself into the row of seats. I focused on breathing in and out. Not the low ceiling or the cramped seating or the soft hissing of the cabin air. No, I wouldn’t think about that. All that mattered was climbing into my seat without falling on Mr. Hotness.
I guess he was a plus. He was totally a step up from some nosy old woman or, God forbid, a lady with a crying baby.
I sat, sucked in another deep breath, and buckled my seatbelt. My hands were shaking as I pulled the belt tight.
“You okay?” Hot Guy asked.
I hugged my bag to my chest and pressed myself into the seat. Was I okay? Yes, I was so okay. Way okay. I would stare at my lovely designer bag for the next couple of hours and not worry about the plane falling from the sky and sending us all to our deaths.
I turned quickly, surprising him. “Me? Oh, I’m fine. Really. Great. Good. Peachy-keen.”
“Yep.” I nodded. “Fine.”
I tried again to smile at him. You’re acting like a total nutjob. He was probably worried about having to sit beside me for the next few hours. I would be. I looked at him, saw his smile, and felt strangely calm.
So I repeated, trying to sound a little less frazzled, “Fine.” I had to look up at him to meet his gaze. Even hunched into my seat, his shoulder almost touched mine.
He wore a strange expression, one that looked less than convinced. One brown eyebrow rose, the corner of his mouth turned up. There was the dimple again. He shook his head.
And then I heard the words coming out of my mouth: “Could you be any cuter?”
He blinked, his half smile growing. He didn’t have just one dimple; he had two dimples. So apparently he could be cuter. Holy crap.
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