AFTER THE RAIN (Bonus edition)

5. She could do with a sandwich

He didn't need the toilet. He just needed to get away from her. Everything about her was driving him absolutely mad.

Her hair – the color, the length, the way it hung, the way she incessantly twirled it around her finger. Her whimsical hippie clothes, especially that eye-offending scarf, her old filthy handbag, the way she had attempted to turn their seats into a rockery garden. And especially the things she said: eating each other in the Andes? Normality killed the cat?

But more than anything, he hated the effect she was having on him, especially when she had gripped his leg. He had immediately felt a surge of something run up his thigh and into his... STOP! Stop, stop, stop. He berated himself as he splashed cool water on his face. But the truth was, he was struggling to control his feelings around her, and he didn't like being out of control. He needed to be away from her right now, because when she'd looked at him with those green eyes – as corny as it sounded – he'd felt something surging through his body. And for a second or two, he'd wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone in his entire life.

Even though the feeling had been fleeting, it had been enough to completely unsettle him. On his way up the aisle, he'd even had the urge to run back to the chair, chuck her over his shoulder and drag her into the toilet with him. It was all so bizarre, especially because he didn't even find her attractive. She was way, way too thin, for starters. She could do with a sandwich, or six for that matter. He liked a woman with a bit of meat on her bones. And let's not even get started on the hair and those ridiculous tattoos – he'd noticed a burst of bright pink hearts at the base of her neck, too, for heaven's sake. She reminded him of one of those My Little Pony toys that all the girls had at one stage.

His ex, Emily, was stunning. A real Jessica Rabbit, with long red hair and curves in all the right places. Stormy was her total opposite in looks, and yet when he thought about her, his pulse and temperature seemed to rise inexplicably. This feeling was making his jeans a little too tight for comfort. He shuffled uncomfortably around the tiny bathroom cubicle for a few minutes before deciding he'd better leave.

As he walked back to his seat, he was relieved to see that she seemed to have wandered off somewhere. But when he got closer, he saw that she was only bending down to scratch in her bag. He realized with shock that, standing directly above her, he could see all the way down the top of her dress – and she was not wearing a bra. Who doesn't wear bras? He almost gasped out loud but quickly swallowed it down.

Her breasts were small, but perky and firm. Her skin was snow white, and had a kind of porcelain texture. She moved around as she searched though her bag, and they shook a little.

WOW!

He was... it was... she was...

What was happening?

And then Stormy looked up at him with those emerald eyes, and smiled knowingly as she met his gaze. He'd been busted in the worst kind of way possible – like some horny, gawking teenage boy. He'd been caught in the act.

***

Stormy never wore bras. She didn't believe in them fundamentally. Why strap something down and away when it was just an innocent boob? She'd never been a prude when it came to her body. She wasn't a flaunter, but she couldn't care less if someone saw her topless on the beach or in a changing room. It was a body. Everyone had one. Why be embarrassed or ashamed?

Marcus had definitely been looking down her top when she'd bent over. She couldn't really blame him – the dress was old and the neckline gaped, but she loved that dress and had chosen it especially for the flight. It reminded her of a field of bright sunny sunflowers, which was a happy thought she wanted to hold onto during this nerve-wracking journey.