"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," she croaked, extending her hand. "I'm Mattie Kincaid. And you are?"
"Grant, Grant Alexander," he said, turning. "Do you have luggage?"
"Um, yes I do."
"Then let's go get it so I can get out of here."
Mattie practically had to jog to keep up with the man. She'd said she was sorry. It wasn't even her fault that her plane was late. He didn't have to be nasty.
Her luggage had not arrived at the baggage carousel. Mattie stood nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. She ventured a peek at the forbidding man next to her. He stood stiffly, whacking his magazine absently against his thigh. Suddenly, he whirled around to face her. She nearly jumped back.
"Listen, Miss Kincaid, I'm sorry for snapping at you back there."
He didn't look sorry.
"It's not your fault that the plane was late or that you're not Matt Kincaid. Someone obviously got your name wrong." Now he extended his hand. "Truce?"
"Uh, I guess." Mattie shook his proffered hand, hoping hers wasn't sweaty. "So Mr... what was it again?"
"Alexander, Grant Alexander."
"Mr. Alexander, I take it you work for the Storm?"
"Yeah, I'm a forward."
"Oh." Mattie searched her brain for meaning. She hoped her confusion didn't show on her face.
Something gave way on his face as he stared at her. Finally he grinned.
Holy Cow! The man's blue eyes danced with amusement. His smile was, well, electric. It changed everything. If he was good looking before ... Holy Cow.