Red Skye at Night Read Online Free Page B

Red Skye at Night
Book: Red Skye at Night Read Online Free
Author: Ashe Barker
Tags: Erotic Romance Fiction
Pages:
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wants me to wait a moment. I settle for waiting, but I hope he won’t take too long. I want to get back to work. He punches a reply into his phone then re-checks his papers. He glances at me again. “Sorry about this. I won’t be a minute.”
    I nod. “Will you be needing a receipt?”
    “What? Oh, no, that’s fine.” But my hint has worked and he’s again digging for his wallet. I reason that he might as well wait for his reply in the hotel foyer as in my taxi. Some of us have work to do.
    He pulls thirty quid from his wallet, all in crisp new ten pound notes, fresh from the airport cash machine, I daresay. With any luck he’ll not be bothered about his change so that’s three pounds extra for my limo fund. I reach to relieve him of the cash just as his phone buzzes again.
    Mr. Dusseldorf’s attention is back on his phone, his payment of his fare temporarily forgotten. I clear my throat meaningfully. He ignores me.
    “Do you need any help with your luggage?” Another hint—it usually works.
    “I’ve changed my mind.”
    Not this time apparently. “Excuse me?”
    “I’ve changed my mind. I want you to take me somewhere else, please.”
    “Are you sure? The Queens is one of the best hotels in Leeds.”
    “I don’t need to be in Leeds after all. My meetings tomorrow are canceled.” He shoves his papers back into his suitcase and turns back to me. At last I have his full attention.
    “Oh, right. Is it back to the airport then?” Double fare. Bingo!
    “No. Kilmuir. I fancy a little detour.”
    I turn to fish in the little tray beside my gear lever for the remote control that operates my satnav. I don’t have much need for it. I grew up in Leeds and I know my way around. It comes in handy occasionally, though, and was fitted as standard when I bought the car. “Do you have an address, please? Or a postcode?”
    “Neither. Sorry.”
    “How are you spelling it?”
    “K-I-L-M-U-I-R. It’s in Scotland.”
    Now he has my undivided attention. “Did you say Scotland?”
    “I did. Skye. It’s an island off the west coast.”
    My patience is already stretched thin. It’s close to snapping now. “This is a taxi, not a boat. I don’t do islands. And I don’t do bloody Scotland. Have you any idea how far that is?”
    “Not exactly. I expect you can find out from the satnav, though. And there’s a bridge.”
    “A bridge?”
    “A bridge over to Skye. You won’t get your tires wet.”
    “I’m not driving you to bloody Scotland. Or Skye. Sorry. You can get a train. The station’s next door. I’ll drop you there instead.” I reach for the ignition key to restart my engine.
    “No station, no trains. I don’t like trains.”
    “Well, get a flight then. Like I said, I don’t mind taking you back to the airport.”
    “I’ve spent the last twenty-two hours on planes or in airports. Now I want to drive. Correction, I want you to drive while I get some sleep.”
    “That’s ridiculous. Have you any idea how much that would cost? Or how long it would take to get to Scotland. And it does not take twenty-seven hours to fly here from Dusseldorf.”
    “No doubt you’ll be able to tell me. And where does Dusseldorf come into this?”
    “You came off the Dusseldorf flight.”
    “I flew in from New York, though what the hell that has to do with my forward journey is beyond me. So, go on then. What are your terms for driving me to Kilmuir?”
    New York? Via Dusseldorf then. Shit, who cares? “I don’t have any. It’s not happening. So, are you getting out here or not?”
    “I prefer not. Tell me, Miss…? He lifts one eyebrow, clearly expecting me to introduce myself to him.
    I fold my arms and glare at him. Perhaps hotel security could help. I look hopefully up the hotel steps for someone who might be on sentry duty. Mr. Not-Dusseldorf shrugs. “Okay. So, tell me, how much do you make in a day? Usually?”
    “What does that have to do with you?”
    He ignores my belligerent tone. “Whatever it is,

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