Porto Proposal: Offshore, #1

By Gretchen Wolf

Holiday flings are her speciality! And he is her next target!

Heading to a birthday trip in Porto, Amira Stevens is faced with an enticing opportunity when handsome Irishman, Cillian Walsh engages her in conversation on their flight out of London. And the universe puts her on a trajectory that could reshape the rest of her well-balanced life.
The moment Cillian looks into those mesmerising brown eyes, it's as though nothing else matters: not the conference, not the Porto architecture. His world is turned upside down, and he hasn't even uttered a single word yet.
Cillian is funny, charismatic, and exactly what the doctor ordered. Amira can't deny the chemistry between her and this stranger and sparks fly as soon as they discover they are staying at the same hotel.
But as the tension between them grows, the more Amira pushes back—keeping him at arm's length at every turn. But Cillian is hooked.
He knows what he wants.
She knows what she needs.
Will he make his move?
Will she say yes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gretchen Wolf
• Release date: Apr 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224765249

Book preview

Chapter 1

The flight info board at London Gatwick is taking its sweet time updating flight departures. It has been updating for a while now as many travellers have gathered beneath it and are frustratedly checking their e-tickets and looking up at the board. Amongst this group of frequent flyers is Amira Stevens. She is running late—as usual. And now mentally kicks herself for having waited in line for her hazelnut mochaccino at the twenty-four-hour coffee shop near her home in Chelsea and, in turn, missing her train to the airport. She had to hail a black taxi, and the driver had not been very impressed that she needed to go nearly twenty-eight miles at seven in the morning. He had mumbled something under his breath when she made her destination request, and she ignored all of this as she put her AirPods into her ears and turned on the true-crime podcast she had downloaded last night.

The info board finally goes completely blank, and then flight numbers, check-in counters and gate numbers start appearing from the top. She only needs to wait until the fourth line to see which gate is hers—thank goodness she checked in online last night, and she hasn’t got any checked luggage.

She walks through the crowd of travellers and towards the very busy security check, which, thankfully, is moving along steadily. She had just about finished her mochaccino when it was her turn to go through the metal detector. She puts her empty cup into the bin provided and puts her carry-on and handbag into a large grey plastic container that starts moving through the scanner. Her mobile, trench coat and sunglasses go into another container, and she waits for the stern-looking security guard to gesture for her to walk through the metal detector. On the other side, she grabs her things, puts her handbag over her shoulder and pulls her carry-on towards the sliding doors.

Then she checks the signs for her gate number, and heads left, already searching for the nearest Java shop, which she passes after realising just how late she is.

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The gate is already open, and economy class passengers are already boarding. Amira goes to the front of the line and, with an apologetic look, gives the flight attendant her boarding pass. After a quick scan and passport check, she sighs in relief and makes her way toward the plane. As she boards the plane, she smiles at the flight attendant. Then, she walks into the business class cabin and finds her seat. But someone is already in it. She looks at the man sitting there, then at her boarding pass again, and then back at the man now looking up at her.

I’m in your seat, aren’t I? He asks in a deep voice, and she notices an Irish accent.

Uh, yes. Yes, you are. She replies, smiling back at him.

I do apologise, he responds, gathering his newspaper and unbuckling the seatbelt. I was told it wasn’t a full flight. I thought I might get away with grabbing the window seat.

She feels terrible now. It’s ok. You take the window seat. I don’t mind. She puts her handbag beside him and opens the overhead compartment. She is about to lift her carry-on when she feels it lift off the floor. The very handsome man got up and is now lifting and stowing her bag. She watches his massive arms flex underneath his powder blue shirt as he stretches to push her bag into the compartment. Then, as he closes it, she is utterly unaware that her gaze has gone down his back and settled onto his very firm bum.

Someone clears their throat behind her, and she realises she is blocking the aisle, and a few passengers are waiting to pass. I’m so sorry. She mumbles and moves into her seat—the man who had stolen her seat is back in it.

If you need to get your bag out again, just ask. It’s the least I can do. He says, his grey eyes twinkling as he looks at her—she could fall deep into those eyes.

Pulling herself out of her daydream, she smiles a dry smile. Then she settles herself properly into her seat, buckles herself up, pulls her mobile out of her bag and turns it to aeroplane mode. She grabs her book—The Outsider, by Stephen King—closes her bag, stows it under the seat in front of her and waits. The man beside her opens his newspaper and folds it neatly to the sports section so that he isn’t invading her space. As he does this, however, his hand brushes hers ever so slightly, and a jolt of electricity shoots through her hand. If he feels anything, he does not acknowledge or react. He simply folds his newspaper, sits back in his seat, and starts reading.

Amira composes herself. That has never happened before—not so soon after meeting a man and certainly not by a brief touch of the skin. She can feel her face warm up and is immediately thankful for her black wavy hair that frames her face, for the soft curls now hide her flushed cheeks.

The captain’s voice crackles over the intercom, announcing their imminent departure. Last call is made for passengers to take their seats and for flight attendants to complete their cross-checks.

Amira opens her book where her bookmark is—a third into the book—and settles in for the two-and-a-half-hour flight to Porto, Portugal.

Chapter 2

He has read the same paragraph thrice, and what he is reading still makes no sense to him. Not because it sounds like ‘fake news’ or is unbelievable. No. He has reread the passage three times with no comprehension because he’s been stealing quick side glances at the beautiful woman beside him. When he first noticed her standing in the aisle, looking at her boarding pass, he thought he must have been dreaming—she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But then he realised that he was in her seat and, of course, was embarrassed about it. He had wanted to make up for it by helping her with her luggage, only to find that he could feel her ogling him from behind. This all culminated in him pretending to be very interested in his newspaper, and—not wanting to spread the paper out—he folded it and touched her hand by accident—which had sent a shiver up his arm. This had all made him extremely nervous—why, he had no idea.

Cillian Walsh is attractive: with broad shoulders, a rock-hard chest, firm buttocks, brooding facial features, grey eyes, and thick dark brown hair. All the things that—put together—drive many women crazy. And though he has had his fair share of women—in and out of bed—he is a gentle soul searching for something more. And he knows it would be a rare beauty who would satiate his inner desires and keep him interested in something long-term.

They have ascended and are at cruising altitude when the captain turns off the seat belt signs. To his right, the beautiful woman closes her book on her lap and unbuckles her seat belt. He decides to engage her in conversation.

"Would you say you are a big fan, or is