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“Wife?” She says as soon as he’s out of earshot.
I shrug, offering nothing more.
“Insane. I can’t believe I signed off on your paperwork yesterday because clearly, there is a lot going on up there besides anger issues.” She stabs a finger toward my head and taps the toe of her little black ballet sort of shoe on the concrete as announcements on the terminal loudspeakers make her raise her voice. “And, to get to the wedding on time now, I can rent a car, but it’s an eight-hour drive! I’d have to drive all freaking night! Which, I guess, is what I’ll have to do, isn’t it?”
I nod, lifting my chin on a sniff. I like that I’ve got her so upside down that she’s forgetting the details already. “But how are you going to rent a car without your driver’s license? Or a credit card? You said you lost your wallet.”
She growls up at the flickering fluorescent lights, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Damn it.”
“That’s why you were using your passport to board the flight.”
She glares as I take a step back into her, and she responds by backing up until a huge concrete column ends her retreat.
I brush my knuckles down the heat of her cheek, holding her eyes with mine, and an inch of the tension in her shoulders falls away. Such a good girl.
“If I miss my sister’s wedding, I will never forgive you.”
Then I put my finger to her lips, enjoying the lingering fury on her face. “Do you trust me?” I ask, taking my finger away.
She coughs and scoffs. “I have a degree in psychology. You’re meeting the criteria for several mental illnesses right now, so, no, I do not trust you.”
She will soon enough. “I’ll admit, I’ve been crazy since I saw you in the bar, baby. And back then, I didn’t even know your name.” I inhale just above her head, drawing in more of her sweet scent, then finish. “Since the second I saw you, you’ve been in every one of my thoughts.”
She hesitates, staring me down. I’m fighting the urge to just stare at her nipples for the rest of the day, but I want her to know I’m listening to her. Hearing her. Seeing her.
“I can’t imagine any of those thoughts are reasonable. Because you are wildly unreasonable and yeah, dangerous.” She nods toward where we were standing when I schooled duffel bag man on how to treat what’s mine.
“That’s accurate. If we don’t wrap up this little tiff soon, I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself. And then security really will have something to charge us with: public indecency.”
“In your dreams,” she snorts, rolling her shoulders back as travelers move by, shooting us concerned looks.
I grin. She’ll find out all about my dreams soon enough, and I can’t wait. “While I was sitting in that godforsaken anger management training, my PIs were busy collecting all the info on you. I had them working on your identity since last night, but they were coming up empty with no name and barely a flash of your face on the security footage from the restaurant.”
She blinks a few times. Shocked, but she doesn’t try to run. “And?”
“So, I know all about the wedding. I know exactly how to get there. All you gotta do is trust me.”
“Well then we’ve got a problem, because I don’t trust you.”
This girl.
She gives it good, but her nipples and her scent are telling me things her mouth won’t.
“Look, you’ve got no other options, right? You know I’m not a serial killer—”
“Do I? Jury’s still out on that one.”
I grunt, she’s not leaning into my plan as easily as I thought. I put my fingers to my temples. What was it their program taught me? Breathe. Count to ten. Something about more sugar, less stick.
“I’m not a serial killer,” I tell her, and see her stifle a giggle. “As you well know. Outside, right now, I have an RV. I also have a driver.”
“You have a what?” She sort of leans to my right, looking around me toward the glass wall at the front of the terminal, a childlike curiosity replacing her vitriol.
“An RV. It belonged to a client. Long story. Her husband’s pride and joy, he was a cheating, has been rock star, but I forced him to sign it over in the divorce last month. It was an unprotected asset in their pre-nup. She took great joy in handing the keys straight to me, right in front of him, and telling him to go fuck himself. I take many kinds of payment.”
“I bet you do.” Natalie can’t control herself. She starts to laugh, and it looks great on her. Her whole face lights up, the anger and annoyance falling away. “I bet you loved that, right?” she asks.
“I love winning, yeah. But winning against an egotistical asshole husband with a pregnant young wife who didn’t know any better than to sign a pre-nup? And making him pay for his mistakes?” I think about my mom after my dad left her, struggling to keep us all fed and clothed, and a little ball of anger wells up inside me still. But, I focus on the cherub doll in front of me, and the decades of bitterness seem to melt away. “There’s a special place in hell for men like that.”
