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I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling with no clue where I am.
“Good, you’re awake,” Matteo says.
Immediately my heart rate speeds up. I can’t recall much, but I know this wasn’t my plan. “Where are we?” In a hotel somewhere?
His hand comes to rest on the side of my head, his thumb on my temple, and he strokes stray hairs from my face. “We’ll land soon.”
That touch that’s always so gentle, as if he cares. I pull away and struggle up, tuning in to the soft hum of the jet. I look at his laptop screen. Spreadsheets? “What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“What work do you even do?” Now I’m doubly confused. This guy doesn’t work the usual nine to five normal people do.
He smirks. “I run some of our businesses. You’ll be glad to know they’re legit.”
Things are starting to come back to me now through the fog of my obviously drugged brain. “You mean you don’t just rape and pillage.”
Matteo sighs and closes his laptop. “And yet I’ve done none of that.”
No, but kidnapping and murder is more like it. I don’t say anything, not wanting to push my luck. I eye his laptop. There’s internet on that laptop. On this plane. What I wouldn’t give for five minutes to send out a 911 into the void.
There’s a knock on the door and then Burley’s voice: “Thirty minutes to landing, boss.”
Matteo stands, his tall frame towering over me. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, showing off his tattoos. My pulse flutters at the thought of him, of those beautiful hands that held me open for his tongue. He stares at me as he rolls his sleeves down and heat spreads over my face. It’s the way he looks at me, as if he’s been thinking of eating me out this entire flight and has run out of time.
“Use the washroom,” he says. “Last chance until we’re at our estate.”
I manage to swing my feet to the ground, but my head is still swimming. He has his arm around my waist and helps me to the washroom.
I grab hold of the handbasin for balance and he lets me go.
“The door stays open.”
Matteo steps out, but I don’t even have the energy or compulsion to fight him. I make my way to the toilet and reach under my skirt for my panties.
What?
I lift my skirt up. There’s nothing. “You!” I call out, immediately knowing it was him who stole my underwear.
“Me?”
“Asshole!” I sink down on the toilet, not even caring that he could walk in any time. As I pee a hand appears around the door, swinging my panties from a fingertip.
“Missing something?” his voice comes, a smile in it for once.
I’ve never heard that tone in his voice before. It’s almost as if I can hear the boy who played pranks on his brothers. He loves messing with me.
It’s like that first day at the pool, when I had to get out while he was watching me. My confidence wants to fold, but I’m going to work it like a pro. “I walk around without panties all the time.”
“Yeah?”
No.
“You won’t mind if I keep them then.”
“Nope.” I pop that p for good measure. When I’m done I wash my hands, the cool water somehow sobering. My hair is a mess and I open the mirrored wall cupboard to find a collection of toiletries in there. Blades for shaving?—
“Get going.”
