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Her features tense, but without any argument on her part, she comes to take the seat.
A whiff of her perfume hits me. It’s fresh, and surprisingly, I find myself taking a deeper breath instead of being annoyed by the feminine scent invading my personal space.
She crosses her legs, her movements elegant as fuck.
Gabriella di Bella has the grace of a queen.
Even though her hair is on the shorter side, the light brown and blond coloring suits her. Her slender neck draws my gaze, her skin looking silky soft.
Our eyes meet for a moment, and I notice the green flecks hidden in her light brown irises.
She has beautiful eyes. They’re expressive.
The flight attendant comes to collect my tumbler, then says, “We’re ready for take-off, sir.”
I nod, and as she does her final checks, I put on my safety belt.
The private jet starts to taxi down the runway, and after gaining enough speed, it lifts into the air.
Gabriella suddenly grabs hold of my forearm, and if it weren’t for the shirt I’m wearing, her nails would draw blood.
I turn my head toward her and see she has her eyes squeezed shut, her face so fucking pale, I worry whether she’s about to get sick next to me.
I look at where her slender fingers are gripping my arm, and when my anger doesn’t spiral out of control because she’s touching me without permission, my eyebrow lifts.
Don’t look too deep.
The seatbelt sign goes off, and it has me muttering, “My arm.”
I hear Gabriella gasp as her fingers jump away from me. “I apologize,” she murmurs, her voice coated with fear.
She glances in my direction, and a moment passes before her eyes meet mine. “It’s my first time flying.”
When she doesn’t lower her gaze, I take in the green flecks in her soft brown eyes, then, to test her, I let my expression grow dark.
I let every ounce of power I possess radiate from me.
She starts to tremble and swallows hard, but still, her eyes remain locked on mine. There’s no staring her down.
“Are you brave or stupid?” I ask, the anger constantly skirting around the edges of my mind, making my tone sound harsh.
It takes a few seconds before her glossy lips part, and her honest reply trembles with the fear I’m accustomed to hearing as she says, “I’m stubborn by nature.”
Her answer actually amuses me, and once again, I’m caught by surprise as the corner of my mouth lifts. It’s fleeting before I forcefully school my face with an impassive expression.
I glance at my men to see if any of them noticed the brief smile, but half are napping while some watch TV.
Focusing my attention back on my original plan to get information for Dario, I ask, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
Eight years younger than Dario.
Sixteen years younger than me.
I ignore the unwanted thought and ask the next question, “Virgin?”
I feel an intense burst of energy from her, and turning my eyes back to her, I notice a blush creeping up her face.
