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“I do.” I nod. “Because both our future depends on it.”
And then, I do something even more foolish. I hook my finger under her chin, and bring her close to my lips.
As I drown my senses in her scent—honeysuckle and brown sugar—and the feel of her soft luscious lips, I wonder …
Can I really let her go when this is over?
Or am I just lying to her and to myself?
18
EMILY
The plane jostlesme awake when we land, and I wake up more refreshed than I’ve ever been on a plane. I turn to my side, half expecting to find Konstantin in bed with me.
But to my disappointment, he’s already gone.
Once the plane comes to a stop, the door to the suite opens. My disappointment balloons when the driver of the car pokes his head in.
He blinks, like he’s surprised to see me. “We’ve landed,” he says.
“I’ve noticed.”
“Come.” He inclines his head.
I don’t budge. “What’s your name?”
“Konstantin is waiting.”
“Let him wait. I’m Emily. Who are you?”
He hesitates as he peers over his shoulder, back toward the main part of the jet.
I roll my eyes. “I know you understand me. And I’m not leaving until either you tell me your name, or Konstantin comes to get me himself.”
“Call me Gerasim.” He sighs. “Now will you come?”
“Gera—what?” I can’t pronounce that. “Do you work for Konstantin?”
Sighing, he leans against the doorway. “Don’t make me drag you down the aisle.”
Very interesting choice of words.Now I’m thinking about this wedding again.
“Let me guess. Are you also part of this ridiculous plot forcing me to marry him?”
“Okay, you’ve been warned.” He grabs my upper arm. His fingers are rough, textured by numerous scars. “Up!”
“I can walk,” I snap, wrenching my arm out of his grip.
Straightening my wrinkled outfit, I follow him out of the bedroom and into the main cabin.
Konstantin is waiting by the exit. Sunlight glows through the rows of windows. Whether it’s sunset or sunrise, I can’t tell. But it doesn’t matter. In the light, his tan skin looks ethereal. I want to hate him, but the combination of exhaustion and disorientation makes it impossible for me to ignore just how damn yummy he looks.
“Good morning, Kitty Cat.”
Well, that answersthatquestion.
“Where are we?” I ask.
