Page 3 of Claimed By my Ex’s Uncle

"I need to get out of here," I pleaded with him. "I have to get home. Now."

"What are you—” He clasped my arms, looking into my eyes. "What’s happening?"

"Please, just help me get back to Chicago. That’s all I need," I replied. "I won’t bother any of you again. I just... I have to get out of here, I’m begging you..."

He ran a hand through his crop of dark hair. Even beneath the arm of his gray formal jacket, I could see the flex of his muscles beneath the fabric.

"Stay here," he ordered me. And with that, he turned the corner, gesturing to one of the guards. The man moved to his side at once, and I watched as the two of them exchanged some kind of hushed conversation, Ilya looking back over his shoulder at me briefly. His gray eyes locked with mine for a moment, and I averted my gaze, feeling as though I had been caught looking when I shouldn’t have been.

The guard nodded and strode off, and Ilya moved back towards me, hand on my shoulder.

"I’m calling a car around now," he assured me. "And my private jet will be ready in an hour or so."

"Your private jet?"

"Hard to get a normal flight at this hour," he replied with a shrug, as though it should have been obvious. "Besides, I need to get to Chicago this evening. I’ll travel with you. Make sure you get there alright."

His words seemed laced with something pointed, as though he thought he had good reason to keep an eye on me. I supposed after walking into me like this, in tears outside his family party and begging to go back to the city, he probably had good reason to wonder what the hell my deal was.

The car arrived a few minutes later, and the driver cut smoothly through the quiet roads until we pulled up at a small, private airfield. A jet was already lined up for take-off, and Ilya gestured for me to go up the steps first.

For a moment, I hesitated, not sure if I should trust such kindness after what had just happened. But what choice did I have? I smiled at him in thanks and made my way up the stairs, practically collapsing into a seat as soon as I got inside.

One of the air hostesses brought me a drink, laying it on a napkin on the table in front of me with a polished smile.

"Courtesy of our host," she explained, and I lifted it to my lips gratefully. I didn’t care how it made me look, I just wanted to get something in me to take the edge off the pure humiliation that was currently coursing through my veins.

The plane took to the air, and I found myself getting through another couple of drinks as I pondered on the mess I’d managed to find myself in. I turn my gaze to the window, where the clouds streaked against the dark sky. It would have been kind of beautiful, I mused to myself, if it weren’t for what had just happened.

I heard a creak on the floorboards and looked up to see Ilya standing there in the doorway. I offer him a smile in greeting, knowing that I should be going out of my way to make sure he knew how grateful I am for what he did for me.

"Are you alright?" he asked me gruffly. There was genuine concern in his voice, which surprised me. It was hard to imagine I would be anything other than an irritation to someone as powerful as him. But it was a relief that he didn’t seem to loathe the very sight of me.

"I’m fine now, thank you," I lied as I took another drink. I noticed that he had one in his hand, too, and my gaze lingered for just a moment too long on the way his fingers rested around the glass.

"Would you like to join me?" I hardly even knew what I was saying before the words came spilling out of my mouth.

For a moment, he just stood there, one hand resting on the back of the leather seat. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his powder-blue shirt, and the sinewy muscles in his wrists were hard to ignore.

"If you want," he replied, and he took a seat opposite me, close enough now that I could smell his aftershave in the air. It was crisp and clean, almost aquatic, and I was suddenly gripped by this insane desire to lean in and press my face against his neck.

I shifted slightly in my seat, trying to bring my mind back to a few more reasonable matters.

"Uh, so," I remarked, trying to fill the silence as he looked at me. "I’ve never been on a private jet before."

He smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth curling up. "I’m sorry your first time had to be under such distressing circumstances."

"Oh, I’m going to be alright," I replied, waving my hand. And to my surprise, I was not lying about it. Things between Petar and me had never exactly been pure romance and magic. He’d always been sneaking around behind my back—I could see that now—and he clearly had one foot out the door for longer than I could have guessed. He didn’t have the nerve to break up with me like a real man, and that really pissed me off, but at least I saw who he truly was now. What he did to me tonight, it was not the kind of thing you could come back from. And that was something of a relief.

"I’m glad to hear it," he replied, and I lifted the glass to my lips, meeting his gaze for a moment. The way he looked at me, it was almost as though he was studying me, considering me from every angle. I couldn’t tell exactly what conclusions he was coming to, but there was something rather vulnerable about sitting there before him, knowing that he was making no effort to disguise his curiosity.

"What business is it you do, again?" I asked. "I mean, what are you going to be taking care of in Chicago?"

"I’m not sure my business is something an innocent thing like you should be concerning herself with."

I cocked my head to the side, sensing a kind of challenge. "What makes you think that I’m some innocent thing, anyway?"

He leaned back slightly, resting his hand on the arm of the chair as he considered his response. He let his drink play at his lips for a moment, as though intentionally drawing my attention to the way they moved.