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She swallows and nods. “That’s not what I asked.”
Suddenly it clicks. Why the way she looks at me makes me feel so uncomfortable. It’s because there’s no fear in her eyes. She’s seen worse, experienced worse.
She’s not scared of me.
Well, she should be.
I lean forward on my knees, closing the gap between us. Then, I pin her with the darkest stare I can muster. “I’m a dangerous man, little angel.”
“So you said.”
“I also said I’m not your knight in shining armor. I didn’t save you. You’d do well to remember that.”
There’s a trace of amusement on her swollen lips when she says, “So what do you call killing the two most powerful men on the continent and setting me free?”
My jaw ticks. The silence stretches between us.
“Fun.”
Her lips purse, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she offers me a small nod and turns to look out the window.
Without her eyes trained on me, I have the time to drink her in. The enigma that changed the course of my night. Somewhere between the penthouse and the jet, she’s managed to tie her shoulder-length black hair back with an intricate knot, and it reveals more of the thumb-print-shaped, purple bruises on her neck and collarbone. Below them, the sheet is starting to inch down to the swell of her chest, revealing the soft curve of her breast and the angry-looking scar running across it.
I squeeze my eyes shut, shake my head, and make a silent vow.
No questions.
No commitments.
We’ll chalk this up to a moment of madness and move along. I told this girl she sold her soul to me, but I won’t cash it in. I don’t want it. I don’tneedit. I won’t tangle myself deeper into this girl’s web. She’ll be the first person who I did a favor for where I ask for nothing in return.
She drifts off somewhere over the South Atlantic Ocean, then jolts awake, eyes wild and chest heaving, clawing at her neck.
“Can I have some water, please?” she croaks.
Without a word, I walk to the drink’s cabinet and grab a bottle of Voss.Then my hand hovers over the bottle ofThe Smugglers Club,and I bring that back to her too. “For the shock,” I murmur, setting it in front of her with a tumbler full of ice.
The smile that stretches across her lips doesn’t belong to a woman that’s been held hostage and abused for however long. I hate that she gets more fascinating by the minute. “The shock of being saved by my knight in shining armor?”
I know she’s joking. “Not too late to turn this plane around. We have enough fuel.”
Smile unwavering, she raises the glass in my direction, before drowning it in one gulp. Not a single flinch or wince.
Back to silence.
The screen above our heads announces there’s less than an hour before we land at the private airfield just outside of Philadelphia International Airport. Reality starts to settle like dust around me, especially when I look at the thin sheet around her body and the dried blood clotting in her hairline, knuckles, and lips.
“You can shower before we land. There’s a washroom at the back, and you’ll find a pair of track pants, a sweater, and slides in the cupboard next to it.” I allow myself to drag an eye over her body. “They’ll be big, but they’ll have to do.”
My eyes follow her as she makes her way to the back of the plane, honing in on the silhouette of her hourglass waist underneath the sheet.
Stop it. Stop looking, stop thinking.
When she’s in the shower, I pour myself a glass of whiskey too, a large one, and down it in three gulps. Van der Boor was wrong. I do drink, just not with clients.
When she returns, her hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, dark spirals framing her face, and my black sweater finishes somewhere below her knees. Despite the space between us, I can smell the warmth of her body and the scent of my bodywash lingering on her skin.
I fucking hate how my dick tingles.
