Algerone glanced back at Castellanos through the two-way mirror. “Make it quick and clean.”
Reid nodded. “Yes, sir.”
"Will that be all, sir?" I managed to keep my voice steady.
Algerone paused at the observation room door. "For now. I'll meet you at the hangar. Don't be late." The dismissal was clear in his tone.
Then, he was gone.
I stood there for a moment before my composure could crack any further, before Reid could see what Algerone's indifference had done to me, before I did something unforgivable like follow him and beg for permission I would never deserve.
“I hear Switzerland is beautiful this time of year,” Reid quipped.
I turned to him with a glare that would have made any other employee shrivel. He just smirked at me, even as I yanked Algerone’s gloves out of his grip. “I’ll see to cleaning these personally,” I announced and walked away before he could get the last word in.
The G700's cabin wasa prison of cream leather and polished teak. Thirty-eight thousand feet above the Atlantic, trapped with Maxime, I couldn't think past the sound of his breathing. Every shift of his body in the seat across from me made my pulse jump. There was no escape from him up here, no escape from the memories, no escape from the way my body still responded to his presence after everything he'd done.
I shifted in my seat, and my hip protested, drawing my attention to the cane propped against the armrest, a constant reminder that his betrayal cost me eighteen months of recovery.
My hand drifted to my breast pocket, fingers brushing the outline of the Ace of Spades through the fabric. Its edges had worn soft from decades of handling, and the bullet hole through its center had warped the spade symbol into something jagged. The card had saved my life and marked me as a man who should have died. I'd survived that bullet and the explosion that put me in Maxime's care. But survival always came at a price.
I needed a distraction before I did something I'd regret.
"The overhead light needs adjusting," I said.
He rose immediately, tablet in one hand, reaching for the controls with the other. He never let go of that damned device. The cabin's narrow aisle forced him to brush past my knee, and I inhaled sharply as his cologne hit me.
His shirt pulled tight across his back as he reached up. How many times had he moved through my spaces during recovery, adjusting everything to my preferences without being asked? I thought of his hands on me every night, professional and distant, while I lay there wanting things I couldn't have.
"Too bright," I said when he turned back. The lighting was fine. I needed him to keep moving. "And I want a drink. Macallan 25. Two fingers. One ice cube."
He moved to the bar without question. Something dark and reckless seized me as I tracked his movements.
"When you bring it back," I said slowly, "I want you on your knees."
He froze. The bottle clinked against the glass.
"Sir?"
"You heard me." I lowered my voice. "Bring me the drink on your knees. Let's see how devoted you really are."
The silence stretched between us. Thirty-two years of careful boundaries balanced on the edge of destruction. I expected him to refuse, to remind me of the walls he'd built between us for my own good.
Instead, he finished preparing the drink, crossed the cabin, and lowered himself to his knees beside my seat without hesitation.
The tablet stayed clutched in his left hand as he offered the glass with both, head tilted up to meet my gaze. The sight of him kneeling sent heat straight to my cock. I'd never dared command this, never allowed myself to want it. And he'd obeyed like he'd been waiting three decades for permission.
I took the tumbler. Our fingers brushed, and his whole body shuddered.
"The files on Shaw," I said roughly. "Spread them on the table."
He rose and began arranging documents. I sipped the whiskey and watched him lean across the table. His ass in those tailored pants made me shift to accommodate my growing erection.
I was getting hard watching him sort papers. Pathetic.
The leather creaked as I stood, ignoring my leg's protest. My cane steadied me as I moved behind him. The silver tip tapped once against the floor, and he froze.
I pressed close, close enough for him to feel my body heat, close enough to catch that cologne again.
