“So, Bella,” I say, voice low and even, “do you always run away after an unforgettable night, or was I special?”
Her mouth falls open in mock outrage. “Oh, please. I did not?—”
“You did,” I cut in, letting the smile drop for a second, letting her see just how much it stung. “You disappeared. No calls, no messages. Not even a bad excuse.”
Her eyes flash, defiant but also a little guilty. “I had my reasons, Aleksander.”
“Yeah? Because I spent months wondering if you were even alive.” I lean in, close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes, close enough to smell her shampoo. “You could have said something. Anything.”
For a moment, the banter fades. There’s just us, the old chemistry snapping in the air between our mouths. I want to kiss her, hard. I want to taste all the years we lost, to remind her exactly what she left behind.
I lean in, slow and deliberate, my lips nearly brushing hers. “Next time you try to disappear,” I murmur, “try harder.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, her lips parting—but just as I’m about to close the gap, a shadow falls across us.
“Excuse me, sir—would you like a welcome drink?” The cabin attendant’s voice is too bright, too real. I pull back an inch, jaw clenched, forcing a polite nod.
Bella lets out a shaky laugh, hiding behind her hand. “Saved by the bell,” she whispers.
“For now,” I promise, eyes locked on hers. “But we’re not finished.”
I’m still watching Bella, my pulse unsteady from almost kissing her, when I catch movement in my peripheral vision—someone heading up the stairs to the business-class cabin above us. For asecond I don’t believe it, then recognition burns cold through my veins.
Kirov Zaroksiv.
The same bastard who torpedoed my Moscow deal. I watch as he gives his ticket to the attendant with a smirk, then—worse—his eyes flick over to Bella. He lingers a moment too long, gaze crawling over her face, a slow, leering sweep that makes my jaw clench.
What the fuck is he doing here?
Of all the flights, of all the days, he ends up with us. No way this is a coincidence. The man is reckless, hungry for power, and now—by the look in his eyes—interested in something that’s none of his business.
I force a breath, straighten, and flash Bella my most reassuring half smile. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say, voice calm but low. She starts to ask something, but I’m already on my feet, tension pulsing through every muscle.
The cabin crew is prepping for takeoff, but the suite section has its own lounge—a private bar and seating area for business and first class. I stride down the aisle, each step deliberate. I can feel Kirov’s eyes on my back, then the subtle shuffle as he follows me instead of climbing the stairs.
Perfect. If he wants to play games, I’ll give him a private audience.
I reach the lounge, settle on one of the leather stools, and barely have time to pour myself a drink before I hear him behind me, voice oily with false politeness. “Antonov. Fancy seeing you here. Small world.”
I don’t turn. I just swirl the amber in my glass, keeping my tone cool. “Somehow, Zaroksiv, it keeps getting smaller.”
He slides onto the stool beside me, too close, the kind of man who’s never understood personal space—or boundaries.
He lifts his glass, eyes narrowed. “So, Antonov. Interesting company you keep these days.”
I don’t take the bait. “Is that so?”
He tips his chin toward where Bella is sitting, almost casual, but there’s a hunger in his gaze I recognize too well. “Pretty woman. Traveling alone?”
I keep my face unreadable. “You know how it is—airports are full of strangers.”
He laughs, slow and cold. “Some strangers are worth getting to know.”
I grip my drink a little tighter. “You’d better hope you’re not one of them.”
He starts to say something else, but we’re interrupted by a polite, firm voice. “Gentlemen, we’ll be departing shortly. Please return to your seats.”
The flight attendant stands there, all efficient grace, but there’s no mistaking the steel in her tone. Kirov drains his glass in one swallow, then flashes me that thin, ugly smile he always wears when he thinks he’s won something.
