Maybe the time had come to move on.
Rushing into the airport, I dashed toward the ticket counter, and breathing heavily, I asked, “What is the next flight?” The young woman blinked at me from the other side of the counter, and then her eyes slid down my clothes. She must have found me presentable or safe enough to comply, because her fingers clicked with impressive speed on the computer.
“A flight to Moscow leaves in ninety minutes. And then there is a flight to Paris.” Biting my lip, I ran my fingers through my hair.
“That’s it? No other options?” It was freaking J.F. Kennedy airport, and they could offer me only two flights? I flew from Texas here so dad would have a hard time tracing me and it was all for nothing! Maybe I should have thought about it before my grand escape, but in the movies, they always had flights available to some cool places like Peru or Brazil or somewhere, right? Countries that spoke of passion and adventure?
“No, I’m sorry,” she replied.
My phone buzzed again with yet another call from my father and mother, and knowing him and his freaking team, they would start tracking me down in an hour and then block the flights if I tried to run away.
There was simply no time to think, so I snapped, if the jerk of her chin was anything to go by, “Moscow.” As much as I loved Paris, it would be the first place they would look for me. My younger sister, Tina, moved there when her modeling career took off, and at the age of twenty, she had already made a name for herself in the high-fashion industry. Dad hated it, but he couldn't do shit about her since she had a million-dollar contract, and it brought good publicity to his oil firm. Pathetic that even my younger sibling had her life well put together while I had to run like a little girl from his power and authority.
I couldn't afford to be found too soon, not until I could settle my mind and decide what I wanted to do with my life.
All I knew in that moment was I needed to breathe and my family suffocated me to the point of no return. I shouldn't blame them, because I was twenty-three years old, but resentment still settled inside and wouldn't go away.
“Only first class left.” She arched a brow, awaiting my answer. When I slid my credit card to her, her brow rose even higher, clearly recognizing the family name. I almost never used the golden card Dad had given us, but since he came up with this Alex plan, he could pay for this freaking flight. I’d need my savings for the future.
She didn't comment, made the arrangements, and gave me my boarding pass as my luggage was tagged and sent.
Even for this short trip, I didn't want to travel lightly.
“You need to hurry,” she said.
“Thank you.” With that, I went through all the check-ins, all the while my phone continued to buzz. Seriously, two freaking hours of me not answering it, and they had already created drama?
Maybe he should have thought about it before deciding to sell me off to Alex Jordan. Just thinking about the man was disgusting. The way he looked at me sometimes… the words he said. As if his one single determination was to make me his. The guy was obsessed from the very beginning, but not like the romantic heroes in romance books.
The only feelings he inspired within me was terror.
Deep in thought over Alex, or rather how much I couldn't stand him, I didn't watch where I was going and bumped into a hard chest, and if it wasn't for the strong hands catching me, my ass would have probably plastered the floor.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, while studying the guy in front of me who looked at me with empty, cold, brown eyes. His hair was pulled into a bun, and his ripped arms were covered in a tight T-shirt, which exposed his tattoos. He had an aura of dominance and wildness about him, and although he could be considered handsome, all he did was scare me.
“Stop scowling at the poor girl, Dominic,” a husky voice spoke, sending unexpected shivers down my spine, and only then, my mind registered it was this stranger who saved me from the fall.
I turned around and my breath hitched, as his stare compared to Dominic’s, or whatever the guy was called, was soft and surprised as he scanned my appearance.
He was too handsome for any description to do him justice.
He was tall, around six-foot-four, lean yet muscled arms that were covered in sleeve tattoos that were visible through his tight, black shirt. His shoulders were broad, along with a toned six-pack, narrow hips, and muscled legs, which were covered in blue jeans.
As hot as the body was, it had nothing on his face.
He had the most beautiful, gray eyes I had ever seen. It was so easy to be lost in them that they almost took away the attention from his tanned, flawless skin, high cheekbones, and five-o'clock shadow, which made him even more handsome and emphasized the masculinity emanating from him. His hair was black and cut in the James Dean hairstyle that suited his overall look.
“It’s all right.” I finally found my voice, snapping out of the haze we had both created, and sent a weak smile to Dominic and him.
He murmured, “Krasivoglazaya.” Although I recognized phonetically what language he spoke, my Russian was nonexistent, so I had no clue what he said. Before I could ask him though, my flight was announced, and without further explanation, I dashed toward my gate, hoping like hell this bizarre feeling as if the earth shifted under me would go away.
However, it seemed useless, as his voice echoed in my ears.
Krasivoglazaya. Krasivoglazaya. Krasivoglazaya.
May 2017
Houston, Texas
