TWENTY
When Millie offered to drop meoff, Ishould’ve said yes. Should have had her pull the limo over so I could get out and away from her, and the shit storm she pulled me into, the second I realized her getaway plans involved air travel.
But no—as usual, in pure Dean Mercer fashion when it comes to her, I let my temper get the best of me. I do the exact thing I shouldn’t and end up in the last place I should actually be. Fuck, I don’t even know where we’re going. All I know is that I’m thirty-thousand feet in the air, hurdling toward an undisclosed location for an indeterminate amount of time without so much as a change of goddamned underwear.
Oh—I also know that if anything happens to his daughterwhile she’s on her rich girl Rumspringa, Preston Blackwell is going to make me regret the day I was born.
If anything happens to my little girl, I’m holding you personally responsible. Are we clear on that, Dean?
Not exactly a threat to murder me but it might as well be which means I’m stuck. Any plan I had of finding my own way home the second we land flies directly out the window when he says it because his implication is clear—I broke it, I bought it.
Until she decides she’s had enough of whatever it is she’s looking for, Millie Blackwell is my responsibility.
Fuck.
Lifting the arm I have flung across my eyes, I open them and turn my wrist to look at the watch I have strapped to it. It’s nearly six o’clock. We’ve been in the air for almost four hours now. Sitting up, I look out the window above the back of the couch.
Water.
We’re flying over water.
Where the fuck is she taking me?
Pushing myself off the couch, I stand. Taking a look around, I see that I’m alone. No stewardess. No Millie. Making my way down the length of the plane, I stop in front of the one place she could be. Raising my fist to knock, my knuckles hovering above the wood, I hear a voice. A male voice.
Allister.
I’d know his asshole whine anywhere.
…Jesus Christ, Millie—can you really blame me? I mean, if you want to get down to it, this whole thing is your fault. You’re like a dead fish and you know what isn’t fun to fuck? A dead,dryfish. You just lay there. If you’d just put some effort into making it fun, I never would’ve had to?—
Dropping my hand, I grab the knob and shove the door open, hard enough for it to rebound and try to slam itself closedin my face. Millie is sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. Face tipped toward the cell phone in her lap, long hair, the burnished color of old gold, hiding it from view. When I bust my way into the room, her head snaps up to show me her face. She looks like she’s been crying for hours now. Cheeks wet. Face puffy. Eyes red rimmed and bleary. As soon as she sees me, she hits a button on her phone and it goes silent.
“Just when I think you can’t possibly get any ruder,” she says, doing her best to sound irritated. She doesn’t sound irritated. She sounds broken. “You manage to out do yourself.” When I don’t say anything she widens her eyes at me. “Did you need something?”
“Is he on the phone?” I ask. It’s not why I came in here. I came in here to ask her where the hell she’s taking me but that plan went out the window, the second I heard the bullshit that was coming out of that douchebag’s mouth. “Did he call you?”
When I ask, her mouth snaps shut and her jaw shifts like she has no intention of answering me—but then she does. “Yes, he’s called me several times and left several messages.” Her cheeks flush with embarrassment and she looks away because it’s obvious I heard what he said about her. “That was one of them. They run the gamut between apologizing and begging me to come back and blaming me and my…failingsfor the affair.”
Seeing the mixture of hurt and embarrassment on her face does something to me. Something that isn’t rational. “Do you get reception up here?”
“Yes.” Looking back at me, her brow creases with confusion. “The plane is equipped with?—”
“Good.” Stepping forward, I cut her off by snatching her phone from her grasp.
“Hey—” She shoots up from her seat while grabbing for her phone. Taking her by her shoulder, I gently but firmly sit herback on the bed. As soon as her ass hits the mattress, her eyes pop wide like she can’t believe I had the audacity to touch her, let alone physically restrain her. “Give me my phone.”
“Relax.” Hand still planted on her shoulder, I scroll through her contacts. “Youkidnappedme, Princess—the least you can do is let me call my neighbor and ask them to feed my hamster.”
I’m not calling my neighbor and I sure as hell don’t have a pet hamster. To be honest, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing until I hear his whiny, asshole voice on the other end of the phone.
“Millie,” Allister says, his tone a mixture of relief and smug satisfaction. “Thank god. I know?—”
When she hears his voice, Millie’s eyes pop wide and her mouth falls open. Hand still pressed against her shoulder, holding her in place, I give her a look that snaps her mouth shut.
“Yeah—sorry, Al,” I tell him on a low chuckle. “Not Millie.”
“You.” He practically sneers the word. One syllable that tells me exactly what he thinks of me. “What do you want?”
