She softly snorts. “Gentleman do not abscond with a lady’s bag.”
“Yes, they do,” I answer as she passes by me. I catch her scent and inhale. “Just like they drive the car, walk on the outside of the street, and pay for dinner.”
She looks back over her shoulder at me, and my body grows granite hard. Forget fucking her with her back to the mirror. I definitely want her chest pressed against the glass, her face looking at mine over her shoulder.
That would mean looking at her scars. They don’t diminish the fantasy. But they do weaken my resolve and I cannot have that.
So I let her walk on and don’t put a hand at her back as she makes her way out of the plane, and down the stairs.
A limousine waits just beyond, and I frown. I don’t travel in limos. Those are for bachelorette parties and people who don’t know any better.
The rear door pops open and Ken Bradford appears, his plastic smile in place.
If I don’t do limos, I really don’t do surprise visits. Not even from family, but especially not from consultants.
I hand Katarina’s suitcase to Andrew so he can load it into the trunk and then stop in front of Ken giving him a healthy glare.
Wisely, he takes a half step back. “Y-y-your Grace.”
“Bradford.” My scowl deepens.
He searches the tarmac like the reason for my displeasure might appear. Then, he seems to land on it. “Apologies for the unexpected…”
“Intrusion?”
Behind me, Katarina gives another soft snort.
Does she not approve of my rough treatment or is she finding this amusing? Then again, why am I even asking myself these questions?
Ken’s eyes widen. “My apologies. I had pressing news, and I thought?—”
“Next time, don’t think. Email.” I take Katarina’s hand, gently maneuvering her in front of me before I help her into the limo.
“Who is that?” Ken asks, a bit breathless.
“None of your concern,” I growl back. Katarina and Ken should not know one another. They are from two completely disparate parts of my life. But it’s too late now.
“It’s going to be a conflict if women you’re interested in marrying meet your Russian mistress.”
“As if,” Katarina calls from in the car. She shifts her hand, and the ring on her finger, the one my brother gave her, sparkles in the limo light.
I clear my throat, admiring the tactic.
“Kat is a dear family friend.” I step closer to Ken because this is the second time this evening he’s pressing where he doesn’t belong, and I’m a breath away from firing him.
“Apologies,” he murmurs taking another step back so that he bumps the open door. “But I’ve received two more acceptances for tomorrow night’s event, and I thought to give you the details on the two perspective ladies.”
I slide into the car, the only concession Ken will get from me, and take a seat next to Katarina.
I hate riding sideways, but I don’t think it wise to place Ken next to my little Russian hellcat.
Ken climbs in too, giving an audible sigh as the door closes.
“Lady Sarah Wincester, daughter of the Baron of?—”
I hold up my hand, silencing him. I don’t want to hear his verbal diarrhea. “Give me the folders.”
He hands them over, frowning. “Don’t you want?—”
