My lips curve up in anticipation, but then my reverie is interrupted by a smug voice. "Well, don't you look like the cat got the cream."
My eyes lift to meet the amused gaze of Declan Hughes.
Glancing around, I’m relieved that no one else has joined us on his private jet. And then I sit back in my chair, letting out a long sigh as I nod. "I guess you could say that."
Declan leans closer. "So, you saying this arrangement isn't all business?"
The humor drops from my face and I squint at him. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Dec."
He leans back in his chair and laughs loudly. "Well, let me be the first one to say that look on your face did not scream business to me."
"You shut your fucking mouth," I splutter.
But, in typical Declan fashion, he does not shut his fucking mouth. Instead, he laughs again and then shakes his head. "Don't worry, man. Your secret's safe with me."
"There is no fucking secret."
Declan sobers, but humor still glints in his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he replies, "That sounds an awful lot like denial."
This time my mouth snaps shut. Arguing with Declan at this point would be stupid; that whole doth protests too much being prevalent in his mind. Then Declan leans over, looking out the window as he says, "I think this might be her."
I glance out and nod and then do a double take as I mutter, "What the fuck?"
Declan glances at me and asks, "What?"
I press my lips together, staring intently as I watch her walking toward the plane. "I did request that she wear skirts and dresses from now on."
Declan raises his brows at me and then leans closer to the window, getting a better look. And then he chuckles as he replies, "Well, I guess she followed your instructions."
Shaking my head, I cross my arms over my chest. "I don't know why she's got to test me like this."
Declan takes a final look out the window, chuckling again as he resumes his earlier position, his humor filled eyes meeting mine. "Well, I can say from experience that if she didn't, you'd lose interest pretty fast."
"I don't know," I respond grumpily. "I think I could handle a little easy compliance at this point."
Declan smiles and says nothing, and I sigh as I wait for Cassidy to join us on the plane. A few moments later she appears in the doorway where she stops, bright sunshine illuminating behind her. She glances around, quickly catching sight of us, and then walks hesitantly down the aisle toward us.
She's wearing the shortest fucking skirt ever created. Obscenely short. So short, she better have ignored my other demand to forget the underwear.
She stops beside me,glancing between me and Declan, and then turning all of her attention on me. I glare up at her. She stands there rather awkwardly for a moment before saying, "What?"
Declan chuckles again, and I give her an incredulous look as I ask, "Seriously? You have to ask me what?"
That faint nervousness dissipates, overtaken by the rebellious spark in her eye. She lifts her shoulder nonchalantly. "Can't say I didn't do what you told me to."
I don't take my eyes off her. "Declan."
Declan hops to attention, immediately turning his chair to face forward. She glances at his sudden movement and then immediately back at me as I ask, "Is that the only instruction you followed?"
She frowns slightly, cocks her head at me. "What other instruction?"
I don't respond with words. Instead, I reach out with both hands, grabbing onto her upper arms, and yanking her forward. She doesn't have time to brace herself or to work against me as gravity takes over, and she falls face first into my lap. She remains face down, likely shocked at her new position.
Declan, already rising from his chair, says over her shoulder, "You got 10 minutes,” then books it out the door, taking the flight crew with him.
The door closes with only a sliver of light coming in from where it’s left slightly ajar. I turn my focus back to Cassidy, who for some reason remains docile across the tops of my thighs. Knowing she could change her tactics at any moment, I brace one arm across her back, jostling her around so her ass is in the air.
Stroking my fingertips on the back of her thigh, a tremor runs through her, and she gasps as I say, "This must be one of those catch-twenty-twos people refer to when making deals.”
