“Of course, sir.”
I clap him on the shoulder, racing past him. “You’re a savior. I always get confused—what’s the best way to get to first class again?”
“The black lift. It will give you direct access to the first-class lounges.”
Waving over my shoulder, I dodge around holidaymakers and businesspeople. Everyone is in a rush, the chaos like a loud drone in the air. The noise and the rushing around are cut off as the lift closes.
When the lift doors reopen, the calm continues. There’s still a sizable crowd, but the privilege afforded by first class means there’s staff ready to help, cutting down the panic and noise.
She’s standing at the check-in counter for a flight to UAE. Victor’s man watches like she’s going to escape. She acts completely oblivious to his presence.
I move to the opposite side of the lounge, standing in the queue for a flight to Hong Kong while I use my phone to book a ticket on her flight. When she disappears through the security gates, I move to the back of the line, waiting to see what the other man does.
He leaves, thankfully, but stupidly too. She could easily walk straight back out, and he’d be none the wiser.
I pretend to take a call, walking out of the line I’m in. I’m positive no one is watching me, but unlike Victor’s man, I test the theory. Using the restrooms and waiting a few extra minutes, when I’m satisfied there’s no one loitering around, I walk out.
After checking in on the same flight she did, I pass through security with ease and walk into the lounge area where she’s already found a spot to sit.
Chapter Seven
QUINN
Logging back into the app I used to book a driver, I send a bonus and an apology. If I had known Pedro would be there, I would have made other arrangements. The driver was only doing his job and ended up nearly losing his life.
My father sending one of his men to make sure I got on the flight was an aggressive reminder of his reach, and a threat of what could happen to me, rolled into one. But I expected nothing less. Using Pedro to deliver the message was also a message.
Pedro has been my father’s guard dog for as long as I can remember. Like a dog, he should be leashed and muzzled. He’s a cruel man, who hides behind falsified prestigious education and hours of community service work. I remember when he first came to work as a laborer to help build our pool house. He worked himself up from nothing into the position he holds.
I had hoped he would have mellowed out and lost his violent tendencies, but I also hoped that a bomb would go off on my father’s plane. Sadly, neither has happened. Nor will they.And it’s for that reason I’m changing my twelve-month vision. Honestly, when you plan on killing two assholes to protect the people you love, what’s another person or two?
“Is this seat taken?”
I startle, practically leaping out of my skin.
Looking around, I’m annoyed I got so caught up in dissecting this morning I lost awareness of my setting. That’s very dangerous.
Almost as dangerous as the man’s eyes.
Swipe that—all of him screams danger.
I take in a long exhale and try to hide how rattled I am. But it’s the wrong move on my part because I start to scent him.
He becomes unnaturally still as I look him up and down. And strangely quiet. Most Alphas would be demanding a response. Perhaps he is, but he’ll have to wait for my brain to switch back on.
I can’t do anything but drink him down like a woman who’s trying water after being in the desert for a thousand years. It’s one of those times when the world can wait while I savor the opportunity.
His skin is like steeped tea, glowing in vitality. I want to know if it’s as soft to touch as I think it is. And the same with his hair. I want to run my fingers through his jet-black hair before I press my nose behind his ear to breathe in his scent. I just know how soft that spot would be and how his hair would tickle my face. Mostly, I know how good he’d smell.
I look up and find him doing exactly what I was. I don’t want to say perving, but it works too. His gaze travels from my feet all the way up my legs. His gaze is visceral, like a soft touch. A very nice, soft touch.
Since he was patient with me, I wait without moving too, even when my finger burns under my engagement ring.
When he looks at me, it’s not a passing glance. Whatever we’re sharing dips straight into intimacy. Especially when he doesn’t hide the lust from his deep brown eyes. They swim with desire, but they keep flicking back to my ring finger.
“Does it offend you?” I ask, twisting my foot behind my ankle, hoping it stops me from doing the iconic move Sharon Stone is famous for—flashing him shamelessly.
His lips twist into a wide smile. I guess I wasn't as smooth as I thought I was. But he shakes his head, his smile getting bigger, and like his smoldering eyes, his mouth billboards his intentions, which are so blatant I blush under his gaze.
