I plan to keep you naked as much as possible, so just bring yourself.
Instead of that, I tell her to pack for a couple of nights, and then she starts to walk to our room, but stops and looks back at me.
“Do I have luggage, or will I be using trash bags?”
“Never gonna let me live any of that down, are you?”
“Are you kidding? Absolutely not.”
There’s that sassy fucking mouth that I love.
Natasha foldsand unfolds her hands where they rest in her lap for the tenth time in as many minutes, so I reach over and cover them with my own.
“Why are you nervous?”
“What? Oh, I’m not.”
“We’re not even at the airfield yet. What’s going on in that perfect brain of yours?”
She stares out the window for a moment and then glances at me, and the fear in her eyes slays me. “I’ve never flown before.”
Jesus.
That’s right, she told me that she’d never left the state. Her piece-of-shit father, with all of his wealth, never took her on a goddamn vacation.
“It’s a short flight,” I assure her. “Less than an hour. And we’ll take my jet.”
“Yourjet?”
“Yes.”
“Oh God, that’sworse.”
Not expecting that response, I frown. “Why?”
“Because, what if I do something stupid and hurt your plane?”
She’s so fucking adorable.
“You can’t hurt it, Natasha.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can.” She shifts in her seat, looking terrified, and I bring one of her hands to my lips, peppering kisses on her knuckles.
“Listen to me, it’s going to be great. And I have to amend what I said. It’s notmyjet, it’s just habit to phrase it that way.”
“Then whose is it?”
“It’sours.”
She swallows hard. “That doesn’t help.”
I grin and squeeze her hands, and before long the SUV pulls up in front of the private plane that’s ready for boarding.
“Wait for me.”
Natasha nods, and I step out of the car, scanning the area for any potential danger, then circle to her side and help her out.
My crew grabs our luggage—Hermès for my wife, not fucking trash bags—and loads it aboard while I guide her up the stairs and into our plane.
