by Eve Langlais
His aloofness pricked, even as she welcomed it. She didn’t mind if her emotions were contrary. However, she would admit to curiosity when he went off, phone pressed to his ear, the rules governing their use in flight seemingly not to apply to him.
Whom did he call? And why wouldn’t he let her listen?
Or was he trying to hide Anja’s presence from someone?
She’d never asked his marital status. She’d assumed, like the greenest of women, that he was single. Is he single?
He better be.
Or else she might want to hunt the other woman down and force a breakup.
Don’t give her the stink eye. Her grandmother always said if Anja saw something she wanted, go after it. And if she couldn’t get it legally … then don’t get caught.
In this case, Anja was pretty sure she wanted Cole. Now if only her life weren’t so bloody complicated.
He dropped into the seat beside her. “We’re about to land in Moscow, where we have a five-hour layover before the flight to Arkhangelsk.”
“Five? Ugh. Just long enough to be really uncomfortable. But not as bad as the time I went on the backpacking trip across Europe. They canceled our flight out of Italy, and I thought my grandmother would crawl through that phone when she heard I would not be leaving for another twenty-three hours.” Actually, her grandmother was more pissed Anja had gone on the trip. She preferred to keep Anja sequestered on the farm safe and out of sight. Too bad. Anja didn’t always pay attention. The farm didn’t have warm, sunny beaches, and Anja really liked warm, sunny beaches.
Each time Anja hopped on a plane, she did so without notice, and her babushka always lost her mind whenever Anja called from wherever she’d landed.
“What if I said I could get you a shower?” Cole smiled at her, genuinely genial, with a hint of devious.
“I would blow you for a shower.” Like seriously, drop to her knees right now.
His grin widened.
“But don’t expect payment until after you shower.” She smiled. “I don’t do dirty dick.”
Guys she’d dated would have cringed at her words. Cole laughed. “Deal. And wash yours nicely as well in case I feel a need for seconds.”
“In case?” She arched a brow. “I expect thirds and fourths.”
Yes, it was her turn to be cliché, but she couldn’t help it. He turned her brain to mush, making thinking hard. Almost as hard as him, and he was pretty hard she noticed when the flight landed and they prepared to disembark. He stood behind her, close, so close her buttocks rubbed against the front of him.
Her poor bear. She truly had teased him awfully earlier. A lot earlier, which meant he was due for another dose of teasing. Emboldened, she whirled and stood on tiptoe, grabbing his cheeks to hold him as she planted a kiss on his lips.
She meant to pull away after a few sucks and tugs of his lower lip, yet he caught her, one arm snaring around her waist while his free hand grabbed her hair in a fist. He drew her close, close enough his next words whispered over her lips. “You are playing a dangerous game inciting me like this. You have no idea of the beast you stir beneath my skin.”
Such a serious tone and mien.
“I’ve seen your beast,” she murmured back. “Why do you think you’re here?”
“You might think you know what I am, but I’m special. Not quite hockey helmet special but definitely not like the other boys and girls you met growing up. I see the world differently from a human. Feel differently.”
“And yet”—she pressed against him—“in some ways, you are very much a man.”
“You should stop tempting me. I won’t always be able to control myself. Not with the need so strong.”
Need? He said it with such hunger. Here was a man who hungered for her.
“You’re right,” she said. “We should stop tempting each other. Getting involved with me is such a bad idea.”
“I’ve been bad my whole life, so you’ll fit right in.”
Fit in, spoken once again as if he expected her to be with him. He really thought he was going to keep her. He’d soon realize that keeping her was only half the problem. Others would try to take. He’s not the only one who wants me.
Disgorged from their plane into one of the terminals, she had to follow Cole as he laced his fingers through hers and dragged her through the concourses to the place he knew of to grab a shower.
The first-class lounge they entered had a certain modern luxurious feel with bold colors in the seating area and sedate lighting that gave it a casual, comfortable air.
The room assigned for bathing wasn’t big, but it held the basics, the most important thing being the shower. She might have squealed a little when she saw it and barely noticed that he left her alone. She took her sweet time in the shower, luxuriating under the hot, cleansing spray. When she finally emerged, her skin a lovely shade of tomato from the heat, she felt completely refreshed. Standing in front of the mirror, she took a moment to look at herself and blinked for a second look.
Despite the hectic past day, she appeared well rested. Her skin glowed, her lips appeared full, and her eyes shone. Even her hair, hanging in long, wet strands, looked buoyant, hints of the gold catching the light in the room.
Funny how twenty-four hours and the interest of a man could change a look. Who needed makeup when arousal would do the trick?
She made a moue of annoyance. The girlish nature of her emotions irritated. She wasn’t usually so impractical. If only she could call her grandmother. Her babushka would reach through the phone line and slap some sense into her.
Grabbing the hair dryer that was bolted to the wall, she turned the noisy unit on and dried her hair into chaffs of pale golden wheat. She didn’t find any elastics to bind it and was eyeballing the towel as a possible hair band when there was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s a guy with candy looking to ogle your splendid naked body. Then, later, I’ll picture it for inspiration when I’m jerking off.”
Outrageous didn’t even start to describe it. The man was a pig. She wrapped a towel around her upper body and pulled the bolt back so she could open the door.
“You are a crass beast.”
“Thank you.” He leaned against the opposite wall, and his gaze swept her. “What, not even a peek? And here I brought you a present. Fresh clothes.” He held up a plastic bag, the name of a woman’s couture on the outside, a pricy brand name.
She held out her hand.
He held the bag out of reach. “First, my peek.”
“You saw it earlier on the plane.”
“Only half of your body and I was kind of busy at the time.” He waggled his tongue.
She almost slammed the door shut, but the idea of fresh clothes … “Keep them.”
Before she could close the door, he’d grabbed it and pushed it back enough that he could slip in. “You can’t stop me from coming in, although I do wish you’d try.”
As if she’d wrestle him. She wrapped her arms tight around her upper body, keeping the towel cinched. “Go away. I am getting dressed.”
“Don’t you need these?” He waved the bag.
“Keep your stuff. I’ll wear my own clothes.” Which, while a little worse for wear, didn’t smell of the barn—much—for once.
She snatched her jeans from the chair she’d tossed them on. She flapped them out in front of her and was about to lift a leg to drag them on when he lunged. He snagged a denim leg and tugged. The automatic reflex was to tug back, and so they both tugged, a tad harder than the well-worn jeans could handle.
Rip.
She stared at the hole running along the seam of the pants. “You wrecked my favorite jeans.”
“Wrecked them how?” He held them up and stuck his face under the new hole and wiggled his tongue. “These are perfect now, if you ask me.”
“You are disgusting.”
“And you are a liar.” Cole dropped the pants and grinned at her. “I’m a beast, re
member? I smell everything.”
“That isn’t something I’d brag about.” But at least she knew she smelled better.
The pocket at the front of his slacks—that somehow looked fresh once again and neatly pressed—buzzed.
“More phone calls?” she queried, eyeing her torn jeans and wondering how she could fix them.
“I am a man in demand. Kill this. Kill that. I’ve recently invested in the funeral home business. Not only am I shareholder but I get a referral fee if someone sends them the bodies I leave behind.”
“There is something oddly perverse about that.”
“More perverse than me being a bear who kills things?”
How to reply? Nothing about him made sense.
The phone in his pocket went silent for a moment before insistently buzzing again.
“I think you should answer that.”
“I should.” He said it, and yet he waited.
“Well?”
“Well, I can’t very well leave without seeing your tits. I came here to see tits, and dammit, I am going to see some tits.”
“My tits?”
“Do you see another pair around here?”
She smiled, especially since his pocket buzzed again and he got the most aggrieved look on his face. “I’ll show them when you show me a ring.”
“You’re demanding.”
“And you’re whining again. Look at me, the big bad killer who is going to sulk because he didn’t see boobies.” And, yes, she did rub a fist under her eye as part of her mockery.
He didn’t seem to appreciate the humor. “I do not whine.”
“You complain. Loudly. And often. And I don’t believe you’re as rich as you claim because a real man of wealth would have no problem getting me a sizable rock to wear.”
“Big stones get caught on things.”
“Yes, they do, on the sneers of those who would look down on us.” She smiled. “Fear not, though. Blood washes off.”
“You say the hottest things. But you need to stop distracting me. I’ve got business to take care of. Catch.” Using the oldest ploy in the book, he tossed the shopping bag at her, which meant she had to let go of the towel and raise both her arms if she didn’t want to get hit in the face.
The tiny fabric tuck didn’t hold. Gravity proved stronger and stripped her.
His low chuckle served as a caress over her skin, giving her an intense shiver of awareness.
“Absolutely delicious. I’ll be having those for dessert later.” He opened the door and slid out, but not without a parting remark. “I hope you like wearing pearls.”
And if you didn’t know what that meant, look it up, because the last you thing you needed was your grandmother explaining it in the seventh grade as a dirty, disgusting boy spraying his sticky stuff on a girl’s neck thinking free pearls were better than ocean ones.
With Cole gone, she bolted the door again. Too late, though, with his simple incursion, he’d left traces of himself behind. Her body noticed and reacted. Her skin felt sensitized, and her breasts hung heavily, the tips of them rosy.
She should dress instead of noting her different horny body parts. She dumped the bag on the reclining chair, trying to make sense of the stuff.
The fabric caught her eye first. Not denim. Not even cotton. She held up the dress. “He’s out of his fucking mind.” He couldn’t expect her to wear the vivid blue jersey gown. Made of thick knit, the stretchy material would contour every inch of her body, from the tight wrists on the sleeves to the snug bodice to the skirt flowing from her full hips to hang shark-bite style almost at her ankles.
It was a dress meant to show off curves. A dress to seduce. And he’d bought it for her.
I’d prefer my jeans.
She’d also prefer underwear that wouldn’t double as dental floss. She held up the scrap of filmy satin. It was only slightly worse than the bra, the cups low cut, the material fine, so fine that when she slid the dress down over her body, it frictioned against her nipples, hardening them into points that showed clearly through the fabric.
A glance in the mirror made her gasp. With her hair blow-dried into disarray, her skin flushed and still dewy, the decadent gown hugging every curve, she no longer looked like a farm girl who worked too hard.
On the contrary, she looked fuckable.
And she couldn’t wait to show it off. After slipping on the cowboy boots because, hell yeah, cowboy boots went with everything, she sauntered from the rented room, noting the hall was empty. Where had he gone?
Since Cole hadn’t mentioned he had a room, she didn’t bother knocking on any of the doors as she strutted her way to the reception area, the heels of her boots clacking loudly on the floor.
Sauntering into the open public area, she stopped short, especially as she spotted the men in suits at the reception desk. One of them noted her. He pointed.
They always pointed. It was so rude. So obvious. It meant, Here we go again.
“There she is,” said the one with the wagging stubby finger.
“Grab her before she screams,” said his even stupider companion.
“Touch her and die,” snapped Cole, the noise of the concourse following him as he stepped through the door into the reception area of the spa.
“Mind your business,” snarled the first moron.
Cole’s eyes turned flat and cold. “She is my business. I licked her. I own her.”
Yes. He said it. The most childish claim ever. Still, it made her smile stupidly, so stupidly her babushka would have slapped her.
“This doesn’t concern you. You do not want to mess with us. You don’t know who we work for,” said one of the idiots in very heavily accented English.
“I really don’t care who you are and who pays your bills.” Cole took a step forward, his posing seemingly indolent, and yet, the glint in his eye? Anything but. He stood, feet apart, his tan linen slacks loose, his button-down shirt not completely hiding the power coiling within him. “I’m going to show you why you don’t touch what’s mine.”
“Yours? I am not yours,” she snapped.
“We can argue about that in a minute. Let me just take care of your visitors first.”
“Fine,” she huffed. Let him handle the guy who’d pulled a gun. It didn’t seem to bother Cole. With a growl, he drove forward, and she leaned back against the wall to watch. It wasn’t as if she could do anything else. The formfitting dress wouldn’t allow it.
An advantage to being in the audience was she got an excellent vantage point of the fight. While Cole might have growled on attack, he remained a male for the fight, his fists landing with meaty thuds. The gun was knocked early from the guy’s hand, just like the moron’s companion lost his knife.
They couldn’t hope to prevail against Cole. For a big man, he moved with seamless grace. His twists and ducks as he weaved between the two attackers created a beautiful dance that saw him thrusting at the right moment, kicking out the next, pirouetting before doing a leg rotation that knocked the fellow with the stubby fingers out. As for his friend?
He bolted. Coward.
More surprising, no one chased. Cole grabbed hold of her hand and tugged her to the unmarked door behind the reception desk, a desk that had emptied the moment violence erupted.
“Shouldn’t we go after him?” she asked, craning to look over her shoulder. “He’s getting away.”
“Let him. We have no time. Someone will have reported what happened, so unless you’d like to get turned into Swiss cheese or perhaps anally probed without lube for terrorist weapons, I’d suggest we get our asses out of this airport, and I don’t suggest we use the front door.”
He took her through a room marked STORAGE to another door. It had a touchscreen embedded in the wall beside it. He pulled out his phone and tapped at it, then scrolled a few times before tapping again. Then he held up his device to the waiting scanner.
Beep. The door clicked and opened.
“You are talented.” She wouldn
’t begrudge him a compliment.
He enjoyed it a tad too much, his lips smothering hers, but it was so he could whisper, “Shhhh.”
He kissed her to shut her up. She couldn’t really deny she enjoyed his methods. He opened the unlocked door, and she went through first. He quickly followed and grabbed her hand before jogging down the long hallway, lined at intervals with other doors marked with company names. He bypassed an elevator, the closed metal door battered, and went for the stairs at the end.
As they clattered down the concrete and metal stair treads, an alarm started.
Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. When it stopped, a robotic female voice began to speak, but, for some reason, she started in French.
Typical. “Any idea what she’s saying?” she asked.
“A suave killer and his diabolically attractive companion are in the airport. You are all in epic danger. They are super dangerous. Especially him. Expect to be fucked-up royally if you get in his way.”
“That is not what she’s saying.”
“Think of it as a better translation because that prerecorded version about a possible terrorist attack is boring.”
“And you most definitely aren’t.”
“Boredom is for those who’ve retired from life.”
“And you like this kind of life?” she asked as he did something to the door at the bottom of the stairwell. It popped open, and the fresh air hit her, as did real daylight.
No time to stop and enjoy the feel of the rays on her skin. Cole still moved, keeping close to the building and yet not slinking or slouching. He kept her tucked against him with an arm anchored around her waist.
“We make good targets out here,” she remarked.
“We won’t be out here for long.” A press of his phone against another security device and it took only a second for a beep that meant the door was open.
If asked later, Anja couldn’t have said how he did it. The man seemed to know the airport and its failings because, somehow, they went from accosted in the spa on that concourse to the parking garage, where he kept holding down the button on his phone and rotating left to right until a car flashed its lights and beeped.
No way. No one was that prepared.
“Don’t tell me you keep a car parked here?” she said as they threaded to the next row over with the vehicle.