Page 115 of Freed
I laugh once. “Something like that.”
She looks out the tinted window after that, but I can feel the satisfaction coming off her in waves. Like she enjoyed landing the blow. Like she wants me irritated before we even board.
Too bad for her.
I’m better irritated.
By the time we’re seated in first class, the cabin lights are low and golden, the air cold enough to make goosebumps lift on her skin. The dress that annoyed the hell out of me in the house is somehow worse here. Confined space. Soft lighting. Nowhere for either of us to go.
She settles into the seat by the window without a word. I take the one beside her. Two of my men sit several rows up, and another behind us.
A flight attendant stops beside Elizabeth with a professional smile. “Can I bring you anything, miss?”
Before Elizabeth can answer, I say, “A blanket.”
The attendant nods and returns a moment later with a dark cashmere throw, laying it over Elizabeth’s lap with practiced care. Elizabeth murmurs a thank-you that is sweet enough to make me suspicious on instinct.
Then the attendant turns to me. “And for you, sir?”
“Nothing.”
Elizabeth glances sideways at me once the woman is gone. “How thoughtful of you to think of me.”
“You’re cold.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
The plane begins to taxi. She looks out the window, fingers smoothing absently over the blanket on her lap. The movement draws my eye before I can stop it. Pale hand. Soft fabric. That damned dress skimming over her thighs beneath it.
I drag my gaze away and open my phone.
A minute later, I feel it. Her fingers. Lightly brushing the back of my hand where it rests against the armrest between us. I don’t look at her. Not yet.
Maybe it’s accidental.
Then her hand closes over mine. Definitely not accidental, then Slowly, she lifts my hand and tucks it beneath the blanket spread over her lap. Every muscle in my body locks as I turn my head. She’s still looking forward, expression perfectly composed, as though she has not just done something reckless enough to get us both into trouble in a cabin full of witnesses.
Under the blanket, her fingers keep mine pinned where she wants it. And right now it’s high on her thigh. I can feel the warmth through the thin fabric of her dress. A deliberate, taunting pressure that tells me exactly what she’s doing.
My voice comes out very quiet. “Birdie.”
She finally turns her head, blue eyes wide and falsely angelic. “Yes?”
“You’re making a mistake.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Am I?”
Under the blanket, she shifts my hand a fraction higher.
I lower my voice further. “Do you enjoy provoking men who are already in a bad mood?”
“Only specific men.”
My jaw tightens. She is playing with fire and knows it. Maybe that is the point.
Under the blanket, her thumb strokes once over my knuckles.
