I lean back in my chair and plan my next move.
CHAPTER FOUR
Vera
I startle awake to the plane shaking so badly at first I think I must be dreaming. When I realize it isn’t a dream, I gasp and try to stand but am quickly pulled down by large, strong hands.
“Nyet.” Markov is holding me tight against him, his arms like vice gripping me. The overhead speaker crackles.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve hit a bit of turbulence. There is nothing to fear. Please remain seated and be sure your safety belts are fastened. We should be able to navigate out of this pocket short?—”
His words are cut off when the plane takes a sudden deep nosedive. Screams drown out any more thoughts, mine along with everyone else’s. Panic swoops over me. I squeeze my eyes shut and feel tears escape between my lids.
A calm, collected voice beside me anchors me to safety. “Vsyo budet khorosho.”
His tone, for the first time, is softened and reassuring. I have no idea what he’s saying, but somehow, it puts me at ease. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth when a large, warm hand comes to rest on my thigh.
I open my eyes to see him staring straight ahead, ever the picture of stoicism. His jaw clenches, but he shows no fear. My mind swirls in a tempest of fear – what if we crash? Would we survive? My scientific mind immediately calculates how far up we are, our location, the chances of survival. I can hardly form a cohesive thought. What if we – what if I--
Just as soon as the turbulence began, it stops. The plane flies calmly now in the inky darkness of the night sky.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. My breathing regulates.
“Spasibo.”
I’m glad I brushed up a bit on my phone.
Markov gives me a silent nod.
I look down at his hand resting on my thigh. We realize at the same time he’s touching me in a way my bodyguard has no business touching me. He was only reassuring me, yes, but the continued intimacy of his hand on my thigh has crossed a line we should never cross.
My cheeks flame, and a warm trickle of awareness flutters between my thighs.
Maybe I shouldn’t have spent the last hour before I fell asleep reading about dominant, perfect, sexy as fuck billionaires, especially when I’m in such close proximity to the sexiest Russian I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I lay my hand on top of his and, with great reluctance, push his hand off of me.
I feel his eyes on me but don’t return his gaze as the flight attendant comes to us.
“I’m so sorry about that.”
I shake my head. “Unless you’re personally responsible for the behavior of the sky, I don’t think it’s your fault. But thank you.”
Markov says something to her in rapid Russian that makes her laugh. She responds, and he gives her a glimmer of a smile.
An unexpected stab of jealousy hits me straight in the solar plexus. I want to know what he said to her. I didn’t even know the man was capable of humor.
I want to be the one that makes him smile. Or, almost smile anyway.
They continue chattering, and I pick up my book. Fine, have a conversation that doesn’t include me. I’ll just read my book and pine away with unrealistic expectations, no big deal.
“He says to tell you he was only trying to comfort you and apologizes if he was untoward.”
I blink and look up at the flight attendant. “Excuse me?”
She repeats herself. I look over to see him staring straight at me, as serious as always.
I clear my throat.