Page 7 of Ruthless Wars

“Oh.” Suddenly aware I’m still engulfed in his extra-large jacket, I tug at the zipper until his large hand swallows mine.

He rubs my fingers gently. “Keep it. I like thinking of you in it. That thought will keep me smiling for days.”

“I’d like to leave you something too. But ... close your eyes.”

He does, letting his suspicious smile grow wider across his face. Jokingly, he peeks once before shutting his eyes for good.

I hike up my skirt just enough to let my ass hang out on the freeway for a hot second. Tugging my lacy thong down, I step out of it, nearly losing my balance and falling flat on my face. Squealing, I recover with, “Don’t open your eyes,” and grab his crossed arms to regain my balance.

“You okay?” he asks, still with his eyes closed but smiling with a flash of concern. With one hand, he’s got me back to a solid stance.

“Of course,” I say quickly. “One more moment.”

Happily, I stroll to his car and slip the dainty undies through the open driver’s window and drape them over the steering wheel.

“Hey, I told you, I don’t want your money,” he calls out.

“I heard you,” I say, returning to him. “It’s not money. It’s the one thing that I think will keep that smile on your face for longer.”

He opens one eye, then the other. “Thanks. I think.”

With a hand on the small of my back, he leads me to the driver’s seat of my ready car.

After an appreciative glance and a final kiss on his cheek, I get in, letting him shut the winged door after me.

Slowly, I accelerate back onto the tollway, getting a good feel for the drive with a tight grip of the wheel, carefully gauging the steadiness of the fixed tire. Comfortable with the patch job, I take a last look at my midnight hero in the rearview mirror. Waving wildly with panties in hand, he sends me off.

That smile is absolutely everything.

My arrival at the airport signals an end to my time in Dallas, and I hate it.

After parking inches from the short flight of stairs to the jet, I pop the trunk latch. Exiting the vehicle with blazer in hand, I circle to the front and stare at the still open duffel in the trunk.

“Can I take that for you, Ms. Long?” the pilot asks, his hand outstretched and ready to grab my only luggage.

Without a second thought, I shove my blazer in the bag and zip it up. “Yes, thank you,” I say, and follow the captain up the stairs.

Making myself comfortable in the opulence of the large leather seat in a nearly vacant private jet is incredibly easy. But somehow, wrapped in the warmth of Triple-A’s soft jacket makes lounging a hundred times warmer than I’ve ever felt on a plane.

The pilot finishes his final check as the flight attendant brings me a flute of freshly poured champagne. “Can I get you anything else, Ms. Margot?”

“Thank you, Lyndsey. I’m just going to sit back and read a little romance on my tablet.”

“Well, I’ll be up front reading a little romance myself, but please let me know if I can bring you anything at all. And congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I say, shyer than usual. I try not to make too much of her knowing. All my wishful thinking couldn't keep the purpose of my trip under wraps, and I was foolish to think it would.

Determined to keep to the plan, I remain quiet, slipping off my heels to slide my feet into the plush softness of the waiting slippers. I press two buttons in the armrest—one to heat and the other to recline.

Before I sink into my latest steamy novella, I realize I’d better text Jaclyn.

margot: Left Wyatt’s car at the airport. Will need a tow. Back driver’s tire patched.

jaclyn: You changed a tire?

margot: I’ve changed a tire before.

jaclyn: No, I changed a tire. You watched.

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