Page 52 of SINS & Lies

He settles into the seat beside me, and I steal a glance back at Truffles. He’s curled up under a plush Dalmatian print blanket, sound asleep.

Savannah’s buried in her phone. Despite her prim posture without a hair out of place, I’m betting she’s knee-deep in Regency porn or something equally scandalous.

Suddenly, the room lurches, and I snap forward, gripping the armrests with white-knuckle force.

The next few bumps are jarring, each one sending a shiver down my spine. Then we really pick up speed.

I make the mistake of glancing out the window, and my heart lodges in my throat.

I hate this.

I hate that I’m ready to do anything. Anything. Beg if I have to. And not in a fun way. In the I’m about to die way. The next bump throws one word out of my throat. “Please!”

“Please?” Enzo replies, confused.

“Can we please drive?”

“To Italy?”

Okay, fine. I’m too delirious to know what I’m saying.

For a long beat, he studies me as frustration rolls off him in waves. Along with it, the sexual tension that’s always brewing just below his surface.

His words come out stilted. “You’ve never flown?”

I shake my head. Another bump, and I cry out, latching on to his arm.

“And you’re frightened?” he asks, his tone dark and amused. Because my claws digging into his skin aren’t enough of a hint.

Petrified would be a better description. So much so that I’m borderline hyperventilating, trembling my way to a full-blown panic attack.

I manage to squeak out a small, “Yes.”

The moment we ascend into the sky, he peels me away from his body with deliberate slowness.

Then, in one brisk move, the world tilts as he whisks me to the back of the plane and tosses me to the center of the bed.

Ah, yes. The bed.

Because that’s how rich, powerful men roll. With a king-size bed tucked in the tail end of their flying death tube.

Swiftly, he positions himself over me, his knees locking me in place. Wide-eyed, I panic. “What are you doing?”

He tears off his tie and smiles as his gaze holds mine. “Showing you the only thing you need to fear, Bella, is me.”

What? I open my mouth. To protest. To beg for mercy. The hell if I know. Squirming does nothing. I’m trapped beneath his weight.

Without warning, his massive hand locks around my throat, nearly cutting off my air.

Instincts surge through me like a raging river. My two small hands barely manage to wrap around his, my body thrashing as every part of me focuses solely on him.

The more I struggle, the tighter his grip, his darkening eyes fixed on mine.

Near tears and out of breath, my body gives up and I still.

His grip eases enough that I suck in a breath. “What the actual fu?—”

“Are you wet, Bella?”

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