Page 19 of Mikhail Petrov

But now... Now, my hands buzz with the need to touch her. To pull her into my lap, keep her, and make her mine.

“Sir.” Benjamin’s voice is like goddamn nails on a chalkboard. I suppress the urge to wrap my hand around his scrawny little throat and choke the fucking life from his eyes. The balls on this bastard.

Without looking his way, I motion with my hand for him to get to the point.

“Captain says we’re going to hit some turbulence. There’s a storm ahead.”

Seconds crawl by, and he, for whatever reason, remains standing in place.

“Thanks, Benny.” Leah breaks her streak of silence. For fucking Benjamin, no less. “You don’t have to treat him like that. He didn’t do anything wrong,” she says once he retreats.

“I’m not here to make friends. He did his job and doesn’t need a pat on the back.”

I click my seatbelt and wait for Leah to do the same. But she resumes her silence, gazing out the window. I bite my tongue, knowing damn well if I mention it, that will just be another reason for us to argue, something we never did in the past. And I hate it.

But when the first jolts of turbulence rock the plane enough that she slips from one side of her seat to the other, I can’t hold back any longer.

“Seatbelt, Leah.”

She doesn’t lash out. Instead, she fidgets as if searching for something. “Shit, my phone. I must have left it in the bathroom.”

Jumping to her feet, she makes a run for it, but is quickly tossed backward by another heavy jostle of the plane. I snap off my seatbelt and lunge, catching her before she’s thrown to the ground. Unfortunately, my back rams into the edge of a seat, partially knocking the air from my lungs.

“Oh my god, Mikhail. Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” I groan at the pain, but as long as she isn’t hurt, then it’s well worth the bruising or cracked rib. “I’m good.”

Leah attempts to break out of my arms, but I hold firm and push to my feet while cradling her. We manage to make it to my chair without incident, and I stretch the belt to accommodate her body over my lap.

“I’m sorry. But you shouldn’t have done that. What if you cracked your head instead? And Mikhail...why am I in your lap?”

“But I didn’t. And you’re here because you’re stubborn, and I don’t want you running off again and getting hurt.” I wonder if she can hear how fast my heart is thundering. It’s like a steady bass in my chest.

“Lesson learned,” she murmurs as I tuck hair behind her ear.

“Better safe than sorry.” My thumb brushes her chin, then moves over her lip, and God, I want to fucking kiss her. “Takaya upryamaya i takaya krasivaya.” (So stubborn and so beautiful.) Leah’s lashes flutter as she leans into my touch. “Ya bol’she ne tvoya krasavitsa?” (Am I not your pretty girl anymore?)

My eyes snap up to meet hers. “You learned Russian?”

“Da.”

My cheeks are on fire, and I realize it’s from smiling so goddamn much. “What made you want to do that?”

She shrugs. “I was bored, and I figured if I ever saw you again, what better way to get

revenge than to curse you out in your own language.”

I tip my head and laugh. “Touche. And I probably deserve it.”

“Probably.”

A vortex of emotions rage through me. I know I should let her go in more ways than just this moment, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet.

“It’s probably safer if I sit in my seat,” she says, reaching for the latch.

But I catch her hand and shake my head. “You’re always safe with me—and I can’t risk it.

I’m fresh out of partners at the moment.”

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