Page 59 of Golden Burn

An unknown amount of time passes when I hear my name. The voice that speaks is warm and rich and familiar. Closer, a little louder, it comes again. This time I hear my name despite another word being said. “Sweetheart, wake up.” Groaning, I open my eyes and awareness creeps in. A hand clasps my neck, sure and gentle. My legs are bent along a set of hard thighs. The plane is dark, a cave where we can hide.

“What’s wrong?” I mumble, my heartbeat skipping.

“Nothing,” Odin reassures me with his husky voice. “You’re safe.”You’re safe with me, he leaves unsaid.

He shifts so that I’m sitting up a bit higher. “We need to keep it up. This ruse.”

We?

I blink at him, willing clarity into my fog filled brain. Trying another route, he holds my gaze and says, “In a couple of days, you’ll be mine. And I need you to hate me throughout it all.”

That word echoes.Mine.

I come back to reality with staggering speed, my heart spasms into existence. No longer slow, but pumping frantically.

Taking control of my body, Odin lifts me easily into his arms and maneuvers till I’m sitting on the seat next to him. Alone and cold.

While I shift around trying to find a comfortable position with only my jumper to keep me warm, he drapes my lower legs over his lap and reaches for my feet. He removes my sandals and begins to rub his thumbs up my soles. His touch sends an electrified thrill up my calves and I’m finding it impossible to relax.

He reaches for his glass of whiskey and takes a sip. At the same time, his free hand crawls further up my legs and he continues his blissful assault on my skin.

He massages the back of my ankles, my calves, the bottom of my thighs. I flinch as his fingers drift over my inner thigh. I’m not in the mood to be teased.

He must sense my sudden discomfort because he returns my legs to my seat and leaves me be. No longer being touched, no longer being cared for, I let the sound of the plane’s engine fill my ears and my eyes close after several long minutes.

The long flight unfolds without my knowledge.

I’m lost to the world, having been transported into a new dreamscape. A place where Odin is my hero and we both travel the world playing spies and searching for lost treasures.

And most importantly: he’s mine as much as I am his.

22

Etta

‘In The Air Tonight’ - Phil Collins

Italy is hot.

Or maybe it’s because I’m hot. Everywhere. Flushed and sweating and needing release.

The journey here was arduous and long. Nine hours in the air. Two hours in the international airport in Casablanca, Morocco. Another three-hour flight landing in Rome and a forty-minute drive to our hotel.

I shouldn’t complain. I’m flying around the world for free, via private jet, with anything I want at my fingertips.

Still… I’m fucking exhausted.

My lower back and ass have turned to stone, and my neck has a dozen different knots forming between my shoulder blades. I’m in need of a shower or a bath. A huge bowl of fresh spaghetti, too, and five glasses ofAperol spritz chilled to perfection would be wonderful. I relay this all to Odin as we enter the elevator.

Dom and Ford have already been to our room to leave our bags and check the security. It’s terrible to let them do all that knowing they are just as tired as I am. But if I even tried to help, Ford would throw me off the balcony into the nearest pool.

“Are you staying with me?” I ask as the doors open, revealing a marble floor and a hallway decorated with tall black vases, as large as a small child, with sprigs of greenery. Knowing the cost of this place, I’m sure they’re real. Everywhere I turn is a smattering of dove gray-streaked white marble, gold trim, and rich wooden furniture.

Odin glances my way. “Yes, your highness, I’m staying with you.”

Ford has hired more security to be looking after us over the next week and the wedding festivities. It’s unsettling seeing so many men in casual attire stationed randomly around the lobby and on the level of our room. I stupidly wish that Ford could have just cloned himself. Dom seemed happy about it, though. Less pressure on his husband. Less stress knowing, he is the only one to look after all of us.

Odin takes out the key to our room from his pocket. The black roman numerals tattoo at the bottom of his left wrist catches my eye. I’ve seen them often enough now that I know what they are.

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