Page 54 of Her Cruel Empire
“Oh.”
“We’re leaving for Paris this afternoon.”
“We?” The word comes out stupid, confused.
Her look suggests she might be thinking the same thing. “Yes.We. I have business there, and you will accompany me.”
My pulse jumps. Paris. The word alone sends a thrill through me, but the way she says it—like it’s a command, not a request—reminds me exactly what I am to her. “But I don’t even have my passport?—”
Eva sighs, that familiar sound of fond exasperation. “That didn’t bother us on the journey here. Why should it bother us going to Paris?”
Because international borders are actual things?I want to say, but I bite my tongue. She talks about crossing borders like they’re mere suggestions.
The maid finishes packing and slips out, leaving us alone. Eva’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary, and I feel that familiar heat building in my chest.
“Get ready,” she says, her voice softer now. “We leave in two hours.”
The private jet is even more luxurious than I remember. Cream leather seats, polished wood accents, and a quiet that speaks of serious money. Eva sits across from me, phone in hand, scrolling through something with laser focus.
I’m pretty sure it’s not her Instagram feed.
I nurse a glass of champagne—real champagne, not the cheap bubbles we served at Murphy’s—and try not to stare at her. But it’s impossible.
I’m so desperate for her to acknowledge me.
Every few minutes, she’ll frown at something on the screen, and I find myself leaning forward, wondering what’s captured her attention. When she glances at me, I can’t breathe. When she doesn’t, I feel like I’m suffocating.
I’m ridiculous, I tell myself. Desperate for her attention.
But the champagne makes me bold. Or maybe it’s the way she keeps stealing glances at me as the flight goes on.
“Are you a member of the Mile High Club?” I ask teasingly. “And are you going to induct me?”
Her fingers pause on her phone. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped. Then she looks up, and her eyes are dark, heavy-lidded with the kind of desire that makes my breath catch.
“There’s a bed in the back,” she says, her voice cool, controlled.
I take another sip of champagne, feeling reckless. “That doesn’t count. It has to be in the bathroom.”
One eyebrow arches. “Is that so?”
I shrug, trying to look casual even though my heart is doing loops in my chest. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
“In that case,” she says, rising smoothly to her feet, “come with me.”
I follow her down the narrow aisle, my nerves and excitement battling for control. Even the bathroom is stunning—marble accents, gold fixtures, and a lot bigger than I expected. For a moment, I just stare.
“You wanted it here,” Eva says, stepping closer. Her voice is low, commanding. “Don’t make me regret humoring you.”
My breath catches. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She pushes me lightly against the door, and I forget how to think. Her hands are everywhere, her mouth hungry and demanding. The confined space makes everything more intense,more desperate. I can taste the champagne on her lips, smell her perfume mixing with the expensive soap from the dispenser.
My clothes are still on, but I feel exposed. Wrecked.
Her teeth graze my ear. “You really haven’t done this before?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t even been on a plane before you.”
