Page 21 of Lady and the Hitman
The car turned down a private road. Tree-lined. Empty.
Far ahead, I saw it: a small airfield. A jet alreadywaiting, sleek against the burning sky. It looked like something out of a spy film. Too elegant to be military. Too aggressive to be commercial.
My stomach dropped.
“You weren’t kidding,” I whispered.
“No,” he said. “I don’t kid.”
He drove straight onto the tarmac. No clearance check. No questions.
He owned this. Somehow, impossibly, he owned this.
He parked beside the jet. Killed the engine.
His hand left my thigh.
I almost whimpered.
He turned to me then, fully, and for the first time, I saw him smile.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was dangerous.
He reached into the console, pulled out a small black velvet pouch, and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Put it on.”
I opened it.
Inside was a blindfold.
Not crude. Not kinky for the sake of it.
Just a strip of soft black silk, folded neatly, edges stitched with care. Minimalist. Elegant.
A small gold tag was sewn into one corner—discreet. Two simple letters engraved:
AM.
My pulse jumped.
“Alpha Mail,” I murmured.
He didn’t confirm.
He didn’t have to.
He reached forward, took it from my hands, and brushed my hair back with a tenderness that startled me.
“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “I’ll put it on when I’m ready.”
The world seemed to tighten around us, breath catching between want and warning.
His fingers grazed my cheek, featherlight.
