Page 26 of Lady and the Hitman
When my eyes adjusted, I found him calm, composed, sipping his drink again.
The hum of the engine filled the silence between us.
I couldn’t speak.
Because I knew now: he could ruin me without ever laying a hand.
I was already begging for more.
I set the blindfold in my lap, my hands shaking slightly as I smoothed the silk like it might settle something in me.
It didn’t.
He hadn’t even touched me.
Not really.
But I felt like I’d been branded.
I leaned back against the seat, glass still in hand, and tried to calm my breathing. My skin tingled. My thoughts spun. But beneath all of it was something heavier. Older.
Something I didn’t like looking at.
Because this wasn’t new.
Not really.
I’d felt it before—this ache, this pull, this unbearable need to surrender without apology. And I’d buried it. On purpose.
I pressed the glass to my lips again, but the ice had already melted. The bourbon was warmer now. Softer. Like it had given up pretending to be anything but dangerous.
So had I.
We flew in silence for a while.
The kind that wasn't awkward, just weighty. Like both of us knew there was more to come, and anything said now might ruin the tension we were both pretending not to taste.
I glanced at him.
He was watching the clouds.
Not me. Not anymore.
But that made it worse. Or better. I couldn’t tell.
His stillness was unnerving. Not lazy. Not bored. More like a tiger behind glass. Muscles relaxed, but only for now.
I didn’t know what he was thinking, and that drove me insane.
“Do you do this often?” I asked, finally.
His gaze shifted back to me. “Define ‘this.’”
“Fly women around the country. Tie blindfolds. Whisper things.”
He tilted his head, almost amused. “No.”
“No to which part?”
