Page 88 of Without a Trace
Rhett let out a short, amused breath. Zeke almost laughed.
I smirked and sank into the plush cream leather like it was a throne.
Alden handed me a glass of champagne. “You gonna behave?”
I took a sip. “Not a fucking chance.”
Zeke didn’t smile, but something in his eyes twitched—impressed or terrified. Maybe both.
Trace gave me a slow, sideways glare—half challenged, half heat.
“Behave Sunshine,” he muttered. “I’m already on edge.”
Which only fueled mine. I wasn’t here to soothe his fire anymore. I was here to match it.
I looked at him. “Don’t worry, Maddox. I’ll try not to kiss anyone on this flight.”
Alden choked on his drink.
Kane leaned forward from his seat behind us, grinning. “Damn. Can you at least wait until we’re at cruising altitude? Give the rest of us a chance to pretend we’re not witnessing foreplay?”
Zeke finally cracked a smile.
Trace just stared at me.
Good.
Let him burn.
Let them all burn.
Because if I was going down, I was dragging every last one of them with me.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d enjoy it.
Trace
She was sitting right beside me, legs crossed, glass in hand. Eyes sparkling with defiance. Her thigh pressed against mine and she didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
I nearly put Zeke through a wall forty-eight hours ago, and here she is—sitting next to me as if nothing ever happened. As if I don’t taste her on my tongue every time I close my eyes. As if she wasn’t carved from the exact sin I swore I’d never crave again.
Scarlett fucking Monroe.
She lifted her glass slowly, smirking at Alden, tossing some taunt into the cabin that made him choke. Kane snorted. Even Zeke’s expression twitched at the edges.
But I didn’t laugh.
Too busy watching her.
The way she tilted her head, golden waves tumbling over her shoulder. The way her lip curled in amusement, sharp and devastating. The way she pretends this is all a game, when we both know it’s war.
My hands flexed against my thighs.
She turned to me, slow and deliberate, her eyes sparking with that same wildfire that’s been undoing me for years.
“Try not to start a war at thirty thousand feet,” I muttered, forcing the words through gritted teeth.
She tilted her head, amused. “No promises.”
