Page 99 of Lethal Torture
His sharp intake of breath turns the heat high enough to sear the knickers from my body. Biting my lip, I inch my skirt higher and spread my thighs a fraction more.
Luke’s fingers grip the armrest, the nails turning slowly white, but apart from that, he doesn’t move at all. His lethal stillness only adds recklessness to my game.
His eyes behind the sunglasses follow my finger as I trace it up my thigh and over the top of my stocking, where I allow it to linger. Slowly I draw it higher again, along the suspender holding up my stocking, until my finger reaches the lace of my knickers.
Luke’s eyes flick over the plane assessingly, then settle back on mine with disquieting intensity. “Take them off.”
Fuck.
I might have started this game, but it’s rapidly spiraling out of control. As the plane banks into a turn, I lift my ass and pull the scrap of silk and lace down over my knees so it slides to my feet. I ease my feet out of my stilettos and lift the silk with one toe, propping my foot on the edge of Luke’s seat, just outside his knee. He closes one large hand over my ankle, covering my knickers, his thumb caressing the inside of my foot. My knee sways outward at his touch, and his eyes slide between my legs.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. If anyone was watching him, there’d be nothing in his posture to give him away.
And that only makes it so,somuch hotter.
I move slightly, almost gasping at the friction as the air hits my wet heat. Luke strokes the underside of my foot maddeningly slowly, the ball of his thumb pressing the arch of my foot almost as if he were pressing directly on my clit.
His mouth curls in a dark smile. “It’s definitely swollen,” he says in a remarkably even tone. It takes my frazzled mind a moment to realize he’s pretending to talk about my ankle. “The throbbing must be painful.”
The semi-hysterical urge to laugh is getting worse.Fuck you,I mouth.
Luke tilts his head, smirking. “I can’t see to it just yet,” he says in the same stupidly composed voice. “The seat belt sign is still on.”
Oh, you bastard.I drop my eyes deliberately to the hard length behind his fly and slowly run my tongue over my lips. When I raise them again, his smile has hardened into something much darker and infinitely hotter.
The overhead bell dings to indicate the seat belt sign is off. I jerk from my seat, unable to think of anything but getting naked on the bed just beyond the door. Luke’s hand tightens around my ankle, holding me in place.
“Not yet,” he growls.
I lift my hips in answer, rucking my skirt upward.
“Fuck.” Luke sucks in his breath, and I feel a surge of triumph. Then his eyes flicker over my head, and I hear the clatter of the drinks trolley starting toward us. He leans forward, his hand traveling rapidly up my thigh. For the briefest moment, his thumb presses directly on my swollen clit, and I almost fucking scream.
Then he tugs my skirt down and settles back in his seat, balling my underwear in his hand and slipping it into his pocket as he lowers the table between us, hiding both my crooked skirt and his raging hard-on. Luke takes his sunglasses off and slips them into the V of his shirt as he turns to smile at the stewardess.
“Champagne for Miss Melikov,” he orders in a remarkably smooth voice. “Sparkling water for me.”
“Mr. Macarthur is going to have a beer,” I say, astonished my voice still works at all. “Spain was a busy time. I think we both deserve a drink, and the rest of the day off.”
“In that case”—Luke gives the stewardess a lazy half smile that almost has her dropping her own knickers—“I’ll have a Macallan, with a touch of water.”
Beneath the table I slip my stockinged toe beneath his trousers and up the curve of his calf.
Luke’s expression doesn’t so much as flicker. “Carrie,” he addresses the stewardess, “where’s the first aid kit kept? Miss Melikov hurt her ankle on the way up the stairs.”
“Oh, no! I saw that. You poor thing,” says Carrie, shooting me a sympathetic glance. “I can fetch it for you, if you like.”
“No need for that.” He waves her away as she puts our drinks on the table. “Just let me know where it is.”
“It’s in the bathroom.” She nods at the closed door of the private bedroom. “But I can get it—honestly, it’s no problem—”
“I’ll need to have a good look at the ankle anyway,” Luke says easily, lifting his drink and smiling as if my toe isn’t curling beneath the arch of his knee. “We’ll have our drinks, then I’ll take Miss Melikov into the suite and sort her out in privacy.”
He delivers the line with a completely straight face.
“Of course.” Carrie nods, her face full of concern.
I almost choke on my drink.
