Keeping my nosy glare hidden, I scan my eyes around the premises. At a quick guess, I’d say there are at least a dozen men with weapons strapped to their chests, and another half a dozen dressed similarly to Rico. For a man who looks like he can easily protect himself, it’s a little dramatic for Rico to have so much protection.
Rico stops at the end of a set of stairs that climb up to a private jet. “They’re not for me, Kitten. They are for you.”
Ignoring my gaped mouth at the fact he read my mind twice in under a minute, he places his hand on the curve of my back and guides me onto the plane. My eyes shoot in all directions, unsure which fine feature to absorb first: the rich, opulent seating area that looks like it belongs in the middle of a mansion, not a plane, or the crystal and dark wood bar that’s stocked with every bottle of alcohol you could imagine. For a group of men who live in the cloak of darkness, they have world class standards.
Noticing the direction of my gaze, Rico asks, “Would you like a drink?”
My lips tug into a lewd smirk. “Why ask me what I want when you can just read my mind?”
Smirking a grin that sets my pulse racing, Rico gestures for me to sit in one of the two white leather chairs in the central area of the plane. Not trusting my thrumming-with-excitement legs, I plop into the closest leather seat.
Rico removes his suit jacket and throws it over the chair beside me before shifting on his feet to face the pretty brunette flight attendant. I’m not at all surprised that her cheeks turn a vibrant hue of red when she's awarded with the full power of Rico’s alluringly dark eyes.
“I’ll have a double shot of whiskey. Blaire will have a sparkling apple cider.”
Huffing, I cross my arms over my chest. “Not even close.”
Smiling, Rico takes the spare seat next to me. "I know it isn't what you wanted, Kitten. But considering what happened the last time you had a wine spritzer, I altered your request. Your drink will still have the apple flavor you're after, but without the alcohol content."
I stare at him with shock and disbelief tainting my face.
He leans back in his chair and rests his ankle onto his opposite knee. “You did want an apple martini, didn’t you?”
From the smugness lining his face, he’s already aware of my reply. He’s one hundred percent correct. I pinch myself—hard. I must be dreaming. Otherwise, how would he have known that? There are millions of drinks in the world. There's no way he could have known I was going to order that particular drink.
He accepts his double whiskey from the flight attendant before placing it on the table between us. I mutter a quick "Thank you" when she hands me my apple cider. After putting it on the table next to Rico's glass, I turn my eyes back to him. My hand shoots up to clutch my chest when I discover he’s watching me with a poignant stare.
“You really don’t remember anything about the night we got married, do you, Kitten?”
A range of emotions flares in his eyes when I shake my head. Relief. Confusion. Anger. It's all pumped through his dark gaze.
“I feel like I know you, I just. . . don’t.”
With knitted brows, Rico nods and adjusts his position so he can look out the arched window at his side.
My confession ends our conversation on a somber note.
Chapter 9
As soon as the plane is thirty-five thousand feet in the air, Rico unlatches his seatbelt and stalks towards a highly varnished door at the back of the plane. He still walks with commanding power, but his shoulders are hanging a little lower. Once he passes through the door, I lower my gaze to my lap. I've never been on a private jet before, but I'm fairly sure that's the bedroom. Considering I don't want a rerun of my shameful response to his touch in the Escalade, I keep my backside planted in my seat, flicking through a wide variety of magazines the flight attendant keeps handing me.
Two hours later, when my bladder’s protests become too great for me to ignore, I dump a gossip magazine onto the table in front of me and pace to the flight attendant who served me my drink earlier.
"Excuse me, where's the bathroom located?"
She extends her index finger and points to the door Rico entered hours ago.
“Are you serious?” I gasp in surprise.
Smiling, she nods. “The only bathroom in this jet is in the main bedroom, Mrs. Popov.”
“Then where do you pee?” I blurt out before my brain has the chance to stop me or fathom that she just called me Mrs. Popov.
She stares me straight in the eyes before mumbling, "I hold."
If her eyes weren't relaying the truth of her statement, I might have laughed. The flight is five hours long. No one can hold it that long.Can they?
When my bladder kicks up a stink about the delay, I smile a thanks before sauntering to the back of the plane, my steps hurried. I knock three times before opening the door. Rico is sitting behind a chunky wooden desk with a cell phone attached to his ear speaking in a foreign language. Noticing my presence, his head lifts, and his dark eyes connect with mine.
