Page 101 of Bared

Brick wished he could write off the conclusion as a trite quip of his brain, but this shit was on the level. The Cimarron prince had called in some big favors to get them cleared to drive onto the tarmac at Bourget. They’d barely gotten a sneeze from the guard at the security gate, let alone been stopped or searched.

Once they were rolling on the runway proper, their destination was glaringly obvious. Only one jet waited on any of the three airstrips, its nav lights glowing through the light mist. The sleek, white corporate jet wasn’t an overly small thing, nor was it a C-130. Still, the sight was impressive. He kept waiting for some dramatic movie soundtrack to start, though it was best that it didn’t. The quieter they handled this party, the better. Less importantly, his gut’s churn of apprehension and desolation didn’t need any more muses.

The former started edging out the latter as soon as Fox brought the SQ7 to a stop near the aircraft. Brick got out as soon as the Arcadian did, exiting from his spot behind the driver’s seat. Jayd began sliding over, but he gave her a quick hand command to wait. Requiemme, stretched out on the third seat behind his Pixie, would also have to stay put.

For the moment, that was a good thing. The hairs on the back of his neck weren’t reaching for their downtime beers yet.

Ozias made short work of jogging around to his boyfriend’s side and shorter work of narrowing an impatient stare. “Pardon the mongrel on your moment, mate, but we’ve got a very specific time window for getting this bird off the ground.”

“Acknowledged,” Brick returned, lifting his hands in a pseudosurrender. “But also questioned.”

“Because we are the only ones here?” Fox offered.

He slanted a grateful smirk. “It’d crossed my mind.”

“Bourget has a pretty gnarly noise abatement rule thingy,” Oz asserted. “Air quality for the locals and all that.”

“Understandable.” He swept a brief but thorough scrutiny of the terminals. Nothing but basic security lighting as far as the eye could see. “And in this case, advantageous.”

Oz chuffed. “I love it when you invent fancy words for breaking the law.”

“That makes one of us.” Brick shifted his weight, still unable to shake his weird skittishness. The gray area between his instinct and paranoia was wider than the Puget at hide tide—not a surprise after enduring a DEFCON 1 panic attack in the middle of a Paris cemetery. “But I’m just here for the car keys, mate.” He extended a hand, accepting the fob from Jag. “I’ll make sure this beauty gets returned right.” Just get my beauty back to safety too.

He held on to the thought far longer than he should. But it was the last time he’d be able to call Jayd his, so technically, hours wouldn’t be enough.

“Ah. Merderim mahaleur.” Fox brought him back to reality fast enough. “My many thanks to you, Brickham, on behalf of the kingdom of Arcadia—for everything.”

“Uh…sure.” He ran his gaze back over at the terminals, certain the guy would detect the new trajectory of his thoughts. That he owed Arcadia for so much more than everything.

Fortunately, his cover worked. “Just call Gerard. His number is adhered to the inside of the spare tire well,” Fox explained with his usual efficiency. “He will retrieve the car from wherever you finally park it.”

“Well, damn.” Brick was glad for the open opportunity at a deadpan. “You guys do take full service seriously.”

“Actually…” Oz stepped forward again, jabbing a thumb at the waiting pilot and copilot. “They do too. And if I’m rightly calling the game on those scowls, they wanted to be wheels up five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, Penelope Promptitude,” Brick joked. “I got your wheels up in my jockstrap.”

“Which has clearly been in places I don’t want to know about tonight,” the Aussie volleyed.

Shit.

The word jangled in his senses with every step he retraced to the Audi. All right, more than his senses. His mind borrowed a more stringent version of it too—especially as he swung a leg under the car’s back end to swing open the tailgate. Once the door had risen and he’d helped Requiemme out, he circled around to where Jayd now waited, leaning against the hood with folded arms.

Despite the semistiff stance, she was going for a breezy beach vibe—or something like that. She had her ankles casually crossed and her chin held high. Her gaze was fixed toward a seemingly fascinating horizon. The mist was making it rough to see anything beyond a couple of hundred yards, so that part of her bluff was already up.

Her bluff.

Wasn’t that a really rich case of the pot and the kettle?

Because damn it, he was just as pathetic. Who the hell was he kidding with fingers hooked in his belt loops and feet kicking stones like he was the perfect surfer boy for her beach bunny?

They were never going to be that matched set.

They both knew that. Had both accepted it as part of their decadent deal, so many hours ago.

Goddammit. A lifetime ago.

The lifetime that glittered, so bright and tortured, in the gaze she lifted as he approached.