Page 79 of Winter’s Fire

~~*~~

Diana was still in the bathroom when Logan returned to his seat. He glanced forward, taking in the short queue waiting to use the facilities, and gave an imperceptible shake of his head. How long did it take to repair makeup that was already flawless? The woman’s vanity never ceased to amaze him.

Lucy was so different. Guilt thudded into his chest—what kind of Dom left his sub alone like that? He’d known she was awake, but this was neither the time nor the place to challenge her, especially with Diana in the vicinity. His former girlfriend would only create a scene that would cause more harm to Lucy, and God knew she’d been through more than enough already. He wasn’t proud of the part he’d played in that.

“Logan?”

Deep in thought, he hadn’t registered Diana’s return. He did, however, register the snappy tone. Taking her at face value, no one could be blamed for thinking she was covering her grief for her boyfriend and the aftermath of her captivity pretty well.

Knowing her of old, and being too well acquainted with her self-centred nature, Logan didn’t share that opinion. She may have gone on vacation with the poor sod, but she hadn’t known him long enough for him to even make a dent in that narcissistic hide of hers.

Of course, the shopping spree in Miami had probably helped with that remarkable recovery. Logan hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, but he’d seen the entourage of hotel staff required to carry the multitude of designer shopping bags to her room, after she’d blown her share—and part of his—of the emergency funds provided by the Consulate General.

Lucy, on the other hand, had confined herself to the necessities, and a few unbranded items of clothing to see her through the couple of days they’d had to spend in Miami. A lightweight jacket, a pair of canvas shoes and a small bag had completed her purchases. She’d even kept all the receipts, muttering something about needing them to account for her expenses.

“Sorry.” He stood to let Diana return to her seat.

“God, I’ll be so glad to get back to civilisation. Look at those!”

“What?”

“My nails, Logan! Look at them!” She held out her hand, palm down, fingers splayed to emphasise the damage.

The barely restrained wail set his teeth on edge, as did so much about the woman who’d once been his trophy girlfriend. With the perspective of hindsight and additional maturity, he hadn’t done either of them any favours when he’d compounded his first monumental error by sleeping with her when his head was all over the place. That shallowness and stupidity had bitten him on the arse with a vengeance. Just a few more hours until they were back in the UK, then he could hand Diana off to whoever would be waiting to meet her, and set about mending his relationship with Lucy.

Assuming it wasn't damaged beyond repair—a possibility that sent the chill of the grave rolling like an avalanche through his body.

“I’m quite sure the manicurist’ll be able to fit you in when we get back to London.”

Platinum-blonde hair almost flicked in his face again as she passed him. “She’d better. I can’t possibly have my picture taken by the press with nails like these.”

Of course she couldn’t. Logan rubbed his eyes. This was the woman he’d dated, all right. And the manicure. He almost groaned at the memory of taking her to her appointment one time, only to find she’d also booked him in. Apparently, she’d wanted her trophy boyfriend all gussied up too for a society party that had been as boring as hell. It had taken him a long time to live that one down with his comrades.

“In that case, maybe you should have had them done in Miami.”

And now she was looking at him as if he had the brainpower of an intellectually challenged amoeba. “I tried, but the idiot woman on reception clearly had no idea who I am.”

Wasn’t she the lucky one. “After they serve dinner, try to get some sleep, Di.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

More than he wanted to remember. Logan reminded himself that the only reason he was allowing this to happen was so that Diana’s venom wouldn’t be directed towards Lucy. His woman had gone through enough—more than enough. If he allowed her to be hurt anymore, he’d forfeit all right to call himself a Dom, if he hadn’t already.

Logan pushed the button to change his seat to recline. “Diana. If you get some sleep, it’ll make the time go faster and you won’t have so long to worry about your manicure.”

Even saying the word made him want to vomit. Right then, he’d have sold his soul to have Lucy beside him. As soon as Diana was safely asleep, he’d head aft and check on her again.

~~*~~

Dinner was a cut above the usual standard for airline food. Smart and efficient, the cabin crew served the food and more drinks with the minimum of fuss. Not long after everyone had finished and the remains had been cleared away, the cabin lights dimmed, ready for the passengers to settle for the night. Most people had their seats turned into lie-flat beds, including Diana. Logan waited until she fell asleep, then eased out of his.

The passenger next to Lucy was out for the count, and snoring none too softly to prove it. Logan shoved down the urge to throttle the man while he slept, even though no one would discover the corpse until morning. The pool of potential suspects was too limited for him to avoid detection indefinitely.

His gaze shifted over to his woman. She was asleep too, but she’d changed position to face the aisle. The subdued lighting created an intimacy that made him want to take her in his arms and cradle her against him while she slept, to protect her the way he’d failed to do while on Nenufar.

“Are you all right, sir?”

The light touch on his arm, more than the quiet words, turned his attention to the flight attendant. “Yes, everything’s okay, thank you. I just wanted to check how she was doing. Did she have dinner?”