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The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “We’ll land in thirty minutes.”
Slade snapped out of his fury. Damn it. They were on a mission. The tart knew that, why didn’t he? “Get dressed.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted in mock respect.
Before he could grab her and demand more of her duty, she stalked off to the bathroom and shut the door. Didn’t she know how lucky she was that he, a royal alpha, broke pack protocol by making love to her? Jesper recounted how many available high ranked she-wolves requested meeting him. He pulled his pants back on and left.
Chapter 10
Cricket returned to the main cabin and sat away from Slade. He glowered at her before looking out the window and sulked like a juvenile told not to have dessert until he finished his vegetables. Maybe he didn’t like the biker girl look. Whatever. I’m the one who should be in a foul mood, not him. Okay, so having sex wasn’t duty, if that’s why his tail got all twisted. She honestly wanted to seduce him, except hadn't he made the first move? After having the best sex of her life, she had to settle for less, much less.
With his back turned, she stuck her tongue out at him. Why had she succumbed to his pleasures and given him her real name? The name meant only for the man who would dare love a runt. A promise she made to her mother. A promise that included never loving a higher ranked werewolf. Her mother made that mistake, making Cricket’s life within the pack a living hell.
She stared at his broad back and suppressed a sigh. Thanks for ruining sex with all other men forever.
Well, it was bound to happen. They had connected at first smell. She recalled when she entered the secured room and though mad with grief, he focused on her scent. He couldn’t see her through the glass, but she stared, awed by his raw masculine bad-ass alpha frame. Yet, when the barrier opened, his scent, a mixture of tundra and ice, filled her senses and brought out her naughty wolf to play. At least now, with the sexual tension tapped, they could focus on Operation Three Lost Sheep.
The seatbelt sign flashed. Slade snapped his seatbelt on, then turned. “Fastened?”
Cricket tightened her seatbelt and gave him a thumbs up. He didn’t react to her “all is good” gesture. Keep that up and I’ll go solo.
The plane descended over a dark field near an agricultural area.
She sniffed. The scent of his fear flooded the cabin.
Slade tightened his grip on the armrest.
No fur this time. She furrowed her brow. Was it really the take-off and landing jitters or being bound by the seatbelt? According to Rylee, he’d mastered skydiving. The only thing she could think of that bugged the hell out of him was that someone else, namely the pilot, had full control of the situation. Yep, that had to be it. Someone else was in charge of their lives.
The wheels snapped into place for landing, and they soon touched down in a smooth landing. Under the crepuscular light, they coasted to a stop.
Slade unbuckled and donned his leather jacket. Ready for action.
Camilla entered the main cabin. “Sam is getting your motorcycle out of the cargo hold before we take off in ten minutes.”
“Where to?” If there’s an emergency, Cricket and Slade were on their own getting home. She had no issues with it, but she didn’t trust allowing Slade on a commercial flight.
“Back to Montana. Rylee has a meeting to go to tomorrow.” She grabbed a cup of coffee. “Good luck.” She went back into the cockpit.
“We have transportation to get back,” said Slade.
Cricket’s eyes widened. “The motorcycle?”
“Sure, why not?”
Because it’s fucking intimate. She kept her tone neutral. “We’ll see how soon Rylee wants us back.”
“From what she told me, we have as much time as we need to trace Randi.”
“I doubt we’ll solve the case in Santa Cruz, California.”
“I agree, but we may need to follow new leads.” He grabbed her luggage then his and walked down the steps.
By the time they left the tarmac and entered the small terminal, Camilla had refueled the plane for takeoff.
Just the two of them. He pounded his biker boots against the ground with soldier determination. The aroma of leather mixed with fierce alpha testosterone filled the air. Her clit clapped. The sexual tension she thought had floated away with the clouds returned with a vengeance. Think mission. Only mission, Cricket.
They entered the hanger and walked toward the motorcycle. Slade took off the bike’s cover, unveiling the Harley Davidson.
