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When the car stopped it was a good excuse to refocus her thoughts. Glancing outside, she could see they were on some form of airstrip, but it was too dark to make out exactly where they were. The only source of light was coming from the open rectangular door of Wolfe’s private plane.
Wolfe waited for his men to flank the car before opening the door. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the darkness. He was so fierce. So sure. He braced himself against the car as he leant down and beckoned to her. ‘This way.’
Careful of her injured palms, Ava scooted across the soft leather, still warm from his body. The softly falling rain chilled her bare shoulders and arms as she stepped out of the car.
Immediately Wolfe moved into her space and lifted her into his arms.
‘I can walk.’
‘My way is quicker.’
His tone told her he was readying himself for an argument, but frankly Ava didn’t have the energy and wasn’t sure of how capable she was of making it up the steps under her own steam anyway.
She sighed and rested her head against his chest, her eyelids too heavy to stay propped open. No doubt he was taking her back to Anders, but she’d much prefer a tropical island far away from the outside world if she was given the choice.
Once on his plane she kept her eyes closed, and only opened them when she felt Wolfe gently lower her onto a soft mattress.
The doctor Wolfe had sent to her at Gilles’s was waiting and Ava struggled to a sitting position, with the reams of fabric from her torn and dirty gown twisting around her legs.
He followed Wolfe’s instructions and checked her wristbones before efficiently sticking a number of plasters over her scraped palms. ‘These will feel stiff and sore for a couple of days, due to the bruising beneath the scratches, but they should heal fine.’
‘Check her left hip. It’s bothering her.’
Her eyes flew to his. How did he know it hurt? ‘It’s fine.’
‘Check it.’
Ava only flinched once during his gentle ministrations, grateful when he deemed it only a light bruise.
‘What about you?’ She glanced at Wolfe but he was busy checking an incoming message on his phone.
‘I’m fine. Thanks, Jock. Tell Stevens to get us airborne as quickly as possible.’
It was only after he said it that Ava became conscious of the whine of the aircraft. Seconds later they were racing towards the sky.
Her eyes traced the smudges of dust covering Wolfe’s sandy-blond hair and moved down over his snowy-white shirt beneath the leather jacket.
‘You’re shivering. Here.’ Wolfe pulled a brand-new white shirt out of a small closet, his movements as clipped as his tone. ‘I don’t have anything for you to wear and both your clothes and your lady’s maid are back at the hotel. Can you get changed yourself?’
‘Into a shirt?’
‘It’s all I have here.’
Ava stared at it, the events of the night crashing in around her. Tears pricked behind her eyes and she bit her bottom lip. Hard. She felt scarily vulnerable and needy. The feeling brought both Frédéric’s and her mother’s death into sharp focus inside her mind.
‘Come here,’ he said gently.
Wolfe gripped her shoulders, but Ava was afraid if she gave in to the comfort he was offering she would break down completely and never let him go. She shook her head. ‘I need to use the bathroom. I’m filthy.’
He looked as if he wanted to argue but then released her. ‘Bathroom’s through there.’
As the enormity of what had happened hit her full-on Ava had to concentrate to make her legs carry her the short distance across the plane.
Once inside the pristine bathroom, she used the amenities and eyed the shower stall despondently. It would take too long to shower with her hands bandaged, but she would love to just wash the night away if she could.
Don’t think about it, she ordered herself. Then maybe it will all go away.
She felt like crying.
Reaching around to the side of her gown, she let out an impatient growl as her clumsy fingers fought to drag the zipper down. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing and a sob rose in her throat. The once beautiful gown sagged and fell to the floor and it took all her effort to remain standing. Crying over a dress when someone was trying to kill her...when someone had killed her brother... Pathetic.
Telling herself to get a grip, she kicked off her heels and stuffed her arms into Wolfe’s shirt. She knew immediately by the linen smell that he’d never worn it, and that made her want to cry even more.
