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The cabin is silent for more than half the flight, and it’s almost as if we’re playing some weird quiet game—neither of us willing to say a word for fear that we may lose the standoff going on between us. Occasionally, he’ll glance up, and I’ll direct my gaze in any other direction other than at him. I mean, I’ll admit, I’ve been checking him out. He’s gorgeous, and I can’t help but appreciate the view. Any woman stuck on this flight like me would do exactly the same thing. She’s a liar if she tells you any different.
“Excuse me, Mr. King. Would you care for another scotch?” Abigail asks him shortly after he swallows down the last drop of amber liquid.
“Yes. That’ll be fine, Abigail,” he replies coolly and then gives her a polite smile which causes her to blush.
“Right away, sir.” The attendant turns to me. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything, Ms. Buchanan? I have Fiji water and strawberry yogurt.”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Wow . . . um . . .”
I hesitate. Is it simply a coincidence that Fiji just happens to be my favorite brand of water along with having my preferred flavor of yogurt?
“If you don’t want those, we also have Diet Coke and Payday bars,” Abigail counters.
Diet Coke I can see, but Payday bars? That’s a pretty random item to keep on a plane. Especially since, judging by the looks of how fit Alexander is, he wouldn’t eat such an unhealthy snack. But I guess it is possible. The man seems to drink like a fucking fish so maybe he’s not all that healthy and his absurdly toned physique is just genetic.
Gah! If it is, that just gives me something else to hate him for.
I smile at Abigail as she waits patiently for me to make a selection. “I’ll have a Diet Coke, please.”
As soon as we’re alone, Alexander’s intoxicating gray eyes bore into me. “Are you not pleased with the items that I have arranged for you?”
My brow furrows. “How did you know what I like? Do you have spies watching me to ensure that I’m not digging into your business a little too much?”
He chuckles. “You act as though you still believe me to be afraid of you, Margo. I thought by now we’ve figured each other out. I don’t seem to rattle you, and you damn sure don’t affect me.”
“So what’s with all my favorite things on this flight?” I fire back.
He shrugs. “I’m observant. There’s not much that I don’t notice about the people around me, and let’s just say that I’ve taken a very big interest in what you’re up to. I like to know what makes people tick. It makes it easier for me to break them.”
I stiffen my shoulders. “I’ve got a newsflash for you, Mr. King. I don’t break.”
“Everyone has their breaking point, and sooner or later, I’m going to find yours, Princess.” He smirks, and I hate it when he does that. It’s a sexy expression, especially on him, and I hate that I find him attractive. He is such a smug bastard. “I see the way you look at me when we argue. I turn you on even though you don’t want to admit it. You and I are very similar creatures. We both love a challenge, and we both like to always be in control.”
I raise my eyebrow, still not believing anything that he says. “I thought you said you didn’t have spies.”
He licks his plump lips slowly, causing my eyes to flick down to his mouth. “What can I say, your reputation precedes you. Everyone knows that the Feisty Princess of Manhattan always demands her way.”
My mouth gapes open. “How dare you call me that? I hate that name.”
Alexander smiles. “You should learn to embrace it. A name like that means people are scared of you.”
I curse the day some dumb jock in high school dubbed me that after I very colorfully turned down his eleventh attempt at asking me very bluntly to blow him. If you ask me, he deserved a punch him in the face. But sadly, the name still follows me around, even now.
I laugh bitterly. “Right. Like how you embrace yours? The Naughty King, really? Doesn’t it bother you that half the women in this city think you’re the biggest manwhore on the East Coast?”
“Not at all,” he replies smoothly. “The women who call me that were fucked over by me in more ways than one, and I promise you, they fucking enjoyed every last minute of it. That’s why they love to keep my name on their lips. As for the other half, they’re just envious of the first.”
“You are a pompous prick.”
His eyes harden. “I may be, but I always do what suits me best. Women complicate the shit out of everything, and I don’t have time to play their silly little games.”
It’s appalling how he views all women as complications. “Is that why you hire prostitutes? Are you really that afraid of being human and showing some compassion that you’d rather pay for sex than deal with the emotional ramifications that typically comes with it?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes. When women see me, they see a meal ticket. Why would I ever want to entertain their silly fantasies that they may be the one to make me change my ways and commit not only myself but also half of my fortune to them? No fucking way that’s ever going to happen.”
I roll my eyes. “Not all women think that way.”
“Are you telling me that you don’t?”
“No,” I answer automatically. “My family is already wealthy. Why would I need to marry for money?”
