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This has nothing to do with money.
“I have no doubt. And I didn’t say no, I said not now. Are you talking back to me again?”
A slow blink as she looks at me. Lowered lashes and the sultry voice I crave. “What happens if I disobey?”
I pinch her ass. “Why don’t you try and see?”
The plane lurches. She falls heavily against my chest just as the front of the plane points downward and descends so rapidly, my stomach plummets before the plane rights again.
“Oh God! What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but I hire only the best pilots. Trust that we’re okay.”
Still, I slide her off my lap to secure her in a seat belt after she pulls her top on.
I hit a button beside my armrest. “What’s going on?”
“Thought it was turbulence, sir, but it appears one of our engine’s failing. We’ll need to make an emergency landing.”
Jesus.
Nicolette sits still as a statue beside me. I reach for her hand. She grips me tightly, as if holding onto me will keep the plane steady.
“Don’t be afraid,” I say softly. I’ve learned in stressful situations how important it is to stay calm. I rarely raise my voice and rarely lose my temper. It helps in situations like this.
“We’re just going to make a landing. The location is actually ideal for us, because we aren’t over any water yet. There are numerous locations where we might be able to land safely.”
“If you say so,” she whispers.
I give her hand a gentle squeeze.
The pilot’s voice crackles overhead. “We’ll be landing in Lucciana, Monsieur Gerard.”
“So we can make it to an airport in Northern Corsica, likely Bastia Poretta. See? We’ll be fine.”
Another lurch forward makes me look like a liar. Her grip on my hand tightens to nearly painful.
“How soon?” she whispers. It’s not out of the ordinary for someone to be afraid in such a situation. If anything, it would probably be out of the ordinary for her not to be. But damn, it isn’t fair that just yesterday she was attacked and now we’re facing this.
“I’m not sure, but our pilot has this under control. We’ll be landing shortly and then figure out our next step. I know it’s scary, but he has this under control. There’s no reason to panic.”
I know literally nothing about airplanes, but I’m doing my best to keep her calm.
“Okay. Got it.” Another hair-raising dip tosses us in the air like we’re balloons bobbing in the wind. Clouds sail past our windows, and it looks for one minute as if we’re actually flying upside down.
Maybe it’s better not to look out the windows.
Nicolette’s knuckles are pure white as she grips my hand with a death grip.
“Let’s change the subject,” I try.
“We weren’t t-talking.” Her teeth chatter as if she’s freezing to death.
“We are now. Talk to me. Tell me.” I rack my brain. “What’s your favorite guilty pleasure?”
The plane rights itself for a minute.
“Fr-french pastries,” she stammers. “Most kinds as long as they’re fresh and accompanied by a nice strong cup of tea. Yours?”
“Expensive cars.”
That makes her laugh. Mission accomplished. “My guilty pleasure’s a lot more affordable.”
“Mine lasts a lot longer.”
“True, true. My turn. Do you have any pets?”
I shake my head. “No. I travel too often for pets, though Lyam has quite a snake collection.”
“Snakes!”
“Mhm. He wears them around his neck like jewelry.”
“No. Oh, God. I can’t believe your mother allows those.”
“He doesn’t live with her anymore.”
“Oh,” she says on a laugh. “Right.”
Good, good.
Another hard dip of the plane draws another whimper, but we only dip for seconds before we’re able to right again. I notice that we’re descending slowly. Our pilot has this fully under control.
“Do you have any special talents?” I ask her.
“Blow jobs.”
“Fucking hell. Let’s make it a million dollars,” I mutter.
Another cute grin.
“You?”
“I can play the piano. I started when I was four years old, and I’m pretty damn good at it.”
“Now that is impressive. Okay, let me think. Hmm. Are you an indoors or outdoors person?”
“Indoors. I like environments I can control.”
“Also not a surprise. I like both. Indoors so I can snuggle under a blanket and read when it’s cold out, but outdoors when the weather’s warm and I can go for a nice, long walk.”
“You’ll like my mother’s home, then. The garden’s been featured in some of Paris’s best home and garden magazines.”
“Ooooh, really? Alright, my turn. Your favorite kind of ice cream?”
“Not fair, it’s my turn.”
We slowly descend a bit lower. She gasps.
“Fine then,” she says with a nod. “Your turn.”
“Favorite ice cream.”
“Cheater! I like good, plain vanilla, but not the cheap kind. The premium, handmade kind that’s creamy and not too sweet.”
“I see. Ice cream snob, are you?”
“You have no idea. Now is it my turn?”
“Go for it.”
“If you could talk to anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?”
