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“You actually kidnapped me?” I shouted. “And did you let that freak of yours drug me?”
“No one drugged you, Evelina,” he said calmly, only stoking my fury.
“Then how was I out long enough for you to get me on this plane? And why does my head hurt so damn much?”
His eyes shot to my forehead, and he stood, taking me by the shoulders and gently but firmly shoving me back onto the couch. He traced his finger along my hairline, and his eyes searched mine, giving me an unwanted shiver. Oh God, he would see through my anger to the truth of how I really felt about him. I shook off his hand and ducked away from the gaze I both craved and feared.
“You knocked yourself out when you tried to get away from Andre,” he said, returning to his throne. “I’ll keep an eye on you, but I think you’ll be fine. Your pupils look normal, and you certainly don’t seem weak. Now stay in your seat and enjoy the rest of the flight.”
“I’m not a kid,” I said. The way his eyes darkened after I said that made me pause, but I couldn’t let him ruin everything. “Neither you nor my father have any say about anything in my life anymore.”
“We do if it means it might get ended by your own foolishness.”
“I can handle myself,” I argued, my hands balling into fists when he only snickered at that. I was on his plane, after all. Frustrated tears threatened, but I would have taken a header out of the plane before I let a single one fall. “I’m not going back to Miami. Get your pilot to turn around or land and let me out. You can’t make me quit this job I’m doing.”
That infuriating eyebrow raised again, along with his fingers, as he answered me. “Yes, you are going back to Miami; no, the plane’s not turning around or landing until we get there, and lastly, Evelina?” He paused, but not long enough for me to reply because he wasn’t really asking me a question. He rose from his chair and again towered over me, placing a hand on the back of the couch on either side of me, caging me in with his big body. “Yes, I can make you.”
He was too close again, making my system go haywire. My eyes drifted shut, and a band of longing squeezed my chest, overriding my crushing disappointment. He was as unyielding as I remembered back when Kristina and I used to try to get away with things. And to think he had been the more lenient of our fathers!
Not even tears would sway him, and I had already decided I’d rather splat on the ground thousands of feet below than let him see me cry. His face was now only inches from mine, and despite the menacing look he was giving me, I forgot why I was so mad. Oh, right, he was trying to control me. I needed to cling to my anger.
God, he was still so sexy. Right then, I didn’t care at all that he was being controlling. I wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on mine and for his hands to move an inch to my shoulders and slide their way down my body. He could have done anything to me. Anything! I wanted it all.
But he was still Kristina’s father, my own dad’s best friend. I couldn’t have what I had wanted for half my damn life.
“Fine,” I muttered, just so he’d back away and let me breathe again. Or kiss me. That would have been all right, too.
A dozen years of embarrassing fantasies about him flooded my memory as he refused to go back to his seat. I couldn’t truthfully say I was disappointed in still being close enough to feel his breath on my cheek or smell his spicy cologne, the same one he always wore. One time during a sleepover at Kristina’s, I’d snuck into his room and sprayed it on a tissue. I kept that tissue under my pillow until it dissolved into shreds. I saved my allowance and odd job money for weeks to get him a bottle for Christmas back in eighth grade.
I could call it a crush all I wanted, but I had been in love with this man. To the point it hurt. It would be wise to remember that pain instead of ogling his pecs just inches away. Because he was never going to be mine in the way I wanted. He’d always think of me as his friend’s kid who he needed to occasionally pick up from ballet practice—or rescue from a mob hit. I ducked my head and squeezed my eyes shut against the onslaught of memories trying to kill me.
He tipped my chin up. “Look at me,” he said, not moving or continuing until I opened my eyes. “A very powerful family wants you dead. I need more than you pretending to agree with me so that I back off. I shouldn’t have to remind you that you’re my daughter’s best friend. I won’t sit back and let her be traumatized and heartbroken because you’re too stubborn to see reason, let alone stay out of danger.” He finally shoved away and returned to his seat but gave me a scathing look that turned my stomach. “Not to mention that you put her in danger by spying from her apartment.”
My poor, addled brain did a series of sharp turns. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes ago that I wanted to claw his face off for abducting me, and not ten seconds ago, I wanted him to run his hands all over my heated body. Now I was shriveling up with shame as his words sank in. He was right about Kristina, and it never crossed my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I said stiffly. “I’d never want Kristina to be hurt.”
Just as he knew my agreement from a moment ago hadn’t been real, he seemed to sense my apology was sincere, and a genuine smile lit up his face. In a blink, I was forgiven. He took a sip of his drink and held up the glass in a toast.
“Care for a drink? Now that you’re all grown up?”
He was teasing me, but mildly and I decided to be good-natured about it. Especially now that his smile had turned a bit mischievous. The twinkle in his eye got me thinking about things I really shouldn’t have been thinking about.
“No, thanks,” I said.
I had to keep my wits about me. Both to keep from throwing myself at him and to keep an eye out for ways to escape once we touched down. If the Novikoffs hadn’t yet figured out that I’d been staying at Kristina’s, there might still be a chance to at least get my things back. I had to push aside all thoughts of my thousands of dollars of abandoned computer equipment or risk getting feisty again. I was enjoying his smile far too much at the moment for that.
“Then how about some food?”
When my stomach rumbled at the very mention of something to eat, he jumped up with a grin and went to a curtained-off area. Pulling it aside to reveal a tiny sink and fridge, he began to pull out sandwich fixings.
“We could ask the flight attendant,” he said, turning around to give me a look. “But you probably scared her half to death with your accusations.”
“True accusations,” I reminded him, but my cheeks burned. “I didn’t know anyone else was on board.”
“Well, they don’t fly themselves, and it’s regulation to have an attendant. Don’t worry; they both work for the organization. In fact, I think your cousin has used both of them in the past.”
I nodded. My cousin Ivan had a private jet, but the last time it had set down in Moscow, his brother Yuri had stolen it to come after his runaway bride. I helped locate her, which was how I earned the invitation to Miami in the first place. Still, I was relegated to flying commercial then.
