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Clinging to the straps, she closed her eyes as they taxied down the rough field. It would have been better if he’d strapped himself in beside her—he could cushion some of the shocks. Distract her. Because it was becoming rapidly clear that Summer Hawthorne was almost as terrified of flying as she was of sex.
Her skin was deathly white, and she was holding on to the ropes so tightly her hands had to be cramping. “Maybe I’d rather jump out, after all,” she said in a whisper, and he wondered if she was going to pass out from the fear. Fainting would have been a mercy, but she stayed rigid, clinging to the straps as the plane took off into the sky. He waited to see how long it took her to relax.
He didn’t have that much time. Her body was so tense she was shaking, and it was making him nervous. He had to do something for his own sake, not hers. He unclipped the straps that held him and slid across the floor of the plane. She was too panicked to even react to his sudden closeness.
“Is it just small planes?” he asked, half expecting her to ignore him.
But she was past any petty issues like pride or fury. “Any plane.” She practically ground out the words from between clenched teeth.
He’d already slid one hand into his pocket as he’d moved across the bucking plane, and the small needle was hidden between his fingers. He reached up and pricked her neck with it, and she had only a moment to try to jerk away before the tranquilizer hit her full force, and she collapsed on the floor.
He caught another of the hanging straps, which he wrapped around his waist, tethering his body to the side of the plane as it bounced ever higher into the windy California sky. And then he pulled Summer’s limp form against him, settling her between his outstretched legs, and held her.
He had no choice in the matter, if he left her hanging by the straps she’d end up being banged against the side of the aircraft. Not good for her, not good for the plane’s stability. You always fastened down a cargo, you didn’t leave it loose in the back of a plane.
That was all he was doing, he told himself putting his arms around her to hold her limp body still, letting her head loll back against his shoulder. Keeping the cargo secure.
It was his own damn fault he was getting hard again.
Summer was being rocked. So gently, wrapped in loving arms, rocking slowly in the velvety darkness. She was dazed and dreaming, in some magic world where there were no battles, no fear, just warmth and love and comfort. Rocking softly, gently, and she wanted to stay in that safe cocoon forever.
She’d been dreaming, a long series of strange, interconnected dreams. Some were terrifying—she kept running to find her sister, but everywhere she looked the spooky brethren turned up in their flowing white robes. She ran some more, and she was crying, crying in her dreams as she never did in real life.
But she had cried, hadn’t she? The final betrayal. She felt a hand on the side of her face, brushing away her tears, and she turned into that hand, pressing her lips against it, and the dream became erotic, full of red silk and wicked touches and smooth, golden skin hot beneath her flesh. It frightened her as much as her earlier dream.
But now she was at peace, wrapped in warm, strong arms, safer than she’d ever been in her life. Home, when she’d always felt like a stranger wherever she was. She could rest, and listen to the quiet beat of his heart, feel his breath in her hair, stirring it slightly, feel the plane rock beneath her…
Her eyes flew open, her body suddenly rigid, and for a moment his arms tightened around her before he let her go.
She couldn’t go far—her wrists were still wrapped with the strapping—and she fell across his outstretched legs, her face in his lap. She scrambled away, desperate, thankful for the murky darkness that surrounded them. She could get just far enough away not to be touching him, a small blessing.
At least they were no longer in the air. She could feel the plane rocking beneath her, hear the slap of water against the sides, and she suddenly realized things could be a lot worse.
“Did we crash?” Her voice sounded groggy to her own ears. “Are we in the middle of the ocean?”
“We didn’t crash, we landed. Several hours ago. This is a seaplane, remember? I’ve just been waiting for you to wake up.”
“Thoughtful of you,” she said, rubbing her neck. Something had stung her. She couldn’t remember when, but her neck still hurt.
“Not really. You were out cold. You must have needed the rest.”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night.” The moment the words were out of her mouth she choked, and if she could she would have slapped her hands over her betraying lips. But trying would only bring her closer to him, and she wanted to keep as far away as possible.
“No, you didn’t,” he said in a neutral voice that was almost worse than a leer. “Are you ready to go?”
“So polite. What if I said I wasn’t?”
He was reaching for the straps that bound her. “I would do my best to persuade you otherwise. Come here.”
She wasn’t moving any closer to him, not if she could help it. “No.”
“I can’t untie your wrists unless you do.”
“I can manage…” She was already trying to work her fingers into the knot when he muttered a curse beneath his breath and she felt the straps begin to pull. It was a simple enough matter to drag her next to him—there wasn’t that much play in the rope.
“Stop fighting me,” he said, undoing the knot with insulting ease.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen anytime soon,” she retorted.
