Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
20
OLIVIA
I sat in one of the rear-facing seats across from Fletcher as we finished our late lunches. I didn’t turn to watch the flight attendant open the door and extend the stairs for our final passenger. And, true to form, Ethan didn’t make any noise when he boarded.
“Glad you could join us,” Fletcher said after Ethan had relayed to the captain that we were ready to depart.
I sucked in a breath and turned, sweeping my gaze all the way up to his intense and beautiful eyes. There was that feeling of being weightless again. How did he have such an effect on me? And the wild part was he stared at me as if he felt that same weightlessness. His chest rose with a deep breath as he strode forward and took the seat across the aisle from Fletcher.
My brain was buzzing, and it was the first thing that came out, rather than a greeting. “You rescued Kara Hayward?”
Ethan’s surprise was quickly replaced with irritation, directed at the other man. “Yes. What else did he tell you?”
Before I could say anything, Fletcher replied, only in German. Whatever was said, it was utterly shocking, and Ethan jolted.
His tone was pure accusation. “You told him we slept together?”
I gnashed my teeth for a moment. “No, but I’m sure your reaction just did.”
Fletcher grinned. “Clever girl. Certainly more clever than you.”
He waved off Ethan’s icy stare as he stood, collected the last of the lunch items on the tray, and moved toward the galley. His departure forced my attention to Ethan. He looked weary, and there was something else at the edges of his eyes I couldn’t place. Worry?
“Are you all right?”
He considered how to answer, perhaps wanting to lie, but the truth won out. “I’m exhausted,” he admitted. “You?”
I nodded and forced myself to sound casual to mask my anxiety. “I’m keeping it together.”
His gaze was inescapable. “I’ve noticed.”
A compliment from him? I felt flushed, heat warming my body. Determined to distract myself, I attempted to buckle my seatbelt, but the sharp sting across my palm reminded me of my cut. I wasn’t a baby, but it hurt like hell.
The pain disappeared when Ethan rose from his seat. “I can do that.”
“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have—”
But it was too late. I sat utterly still with my breath held as he leaned over, so incredibly close that it tempted me to reach out and touch him. To grasp his chin with my good hand and pull his mouth down to mine.
I was just barely able to resist. There was the faint sound of metal clicking, and he tugged gently on the belt to cinch it around my hips. Outside the fuselage, I could hear the engines priming.
“Ethan,” I whispered. “Why am I not on a plane headed back to America?”
He froze. “Because we wouldn’t—” His expression was unreadable. “Is that what you want?”
My heart thumped faster than the engines spinning up. Blood rushed in my ears. Answering that honestly was a risk, but . . . it was one I was willing to take. Besides, he could tell when I was lying, anyway.
Did I want to be on a plane headed home and never see this man again? “No.”
He straightened, and his stare burned into me, making every cell in my body feel alive. He looked relieved, pleased. “Me neither.”
This thing between us, whatever it was, was powerfully strong. Terrifying and exhilarating.
The plane began to move, rolling toward runway alpha, where I usually got clearance to take off, and the spell was broken when Fletcher returned.
Ethan’s demeanor shifted into one that was pure business. He dug something out of the laptop bag he’d brought on board and handed it to me.
My logbook.
Anger flared, white-hot. That fucking family. They’d destroyed so much.
“How many people,” I asked, “are the Abramos responsible for killing?”
His expression hardened. “A lot. And more, if I don’t go back to them soon.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised he’d have to go back, but disappointment filled me. I had to ignore the feeling and refocus my thoughts. “All right. What can I do to help?”
“I didn’t have much time, but I flipped through it. You said you made notes?”
“Oh.” I had, only I’d done them in a shorthand system that probably made no sense to him.
He took what had been Fletcher’s seat across from me and buckled in, leaning forward while I explained the notes for destinations and times, weather conditions, and what he was most interested in—the passenger descriptions. I’d jotted down who I’d flown, when and where, plus any other details I had on the passengers other than the Abramos.
“I told you when we met that it’s my job to know what happens on my plane.”
He turned the pages, combing through my writing like it was fascinating, but he paused on the last entry. Curiosity flashed in his eyes. “Why is there an asterisk here?”