Inescapable

Chapter 17

“You okay?” Trystan asked once they were seated aboard the luxurious private jet. He had steered Iris to two comfortable side-by-side seats and was now turned toward her, both of her hands clasped in his, keeping his gaze trained on hers. Chance discreetly moved to the front of the plane—taking Luna with him—and after stowing his tog bag in a tucked-away storage compartment, moved toward the cockpit where he had a brief conversation with the pilot.

“I think so.” She wasn’t sure what else to say in response to his question, her eyes nervously scanning the gorgeous interior of the outrageously luxe plane. Everything was tastefully decorated in muted cream and burgundy, with burled wood finishes. It felt like she was sitting in an easy chair and it in no way resembled the discomfort of the plane seat she’d endured during her inbound journey—her first flight ever. It was a lot to take in, but she couldn’t enjoy the experience when her entire being was focused on the still-open door.

Their cabin attendant was amiably chatting with a member of the ground crew, her hand on the interior handle of the door, which she was clearly ready to close once her conversation concluded.

“Iris? Hey, Iris. Eyes on me, yeah?” Trystan murmured, his index finger and thumb grasping her chin and turning her head toward him. “Do you need to take your pills?”

She nodded and fumbled through her massive bag as she hunted for the plastic tube.

“They’re not in here,” she whispered, hysteria and panic edging their way into her voice.

“Let me have a look,” he said, his voice still low and soothing. She handed her bag to him and he rooted around for a few seconds before producing the bottle of pills.

“They were buried beneath the heaps of receipts and the half-dozen packets of travel tissues you have stowed in there,” he teased when she grabbed hold of the small container gratefully. He handed her a glass bottle of water, which he’d magically produced seemingly out of thin air, and she gratefully gulped down a couple of pills.

His warm hand burrowed beneath her curls where he palmed the nape of her neck which he gently massaged.

Iris focused on her deep-breathing techniques and was vaguely aware of a female voice asking if they needed anything. Trystan’s voice was curt when he responded, but Iris didn’t hear what he said. She was fighting hard to keep her nausea at bay.

“What do you need to do to make this easier?”

“I just need to breathe,” she told him shakily. “I’m sorry. I’ll be okay. It’s a little harder after everything that happened.”

Trystan winced.Harder after he’d exacerbated an under-control phobia by imprisoning her, she meant. He could feel the fine tremors racking through her body, and wasn’t entirely sure what to do for her. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy and had been dreading it, but had hoped the private jet would be an exciting enough experience to distract her from her fear.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be fine,” she said again, and his heart just about broke as he understood that despite her terror, she was trying to comfort him. When he didn’t fucking deserve it. “I just need a minute.”

She was bent nearly double, her face almost to her knees and his hand left her nape to stroke gentle circles on her narrow back.

“Take your time, baby,” he murmured, leaning toward her, trying to offer her his heat and strength as a bolster. He began to regale her with facts about the Bombadier Global 7500 they were on.

It wasn’t his jet. It belonged to their generous host, Miles Hollingsworth.

The man used it often for business, since he shuttled between South Africa and London regularly. The plane had just dropped off several of his executives a few days ago—for meetings—and when Miles had learned that Trystan was on his way back he’d generously offered him use of the jet.

Trystan, thinking this would be better for Iris, had happily accepted. The stranded executives would probably have to make their way back to London on a commercial airline.

Trystan regularly rented private jets, but that would have been difficult with the timeframe he’d had to work with. He’d been about to book a couple of first-class seats with his favorite airline when Miles had made the offer.

The pilot’s genial voice welcomed them aboard and informed them that they would be taking off soon and that they could expect turbulence for the first hour or so of their journey before enjoying clear skies for the rest of it.

The cabin attendant, a blonde with a flirtatious smile—who’d introduced herself as Piper when they’d boarded—once again came over to ask if he needed anything before take-off. Trystan shot her an irritated look at her blatant exclusion of the clearly distressed Iris.

“Tea,” he commanded shortly. “With plenty of honey. For Miss Hughes.”

The smile faded from the woman’s lips and a more professional, no-nonsense expression settled on her face.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” She retreated to the galley, which was situated between the seating area and the lounge, bedroom and bathroom in the back.

“Is it closed?” Iris’s small voice asked from the general vicinity of her knees.

“Yes.” He didn’t bother asking what she meant, knowing she was hyper-focused on that door. “How do I make this better, baby?”

She lifted her head cautiously. Her pretty features were strained, her eyes wild, and her lush lips were quivering.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted on a whisper.

He cradled her face in both hands and did the only thing he could think of. He kissed her.

Iris moaned and leaned into the kiss, her own hands going up to cover his as she opened her mouth to his searching tongue. Trystan was more than happy to acquiesce to her every demand and he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking refuge in her warm, inviting mouth.

They lost themselves in each other for a few long, satisfying moments and it was only when Trystan eased them both out of the embrace that he became aware of the fact that they were taking off.

Iris came to a simultaneous realization, if her quiet oh was anything to go by, and her bewildered gaze flew, first to the securely shut hatch, then to his eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” Trystan asked and her cheeks darkened. God, she was sweet. She didn’t belong in his world and he had a moment’s misgiving about how it would affect her, terrified that it would ruin her. Eat her up alive and destroy her. If Trish Nesbitt—who’d been an inhabitant of his world—couldn’t survive it, then what the hell chance did someone like Iris have?

But then she smiled and that familiar mischievous spark lit up her gaze.

“No turning back now, huh?” she murmured, and he knew she meant more than just the plane.

“Nope, we’re in this for the long haul,” he said and her lips tilted at the corners.

“Okay.”

“Better?”

“More and more so with every passing moment.” This time she graced him with a full smile and as always, it robbed him of his breath. How the fuck did she do that? One slightly naughty, off-center grin and Trystan was ready to slay dragons for her. It was maddening. Confusing. Fucking exhilarating.

He gradually became aware of someone hovering beside his seat and swung his head to meet Piper’s gaze.

“Tea for Miss Hughes,” she said with an impersonal smile, and Iris’s eyes dropped to the proffered tray in confusion.

“I thought you could use some sweet tea,” Trystan told her and she smiled again, this time gracing the attendant with all that glorious sunshine.

“Thank you so much,” she said, as the woman placed the tray on the table in front of their seats.

“If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Piper told Iris, her voice a little warmer. “And if you’re still feeling under the weather and would like a lie-down, let me know and I’ll turn down the bed for you.”

Iris’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“The bed?”

“In the back,” the attendant elaborated with a kind smile.

“There’s an actual bed on this plane?” Iris asked, her attention on Trystan now, and he grinned at the combination of shock and glee in her voice.

Piper’s smile widened and she tactfully retreated, but Trystan was so laser-focused on Iris’s expressive face he barely registered the woman’s departure.

“Yes, in the bedroom next to the lounge. The captain has turned off the fasten seatbelts sign, so you’re free to have a look around.”

“God, who has a bedroom and lounge on their plane?”

“Miles Hollingsworth,” Trystan told her with a laugh.

“This isn’t yours?”

“God, no.” She looked a little relieved at his answer until he continued. “My plane has a game room anda home-theatre system on board.”

Her hand flew to her mouth in actual horror and he hooted with laughter.

“You should see your face,” he teased. “I don’t have a private jet, sugarplum. I rent them for long-haul flights, but buying one is a little too extravagant for my taste.”

She looked somewhat appeased by the explanation, until he went on to say, “I do have a 100-foot luxury yacht though. But I’ve been working so much these last few years, I’ve barely had time to enjoy it.”

“That’s a lot of boat for just one man,” she said and he took hold of her free hand and entwined his long fingers with her small, slender ones. His thumb traced the soft underside of her thumb and then skimmed up the delicate line of her index finger before he lifted her hand to his mouth and dropped a kiss on the back of it.

“I’m happy to share it with you.”

She looked appalled at the notion and he swallowed down his smile in the face of her transparent horror. He liked that she wasn’t enthralled by his wealth and possessions. Trystan recalled the faint mockery in her tone whenever she’d referred to Miles’s fleet of luxury and sports cars, back when she’d assumed they belonged to him. She didn’t give a shit about his money and the lifestyle that went along with it. In fact, she seemed to find it all a little repugnant. Which, while not ideal—since it was a fact of his life with which she’d have to get comfortable, fast—was refreshing.

“I’m not sure I’m a boat person,” she said and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

“You’ll love it.”

“This is all a little overwhelming,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“We’ll ease into it, okay? Baby steps,” he said. He kept his voice gentle, not wanting her anxiety to flare up again.

She wriggled her hand out of his, and he reluctantly ceded it back to her. Her bright eyes swept around the cabin’s interior with a little more interest and enthusiasm than before, when she’d been too wrapped up in her anxiety to pay attention to her surroundings.

“This is pretty lush,” she said, running a reverent hand over the buttery leather seats. She unbuckled her seatbelt and toed her trainers off, before tucking her feet under her butt and reaching for her tea.

She sipped the hot drink quietly for a few moments, while soaking in her surroundings, and then sat up again abruptly. “Where’s Luna?”

“Sitting with Chance,” Trystan said, twisting a strand of her soft hair around his index finger, hopelessly unable to stop himself from touching her.

“Ooh, I haven’t met Chance yet,” she said, uncurling her legs. “So rude of me not to have properly introduced myself.”

“Of course you met him. He drove us here.”

“Your friend Sam dominated the conversation. I didn’t get a chance to speak to the hot Aussie at all,” she said with a sulky little pout that made him want to suck that lush lower lip into his mouth.

“Hey now,” he warned. “I’m the only hot Aussie you need to be concerning yourself with.”

She rather offensively dismissed his comment with an amused snort and a nonchalant wave and pushed to her feet. “He’s a bodyguard, Trystan. That’s next level in the hotness stakes.”

“I can be a bodyguard,” he said, fighting hard—and losing badly—to keep the sullen grumble out of his voice.

She paused to stare down at him with a speculative tilt to her head. “And a marine, and an air force pilot, and a…”

The confusion on her face cleared up instantly, as she understood what he meant, and she laughed. “That’s pretend, babe. Now leave me to chat with the nice big protector guy, will you? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

She appeased him by bending down to drop a quick kiss on his mouth. In retaliation for her sass, he swatted her butt as she passed his seat.

She rubbed her tush and threw him a blatantly sultry look over her shoulder, promising him all kinds of sexy retribution in that one stare. He shifted in his seat and surreptitiously adjusted himself as he watched the sway of that gorgeous, pert arse as she strolled away from him.

He didn’t really mind her fascination with Chance. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge was what prompted her to seek the man out and she would likely question him relentlessly about the ins and outs of his job. Trystan grinned a little at the thought. She was like a dog with a bone when she wanted to know something. He could personally attest to that fact. And he felt a little sorry for Chance, who rarely spoke and was always the epitome of discretion and professionalism.

Forty minutes later,Trystan was glaring at those two unlikeliest of compatriots and wondered what the fuck was so funny. Iris and Trystan’s previously reticent close-protection officer were chortling like a pair of fucking teenaged girls at a sleepover, and Trystan was starting to feel seriously aggrieved that his company had been so easily thrown aside.

Granted, Iris was probably happy for someone new to talk to after so many weeks of just Trystan’s surly arse for company. But—since Trystan was nowhere near sick of her company—he couldn’t quite curb the disturbing sting of jealousy and resentment he felt at suddenly having to share her with others.

The emotions were unfamiliar and disturbing. He’d never felt this chest-thumping possessiveness over any woman before, and he told himself it had to be because of how long he’d had her wholly to himself. Out in the real world, she’d have other men with whom to compare him, people vying for her attention and time, a whole life to get back to.

They’d been so focused on his life and the demands thereof that he hadn’t spared much thought to her family and friends. People whom she trusted, would go to for advice, and whose opinions she valued. People who might not approve of their relationship, who would hold sway in her decision-making processes. And he was suddenly terrified that the worst obstacles they had to face may not be found in the overwhelming reality of his life… but rather in the quiet appeal of hers.

“Trystan,” Iris’s voice from across the cabin jerked him from his troubling, invasive thoughts.

He lifted his head to meet her warm, smiling eyes and found himself helpless to do anything other than return her smile like a lovesick puppy.

“Have you ever been to Humpy Dunes?” she asked and Trystan’s brows lowered in confusion.

“What?” He watched through narrowed eyes as Chance caught her attention by quietly muttering her name. She refocused her attention to the still-seated man and tilted her head as she listened to whatever he had to say. Her face lit up in a broad self-effacing grin and she lifted her sparkling eyes back to Trystan’s face.

“Oops, sorry. My bad… Humpty Doo. Have you ever been to Humpty Doo? Home of Bite Tyson, the world’s biggest boxing saltwater croc?”

Trystan levered himself up and made his way toward the trio seated at a cluster of four seats, facing one another across a coffee table. Luna and Chance were in the two seats facing forward and Iris was facing aft, curled up, her feet tucked under her butt, looking as comfortable as she would in her own living room.

Trystan stood beside the empty seat next to Iris’s, one hand braced on the headrest as he awkwardly met his close-protection officer’s eyes. The man looked as uncomfortable as Trystan felt. They rarely spoke, really, and had never exchanged small talk.

“You from the Northern Territory, mate?” Trystan asked after clearing his throat. He was never awkward, but this was damned weird.

“Yeah.” Aah. The taciturn bastard was back, no trace left of the chuckling buffoon who’d comfortably exchanged pleasantries with Iris just a few minutes ago.

Trystan sat down next to Iris, and she lifted the rest to snuggle under his arm. Gratified by her easy affection, Trystan felt the tense knot that had settled in his chest start to ease up slightly and he placed an arm around her shoulders and tugged her even closer.

“Never spent much time up in the Northern Territory myself,” he expounded. Feeling a lot more confident now that he was holding Iris close again, he dismissed his former uncertainty and doubt as a mere aberration. Nothing to be overly concerned about. “A few flying visits for promotional purposes. D’ya get back often?”

“Nah, no reason to,” Chance said with a nonchalant lift of his shoulders, his hand dropped to Luna’s ruff and he stroked the sleeping dog almost absently. “No family or friends left there. My life and home are in London now.”

“London? I didn’t know that. Where?”

“Hammersmith.”

“You must be looking forward to getting home, then,” Iris said, her fingers delicately stroking over the veins on the back of Trystan’s hand. Her touch was sweet and distracting, but he fought to remain focused on the conversation. It wasn’t easy when Chance was so damned reticent in his responses.

“I am. I have the week off, so it’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed again.” The man’s direct gaze landed on Trystan’s face. “They will have someone filling in for me, of course.”

“Of course,” Trystan nodded, not having the slightest concern about that. “I did speak with Sam about a detail for Iris, though.”

He sensed Iris tensing beside him, but kept this gaze on Chance’s face.

“What?” she squeaked in protest. “Why? I don’t want or need anything like that.”

He sighed and redirected his gaze to her outraged face. “Because as soon as the press gets wind of you, they’re going to be relentless and I’d like to keep you protected from the worst of that.”

“But…”

“Iris, I’d feel better if you have some security, okay? This is…” He shook his head, hating that the restrictions of his life would inevitably have to spill over into hers. “It’s necessary. For your safety and my peace of mind. I’m sorry it has to be like this.”

Her teeth worried her plump lower lip and she graced him with a small smile.

“I suppose it was na?ve of me not to consider this inevitability.”

“It’s not too late to turn back and live in our little stormy getaway for the rest of our days.”

“I think the Hollingsworths would want their house back at some point.”

“I’d buy it from Miles. Or better yet, build us one in the same area. A nice hidey-hole just for us.”

Her smile was bittersweet as she wove her much smaller fingers through his. “No more hiding, remember?”

Trystan glanced over at Chance, but the man was a master of discretion. He was fully focused on his phone screen with his headphones firmly in place, giving them the privacy, if not the space, Trystan craved.

Trystan lifted their entwined fingers to his lips and dropped a kiss on her knuckles.

“I want to fucking show you off to the world, Iris, but I worry that it’ll all be too overwhelming for you.”

“I can face anything with you by my side, Trystan.”

God, he really hoped that was true.

Piper chose that moment to interrupt and ask them about their meals.

“I don’t thinkI’ll ever be able to travel any other way now,” Iris moaned the following morning, stretching out on the bed beside Trystan. She’d just had the best sleep, spooned by Trystan, who’d kept her wrapped in his strong arms all night. There’d been some turbulence, but the flight had been smooth and comfortable for the most part.

The pilot had just announced that they would be landing in two hours—at a private airfield outside of London—which gave them enough time to freshen up and have breakfast.

Trystan’s hold tightened around her for a few seconds and she turned in his arms to face him. She still hadn’t grown accustomed to waking up next to him, and lovingly tracked her gaze over his familiar features—his eyes still bleary with sleep, his overly long hair mussed, and stubble darkening his jaw.

She cupped that bristled jaw, running her thumb over his scar, and once again feeling a pang of loss as she remembered his unkempt beard. She marveled at how far they’d come since then.

He didn’t say anything, merely stared at her with his usual single-minded focus. She smiled as she recollected his words when she’d called him out on it: I like looking at you. Such a simple sentiment and, yet, it had shaken her to the very foundation of her being. This beautiful man liked looking at her. She still didn’t quite know how to feel about that… all she knew was that she preened a little every time he looked at her now.

He lifted a hand and smoothed it over her untamable hair, sweeping her wild curls back from her forehead and dropping a chaste kiss just above her left brow. If the erection straining against her stomach was any indication, he was feeling anything but chaste, and she couldn’t blame him for that. Not after the way they’d left things last night. They’d had a hot-and-heavy make-out session after falling into bed, which had only ended in mutual frustration. Iris suspected that Trystan would’ve had no scruples about making her a card-carrying member of the Mile High Club, but she’d remained maddeningly aware of Chance and Piper on the other side of the flimsy wall.

Trystan had dialed it down and eventually had spooned behind her, wrapping her in his arms and cuddling her close to his chest—until she’d relaxed enough to fall asleep. And now here they were, both still so damned turned on Iris was tempted to just throw caution and discretion to the wind and give the man what he so desperately needed. Well… not just the man. She really wouldn’t mind taking the edge off either.

His other hand, the one at her waist, crept down and gave her bum a cheeky squeeze before he groaned and with clear reluctance removed his hands from her body and sat up, leaving her feeling cold and lonely.

He threw back the covers—ignoring her outraged hey—and leaped agilely to his feet. His beautiful hard cock tented the front of his boxers—his only clothing—as he stretched with unashamed abandon, enviably comfortable in his skin. He yawned and then stared down at her with a wicked little grin, his eyes raking over her body which was curled up defensively against the chill of the air-conditioning after he’d so thoughtlessly tossed aside the warm bedding. She was wearing nothing but a camisole and a pair of skimpy bikini panties, and she blushed at the naked appreciation she saw in his smoldering silver eyes.

He shook his head, his grin downgrading to a self-deprecating smirk, and lifted the corner of the comforter to toss it back over her huddled body.

“I always believed I had a decent amount of willpower, but you’re constantly proving me wrong just by being your fucking perfect self.”

“Shut up,” she said with an amused snort and sat up. Her dark areolas and cold-hardened nipples were clearly visible to his voracious gaze through her white top, and he groaned and adjusted himself uncomfortably before screwing his eyes shut.

“Begone, devil woman,” he said before whirling around and heading to the en-suite bathroom. There was a smaller bathroom upfront for the flight staff and Chance, but this one was ridiculous. It had a large shower and even a little doggy area where Luna could relieve herself (apparently the Hollingsworths had a spoiled pupper who travelled everywhere with them).

He paused in the doorway and turned to face her again, that naughty grin back.

“Wanna share a shower? It’s a little more soundproof in here.”

Iris gazed at him in open-mouthed wonder.

“Seriously? It is?”

“I kid you not,” he intoned solemnly, holding one hand over his heart. “In fact, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this last—oomph.”

The last as Iris launched herself out of bed and straight into his arms, climbing him like a tree until she had her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, and her lips nuzzled behind his ear.

He laughed, the sound warm and filled with unabashed joy, as his hands clamped over her arse to hold her up.

“I take it that’s a yes?”

Iris watchedas Trystan and Chance conferred several feet from where she was seated. Chance had approached them a few moments ago, with an apologetic glance at Iris, before muttering a curt, We have a problem, at Trystan. They’d just finished breakfast and were estimated to land in about half an hour.

Whatever Chance was telling him had left a thunderous expression on Trystan’s face, and he raked his hand through his hair, before settling his palm in the nape of his neck as he glowered at the floor while Chance continued to speak in urgent undertones. Trystan was nodding curtly in response to the man’s words, and his shoulders heaved as he lifted his eyes to meet hers across the cabin. Alarmed, Iris went from a relaxed slouch to upright. He looked furious. She hadn’t seen him this pissed off since the early days of their acquaintance.

He shook his head and his lips formed a terse fuck, before he nodded once again, turning to say something to Chance, before making his way back to her. He sat down and refastened his seatbelt in grim silence, leaving her in suspense as he focused on that task.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked, unable to stand the tension any longer, sharply aware of the fury coming off him in hot waves.

“Who did you tell that we were flying back today?”

“What? Nobody.” She was taken aback by his frigid voice. He hadn’t spoken to her in that tone in weeks, and the return of that iciness sent a shudder of dread down her spine.

“Nobody? Not even your parents?”

“Well, of course, my p-parents,” she spluttered, her nerves causing her to trip over her words. “But nobody else. W-what’s happening, Trystan? You’re frightening me.”

“The press somehow got wind of our arrival. They’re lying in wait at the airport.”

“Oh no,” she gasped, lifting a hand to her mouth. “How?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” he said. The snideness lurking beneath those words gave her pause and her hand dropped to her lap as she stared at him in hurt confusion.

“Wait, do you think I had something to do with this?”

He lifted his shoulders. “My people know better.”

“And my people are what? Greedy bastards who would sell me out for a story?”

He didn’t so much as flinch at her frigid question, meeting her eyes with his steady gaze.

“You’re not in touch with any of your dad’s pap cronies?”

“My dad is a caterer.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Go to hell, Trystan.” She fumbled with her seatbelt and, after managing to get it unbuckled, she pushed to her feet.

“Where are you going?” he asked, something close to panic in his voice.

“To sit with Luna and Chance. They’re better company.”

“Iris—” She held her palm up and halted whatever he’d been about to say.

“No. I’d rather not hear whatever insult you have lined up next and I have nothing else to say to you right now.”