Chapter 8
KARA
Twenty minutes after Shawn put his hands on me and coerced my agreement, he tilted his seat back and fell asleep facing me with his hand still on my leg. Possessive. I was tempted to slip away when his guard was down and move to another seat but didn’t.
We looked like lovers. How soon would it be before that was true? There was no escaping him. You might as well enjoy the ride down to hell. But don't make it too easy on him.
It was mid-afternoon outside, but Victoria had pulled the shades, and the interior of the plane was dark. In the dim light, I studied his face. He looked younger asleep and less dangerous, and I found this version of him interesting. The hunter not on the prowl.
I shut my eyes for what seemed like only a moment, but when I opened them, I realized I’d fallen asleep as well. A glass of white wine waited for me on the tray table.
Shawn was awake.
He set his glass down and swiped a finger on the screen of his iPad, then picked up the glass again with the same hand. That was odd. Why didn’t he use his left?
Holy crap. Because my hand, the one closest to him, was on his leg . . . and he had his left hand resting comfortably on top of that. How was it that this felt much more intimate than when he’d moved his hand between my legs?
His fingers were long and curled slightly around mine. The connection felt natural, and I couldn’t pull away, didn’t want to. It was unsettling how much I craved his touch.
“I did not put your hand on my leg,” he said, when he noticed what I was staring at.
“I don’t believe that for a second.” I snatched my hand free and reached for my glass, the wine sloshing and threatening to spill.
He shrugged. “Your body knows what your brain won’t admit.”
“How long until we land?” I asked, ignoring his arrogance.
“Are you eager to take me home?”
I shot him a dirty look. “No, I was wondering how soon until I get to see you scared again.”
“I wasn’t scared. More like uneasy.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling.”
He gave a wicked smile. Which evaporated instantly when we hit turbulence and the plane dropped in an air pocket. I liked the feeling it created in my stomach, but I liked the other feeling I had right now even more. The upper hand.
He was scared, or at least nervous, whereas I was calm and collected. “I’m going to decline your offer for security, but thank you.”
The idea of strangers watching over me caused my stomach to clench. I liked my privacy and hated that my sister had to live under constant supervision from a bodyguard, even with Jason around. It was just another reason for me to hate Juric. Please let him be dead.
Shawn frowned. “Why are you saying no? Kara, I want to do this for you.”
“What about what I want? I don’t like being told what to do, trust me.”
His face softened. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I don’t have any motive for installing a security team, other than to make sure you’re protected.”
“Right,” I said. “It’s definitely not just another way for you to insert yourself into my life.”
“This is silly.” He peered at me like I was being unreasonable. “Let me do this for you.”
Not a denial, my brain whispered.
He straightened in his seat like the matter had been settled. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Other people didn’t get to make decisions for me. “I want to talk about this.”
Once again, he set his hand on my thigh, perhaps as an attempt to distract me. He forced lightness into his tone, like he was serious but pretended not to be. “It’s not up for discussion.”
Was he joking? “Like hell it’s not.”
“It’s already done, so we’re not going to talk about it anymore.”
His eyes went dark and his expression hardened, like I was a bad employee this CEO needed to get back in line. I inhaled sharply, stunned by this version of him. There was nothing playful. The look he gave me was stern, authoritative. It said he’d just issued a command, and I needed to obey.
My eyes burned. I tore my gaze away from him to stare at the hand on my lap, as fire flared deep inside me. No one ordered me around.
Not anymore.
“Get your hand off me,” I snapped.
He complied immediately and his face flooded with remorse. He sensed he’d pushed too far, but it was too late. I’d seen the true version of him now, and there was no putting the genie back in the bottle.
“In fact, you don’t get to touch me again,” I declared. “Ever.”
He took a deep breath, and thoughts churned in his eyes. His lips parted, perhaps to offer an apology, but his mouth abruptly snapped shut and his whole demeanor changed.
“Well, then, that’s disappointing,” he said finally. His gaze turned forward. He picked up his iPad and scrolled back to his work as if nothing had happened between us.
Like he couldn’t care less.
I was stunned speechless. I’d thrown down the gauntlet, and all he’d done was walk away.
The rest of the flight was uneventful, and I spent it wondering what the hell had happened. Shawn didn’t speak again. He also didn’t flinch when we hit another patch of turbulence during the descent into Maastricht.
After six months of pursuit, had he decided to give up? Maybe it was for the best. We were from different worlds. Me, the na?ve American, who not too long ago was in grad school, getting drunk on Thursday nights when the beer was half-priced.
His beer. From the enormous company he ran in Germany.
Once we landed, it was night outside, and we waited inside the lit cabin, the engines powering down with a mechanical whine and rain pattering against the metal exterior of the plane.
The on-duty immigration official boarded to check us in.
Shawn produced two passports from his interior suit pocket, one navy blue that matched mine, and the other a deep red.
Deutschland. The immigration official stamped our passports, welcomed us to the Netherlands, and then departed.
Shawn put his passports away, raked a hand through his dark hair, and set his attention on me. “Are you ready to go?”
I nodded. I didn’t live far from the airport, so the awkward tension between us would be over soon.
“What are you doing?” I asked when we were outside and Shawn’s suitcase was extracted from the plane.
He set a hand on it, indicating he was taking his luggage with him.
My stomach twisted the same way it did whenever I received one of his text messages.
“I said you could escort me home. I didn’t say a thing about you staying. ”
He shrugged. “I’d like to be prepared should that opportunity present itself.”
My mouth went slack at his nerve. “You are unbelievable.”
“Yes.” His smile was faint, yet full of innuendo. “I’ve been told that.”
At what point would his arrogance stop shocking me? I looked around the tarmac, surprised not to see a car waiting.
“How were you planning on getting home?” he said.
“I was going to walk.”
The rain had slowed to a stop but looked like it could resume at any moment. He nodded, tilting his bag onto its wheels as if ready to follow me.
“It’s fifteen blocks,” I added.
He considered my statement and shook his head as if amused. “Should that bother me? I’m European. It’s you Americans who dislike walking.”
His bag looked heavier than mine. Good.
Without a word, I took off for the gate. I dragged my suitcase along as fast as I could manage, challenging him to keep up and doing everything I could to try to lose him.
The sooner I got home, the sooner I’d be rid of him.