4. Viktoria
4
VIKTORIA
I tapped the mouse button, ending the call with the department heads. I slumped against the plane’s soft leather chair. My eyes wanted to drift to the man sprawled in the seat across the aisle. I’d finished my presentation soon after takeoff and set up my conference call once the plane leveled out, but even though it had gone smoothly, I’d been on edge. Struggling to focus. I couldn’t fault the chartered jet—it was set up perfectly for all my needs, with a small office area and a neat little bedroom, complete with its own bathroom and shower. The internet connection was top-notch, and I’d barely experienced the typical pixelating issues that made video chatting tough.
No. I blamed the Heathen. Every time I blinked, the memory of our battle of wills broke my concentration. Those deep amber eyes willing me to capitulate, something I never did. But for him, I had. I’d compromised. The very thought haunted me. Lee had withstood my iron stare, and he’d done it with confidence. A lot of men bridled when a woman pushed back, lapsed into macho posturing or condescension. Lee had done neither, but he’d stood firm. In fact, I’d gotten the impression he was enjoying our sparring. He’d nearly made me laugh , even with his stupid joke. It had been so crude. So inappropriate.
But it was funny.
Biting my lip, I stared at him from the corner of my eye. He’d dropped his sunglasses in the cup holder and swiveled his chair to face the aisle, giving me a modicum of privacy but still keeping an eye on me. A hint of a tattoo peeked from beneath the edge of his short-sleeved shirt. It had been driving me crazy, trying to make out the design. Not to mention the way his muscles corded every time he moved. Like right now. He reached for his phone, brows furrowed, and a hot spark kindled deep in my belly.
Stop it, Viktoria . Inappropriate, remember? A man like Lee wouldn’t fit in my world. He tracked dirt everywhere. He wore ratty clothes. He said improper things, and…and he was bossy. A heathen.
In other words, he refused to let me walk all over him.
Unhooking the charging cord from my phone, I shot to my feet. I found Aleta’s contact and hit dial—time I quit drooling and got some more work done.
Aleta answered hoarsely, and I frowned.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, crossing my fingers that Aleta would be well enough to work.
“This dry, California air is helping, I think. If there’s something you need, I’m okay to work.”
I smiled, relieved. Without guilt—in Icelandic, to ensure the call remained private—I launched into the list of details I needed Aleta to tackle. Thanks to the conference call and my father’s meetings, my to-do list had grown exponentially, and Aleta had better resources on the ground to handle things, even if she was stuck in California.
I paced as I rattled off my instructions to expend the restless energy spooling inside me. When I passed my desk, I snatched the mug of coffee I’d fixed earlier and took a sip. It was stone cold, but I drank it anyway. Caffeine was still caffeine, served hot or cold.
My heels barely made a sound on the thick carpet as I walked from the bedroom to the locked cockpit door, then back again as Aleta and I talked. I passed by Lee’s team, barely noting their presence. He continued to draw my focus like a moth to a flame, with his rippling arms. and his stupid, clean scent. I slowed to breathe him in every time I passed, though I pretended not to see him at all.
He touched his ear and lifted his gaze off his phone.
“No, Aleta,” I snapped. “Father is still insisting I stick to his schedule. I won’t even see him till?—”
“Sit down, Viktoria,” Lee interrupted, latching onto my forearm, halting my steps.
“Hold on, Aleta,” I barked into the phone, then switched to English as I glared at Lee. He’d nearly made me spill my coffee. “I’m sorry, what?”
The Heathen let go of my arm and rose to his full height, shifting to face me directly. A shiver stole over me before I could will it away.
“You need to take a seat,” he ordered in that low, icy tone.
I laughed and turned back to my phone. “My bodyguard just told me to sit and stay. Apparently, he’s mistaken me for some kind of…pet.”
“It’s your funeral,” Lee said.
“Ominous.” I chuckled. “Aleta, you should see this guy. Eyes like a cat’s.”
Lee leaned forward slightly, amber eyes darkening. “My Ranger unit used to call me Puma. You want to know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Partly because of my eye color, but mainly because I was a sniper. A solitary killer with a very keen eye. Keep walking, and you’ll find out what I see that you don’t.”
My breath caught, and for a moment I forgot how to swallow. My God, he’s a heathen, but he’s so damn ?—
The plane rocked, dipping violently enough to slosh coffee down the front of my dress. Lee grabbed my elbow to keep me from toppling into his lap, and the rest of my coffee splashed on my shoes. I staggered, caught between fury and the wild urge to laugh. I should’ve been embarrassed, but somehow, I felt…giddy. Like a teenager.
Damn it, get a grip.
The plane leveled out, and I pulled free of Lee’s hold. “My funeral,” I muttered. “I’ll call you back, Aleta.” I hung up the phone and stood, shaking my head. “I suppose you think this is funny.”
“Kind of,” Lee said.
“You could’ve warned me.”
Lee’s eyebrows flew up. “I did warn you. I told you to take a seat.”
“And that’s all you told me,” I spat. “All you had to say was turbulence , and I’d have sat down. But no, you’re over there with your caveman grunts?—”
Lee grunted loudly and beat his chest. I stared for a moment, and then I did laugh, a loud, helpless bark I couldn’t hold back. “I’m sorry. Did you just?—”
“ Huh. Me Grog.” He winked, bold and cocky, and plucked the mug from my hand. “Go on and change. I’ll clean this up.”
I wanted to keep pushing, just to see what he’d do, but Lee was right this time. I needed to change. With a snort, I flounced off and straight to the bedroom where my suitcases had been stowed. I quickly donned a purple silk top, a pair of black pants, and a matching set of Jimmy Choo pumps. As I turned to go, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I saw the flush on my cheeks, the fire in my eyes. Lee brought my body to life, but Lee was off-limits. The chemistry between us couldn’t be allowed to bubble over.
I’d had a bad breakup in college, and when Father had found out, he’d said something I’d never forgotten. One day, you’ll meet a man strong enough to embrace your fire and spirit. He’ll not only match your intensity, he’ll help you soar, and you’ll pull him up to fly beside you. You’ll know it when you meet that perfect match, and I hope you’ll have enough courage to hang on to him with both hands.
I’d held on to those words, not only for their kindness, but for what they implied: Father believed in me. He believed I could soar. He saw the fire in me, my drive to succeed. Did Lee see it too? Was that the attraction?
No. No, that was ridiculous . Lee was a heathen. And he’d made me spill my drink on purpose. He’d had every chance to warn me, but he’d let it happen. It could have been worse—I could have fallen and hurt myself, and he wouldn’t have lifted a finger to stop it. It’s your funeral, he’d told me, and then he’d just sat there, knowing full well what would come next. He’d pretended to be willing to compromise with the background check, only to extract his sloppy revenge.
No way could the Heathen be my perfect match. He couldn’t be the man my father hoped I’d hang onto, the man I’d need courage for. A strong man. My equal. But he’d made me laugh in spite of myself. And he was strong and competent and intense. Could he match me? Fly with me, even?
Phantom amber eyes overlaid my blue ones in the mirror. Puma. An Army Ranger—which, if I remembered correctly, meant he’d belonged to an elite Special Forces unit. And a sniper, no less. He’d struck me as lethal because he was. He was.
What made him leave the Rangers to become a bodyguard?
The plane hit another patch of turbulence and I clutched the wall to remain upright. I couldn’t lose focus. Couldn’t get distracted now. I needed to walk out the door and forget about Lee. My to-do list wasn’t going to magically complete itself.
Striding back out to my tight little office, I sat primly in the executive chair. My traitorous gaze found Lee in the galley, pulling a mug from the Keurig and adding cream and sugar.
He sauntered the length of the plane and set the steaming mug on my desk’s varnished surface. Then he leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands. “There might come a time when you’re in real danger,” he said. The words came out straightforward and direct, no ice, no taunting. “When that moment comes, you’ll need to follow my orders without asking questions. I’ll be relying on you to do that because I’ll be busy figuring out how to keep you alive. I won’t have time to explain or debate or justify my orders.”
I swallowed. I met his gaze head on. “As long as you realize that outside of those dangerous moments, I’m not a puppet on a string. You’ll command me for my safety, not your amusement.”
Lee stilled, as though thinking that over. After a moment, he dipped his chin. “Fair enough.” He straightened. “Bill me for your dry cleaning. I should’ve been clearer about the turbulence. But you understand, don’t you? Why I need your trust?”
“I understand,” I said. “The way you made your point was somewhat childish. But the point itself, yes. I get it.” A smile tugged at my lips, and I quickly suppressed it. “Thanks for the coffee. I appreciate the gesture.”
Lee nodded once, sharp and efficient. Then he strolled back to the recliner he’d claimed earlier. I watched him from behind my laptop. Twice now, Lee had admitted I was right—once with the background check, now again with his prank. I took a sip of my coffee and found it perfect. How had he gotten it exactly right?
It’s his job, I told myself. To watch. To observe.
But it wasn’t his job to know how I took my coffee. To see me , Viktoria, right down to the details.
For the first time in a long time, I felt vulnerable, open like a book. I turned away from Lee and focused on my laptop.