Chapter 2
Nora
Stunned, I watch Julian’s naked form disappear into the bathroom.
He’s hampered by his injuries, his movements stiffer than usual.
Still, there is a certain grace to the way he walks.
Even after his hellish ordeal, his muscular body is strong and athletic, the white bandage around his ribs emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the bronzed hue of his skin.
He didn’t object to the morning-after pill.
As that fact sinks in, my knees go weak with relief, the adrenaline-induced tension draining out in a sudden whoosh.
I had been almost certain he would deny me this; the expression on his face as we spoke had been shuttered, unreadable…
dangerous in its opaqueness. He had seen right through my flimsy excuses about my school and his injuries, his undamaged eye gleaming with a cold blue light that made my stomach knot in dread.
But he didn’t deny me the pill. On the contrary, he suggested I get a new method of birth control from Dr. Goldberg.
I feel almost light-headed with joy. Julian must be on board with the no-kids bit, his strange reaction notwithstanding.
Not wanting to question my good fortune, I hurry out of the room to grab Dr. Goldberg. I want to make sure I get what I need before we leave the clinic.
Birth control implants aren’t easy to come by in our jungle compound.
“I took the pill,” I tell Julian when we’re comfortably ensconced on his private jet—the same plane that took us from Chicago to Colombia after Julian returned for me in December.
“And I got this.” I raise my right arm to show him a tiny bandage where the new implant went in.
My arm aches dully, but I’m so happy to have the implant that I don’t mind the discomfort.
Julian looks up from his laptop, his expression still closed off.
“Good,” he says curtly, and resumes working on the email to one of his engineers.
He’s outlining the exact specifications of a new drone he wants designed.
I know this because I asked him about it a few minutes ago, and he explained what he’s doing.
He’s been much more open with me in the past couple of months—which is why I find it odd that he seems to want to avoid the topic of birth control.
I wonder if he doesn’t want to discuss it because of Dr. Goldberg’s presence. The short man is sitting at the front of the jet, more than a dozen feet from us, but we don’t have total privacy. Either way, I decide to let it go for now and bring it up again at a more opportune moment.
As the plane ascends, I entertain myself by watching the Swiss Alps until we get above the clouds. Then I lean back and wait for the beautiful flight attendant—Isabella—to come around with our breakfast. We left the hospital so quickly this morning that I only managed to grab a cup of coffee.
Isabella comes into the cabin a few minutes later, her bombshell body squeezed into a tight red dress. She’s holding a tray with coffee and a platter of pastries. Goldberg appears to have fallen asleep, so she heads toward us, her lips curved in a seductive smile.
The first time I saw her, when Julian came back for me in December, I was insanely jealous.
Since then I’ve learned that Isabella has never had a relationship with Julian and is actually married to one of the guards at the estate—two facts that have gone a long way toward soothing the green-eyed monster within me.
I’ve only seen the woman once or twice in the past couple of months; unlike most of Julian’s employees, she spends the majority of her time outside the compound, working as his eyes and ears at several high-end private jet companies.
“You’d be surprised how loose-lipped people get after a couple of drinks at thirty thousand feet,” Julian explained once.
“Executives, politicians, cartel bosses… They all like having Isabella around, and they don’t always watch what they say in her presence.
Thanks to her, I’ve gotten everything from insider trading tips to intel about drug deals in the area. ”
So yeah, I’m no longer quite as jealous of Isabella, but I still can’t help feeling that her manner with Julian is a little too flirtatious for a married woman.
Then again, I’m probably not the best judge of appropriate married-woman behavior.
If I were to stare at any man longer than a second, I would be signing his death warrant.
Julian takes possessiveness to a whole new level.
“Would you like some coffee?” Isabella asks, stopping next to his seat. She’s more circumspect in her staring today, but I still feel the urge to slap her pretty face for the come-hither smile she gives my husband.
Okay, so Julian is not the only one with possessiveness issues. As messed up as it is, I feel proprietary about the man who abducted me. It makes no sense, but I gave up trying to make sense of my crazy relationship with Julian a long time ago.
It’s easier to just accept it.
At Isabella’s question, Julian looks up from his laptop. “Sure,” he says before glancing in my direction. “Nora?”
“Yes, please,” I say politely. “And a couple of those croissants.”
Isabella pours us each a cup, sets the pastry platter on my table, and sashays back to the front of the plane, her lushly curved hips swaying from side to side. I experience a moment of envy before reminding myself that Julian wants me.
He wants me too much, in fact, but that’s a whole other issue.
For the next half hour, I read quietly as I eat my croissants and sip my coffee.
Julian appears to be concentrating on his drone design email, so I don’t bother him; instead, I do my best to focus on my book, a sci-fi thriller I bought at the clinic.
My attention, however, keeps wandering, my thoughts straying every couple of pages.
It feels odd to be sitting here reading. Surreal, in a way. It’s as if nothing had happened. As if we hadn’t just survived terror and torture.
As if I hadn’t blown a man’s brains out in cold blood.
As if I hadn’t almost lost Julian again.
My heart starts beating faster, the images from this morning’s nightmare invading my mind with startling clarity.
Blood… Julian’s body cut and mangled… His beautiful face with vacant eye sockets…
The book slips out of my shaking hands, falling to the floor as I attempt to suck in air through a suddenly constricted throat.
“Nora?” Strong, warm fingers close around my wrist, and through the panicked haze veiling my vision, I see Julian’s bandaged face in front of me. He’s gripping me tightly, his laptop forgotten on the table next to him. “Nora, can you hear me?”
I manage to nod, my tongue coming out to wet my lips.
My mouth is dry with fear, and my blouse is sticking to my back from perspiration.
My hands are clutching the edge of the seat, my nails digging into the soft leather.
A part of me knows that my mind is playing tricks on me—that this extreme anxiety is unfounded—but my body is reacting as if the threat is real.
As if we’re back at that construction site in Tajikistan, at the mercy of Majid and the other terrorists.
“Breathe, baby.” Julian’s voice is soothing as his hand comes up to gently cradle my jaw. “Breathe slowly, deeply… There’s a good girl…”
I do as he says, keeping my eyes on his face as I take deep breaths to manage my panic. After a minute, my heartbeat slows, and my hands uncurl from the edge of my seat. I’m still shaking, but the suffocating fear is gone.
Feeling embarrassed, I wrap my fingers around Julian’s palm and pull his hand away from my face. “I’m okay,” I manage to say in a relatively steady voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
He stares at me, his eye glittering, and I see a mixture of rage and frustration in his gaze. His fingers are still gripping mine, as if reluctant to let go. “You’re not okay, Nora,” he says harshly. “You’re anything but okay.”
He’s right. I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right. I haven’t been okay since Julian left the estate to hunt down the terrorists. I’ve been a mess since his departure—and I seem to be even more of a mess now that he’s back.
“I’m fine,” I say, not wanting him to think me weak. Julian was tortured, and he seems to be handling it, whereas I’m falling apart for no good reason.
“Fine?” His eyebrows snap together. “In the past twenty-four hours, you’ve had two panic attacks and a nightmare. That’s not fine, Nora.”
I swallow and look down at my lap, where his hand is holding mine in a tight, possessive grip.
I hate the fact that I can’t just brush this stuff off, the way Julian seems to.
Sure, he still has some nightmares about Maria, but this ordeal with the terrorists appears to have hardly fazed him.
By all rights, he should be the one freaking out, not me.
I was barely touched, whereas he’d undergone days of torment.
I’m weak, and I hate it.
“Nora, baby, listen to me.”
I look up, drawn by the softer note in Julian’s voice, and find myself captured by his gaze.
“This is not your fault,” he says quietly. “Any of it. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re traumatized. You don’t need to pretend with me. If you start to panic, tell me, and I’ll help you through it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” I whisper, strangely relieved by his words. I know it’s ironic that the man who brought all the darkness into my life is helping me cope with it, but it’s been that way from the beginning.
I’ve always found solace in my captor’s arms.
“Good. Remember that.” He leans over to kiss me, and I meet him halfway, cognizant of his injured ribs.
His lips are unusually tender as they touch mine, and I close my eyes, my remaining anxiety fading as heated need warms my core.
My hands find themselves on the back of his neck, and a moan vibrates low in my throat as his tongue invades my mouth, his taste familiar and darkly seductive at the same time.