“Me? You’re turning this on me?”
“You will never see me as anyone other than the person who disappeared. The circumstances don’t matter to you. Tell me, how do you see Ruby?”
“As my daughter. And right now I’m doing my best to not think about your betrayal or the fact that you’ve been part of a Russian bratva. Believe me, if I were concentrating on either of those, you wouldn’t like where it would go.”
“Is that a threat?”
“A fucking promise.” As my reply came forward, I lost my will to fight, deciding instead to surrender to the connection, to take it, use it, and in doing so, hope it would extinguish.
Reaching forward, I snaked my hands around her waist, my touch connecting under the sweater, seizing her warm skin and pulling her against me. The softness of her tits smashed against my chest as my fingers splayed over her lower back, bringing her flush against me. The plane’s pitch was on my side as she fell into my embrace.
I stared down, searching her gaze as her face tilted upward and her long hair cascaded down her back. Her plump painted lips parted, yet no words came out.
“You’re my wife.”
Her lids fluttered as our hearts beat against one another’s.
“Fucking say something,” I demanded.
“What do you want from me?”
The list was endless, and while our flight time would be a few more hours, at this moment, I had no desire to verbalize any of it. Instead, I reached higher under the sweater, releasing the snap of her bra. With one hand still holding her against me, the other skirted her warm flesh until it cupped her breast, tweaking her nipple as beneath my touch it hardened.
“Patrick,” she moaned. “Is that all I am, a fuck?”
“No, Maddie, it’s not all.” Releasing her, I reached for her hand and began to lead her.
“Wait.” She stopped. “Where are you taking me?”
“We’re on a fucking plane. How many options do I have?” I asked as I once again led her back to the dressing area, all the while wishing we’d brought a different plane.
At least the dressing room would give us a bit of privacy.
Madeline
As the door behind us shut, the cushioned round settee in the center of the room came into view. An hour ago, I’d sat there to don the boots I was now wearing. Suddenly, it appeared bigger. Maybe it was the closed closet doors or maybe it was the palpable sexual tension reverberating through the air.
“What about—?” I began to ask.
Patrick’s finger came to my lips. “No talking, Maddie. I’ll tell you what’s happening, but first, I want my wife.”
I took one step back as my skin tingled at the primal intensity within his searing gaze. Wordlessly, his blue orbs held me in place, forbidding my refusal of his claim or further dissent. Perhaps it wasn’t he who forbade; maybe it was me who didn’t want to refuse, who wanted the connection we shared, the fire in his eyes, and to be his wife.
My mind told me I was crazy, that in the last few hours I’d learned that regarding his chosen lifestyle, Patrick was no different than Andros. Like the Ivanov bratva, the Sparrows were their own piece of organized crime. Patrick may not be in charge, but he obviously held significant power. The evidence was visible with the way the others listened to his orders and respected his ideas.
Did Patrick kill people?
Did he relish their pain?
Did he involve himself in illegal activities?
Were people hurt, addicted, or killed because of what he promoted or allowed?
Was the answer yes?
I should care.
Had a lifetime in the Russian mob allowed me to wear blinders?
Somehow, it felt the opposite. Staring at Patrick as he removed his suit coat, tie, and cufflinks, my heart knew that any similarities with Andros ended with their profession. That wasn’t to condone what either of them did. Nevertheless, I believed there was more to them than their profession. In that more, the two men were on opposite ends of the spectrum, maybe not good versus bad—but day versus night.
It was the life and vibrancy behind Patrick’s eyes, as well as the way his wide chest, now devoid of his shirt, heaved and abs grew taut with each breath. Unlike Andros’s eyes that were dead and calculating, Patrick’s shimmered with a predatory hunger.
A lion sizing up his prey.
As Patrick neared, my lungs struggled to inhale as my skin warmed and core clenched.
“You’re mine,” he growled as his manly scent filled my senses.
I didn’t protest. As my hands went to his strong arms, my fingertips roaming the indentations of his muscles, I tried to reason with myself.
This, here and now on this plane, felt different than the times we’d made love in the hotel.
Life had taken a drastic turn since then.
Before, I was bound to Andros; truly as long as he had Ruby I was. And yet high in the sky with Patrick’s bare chest before me, his hands roaming beneath my sweater, and lips peppering my neck, freedom was within sight.
Closing my eyes, my head fell backward, and I gave into the rush of endorphins his lavished attention stirred within me. No longer a young boy, Patrick had become a skilled seducer. His nimble long fingers pried latches and buttons as he removed each piece of clothing from my body.
Sweater.
Bra.
Boots.
Socks.
Slacks.
Panties.
While his actions weren’t the threat he’d uttered, there was still a message within each distinct deed. Unapologetically, Patrick was taking what he deemed his, reclaiming and conquering what had been his before anyone else’s.
“My wife. Mine.”
The words came with different emphasis as I surrendered to his touch and manipulation until he had me where he wanted. Lying upon my back on the settee, supported by my elbows with my nipples hard and core wet, I was exposed and bared to him.
Patrick took a step back. With his trousers still in place, I became aware of a pattern of inequality. One I was most certain he enjoyed—me completely nude, him not.
He scanned me from head to toe until our gazes again met. “Tell me your name.”
“Patrick.”
He reached for the buckle of his belt. My reaction wasn’t voluntary. Yet the moment was shattered as I tensed and my eyes widened.
His gaze went from me to his own hand upon the buckle. “What? Fuck no, Maddie, don’t ever fear me.”
I wanted to object, to tell him it wasn’t him. My reaction had only been a momentary lapse, but he’d seen it. He had an uncanny ability to see what I could successfully hide from others. That realization made me vulnerable in an uncustomary way.
I couldn’t understand how Patrick could so easily read my emotions. After all, I was a poker player. I’d worked almost a lifetime to keep them in check and yet with Patrick, each one was flashing like a neon sign.
“I don’t want to,” I admitted. “You said...you said I wouldn’t like where this was going and so far, I do.”
Undoing the belt and button, and lowering the zipper, Patrick allowed his trousers to fall. Reaching for the waistband of his black silk boxer briefs, he freed his impressive cock.
I fought to look up at his face as I took in the beauty of his manhood. Hard and thick, the tip of his cock glistened as he fisted the length.