He’s frowning at me. Scowling, actually. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you being so sure of your own infallibility that you’re blind. But here’s something I’ll leave you with. I haven’t been with Stavros since the beginning of January. We’re almost in March now. What makes you think I haven’t been with anyone else in between?”
He falls so still, he’s not even breathing. His lips part. He stares at me, shock registering all over his face.
I say softly, “You might want to verify the identity of the baby daddy the next time you decide to play matchmaker, gangster. See you around.”
I turn and run away as fast as I can, telling myself as I get closer to where Stavros waits for me that the water in my eyes and the pain in my chest has everything to do with overwhelming relief and nothing at all to do with the man I’m leaving behind me.
21
Sloane
On the drive to the private jet terminal at the airport, Stavros is silent, but he holds my hand.
I let him. I think it’s because once the anger drained away, I was left numb.
Numb is better than angry. Numb doesn’t demand answers. Numb is a welcome relief from too many intense emotions.
Numb is my new best friend.
As soon as we’re on his jet and the airstairs fold up behind us, Stavros turns and grabs me in a crushing bear hug. He whispers the pet name that used to drive me up a wall: mamochka. Then he sinks to his knees and buries his face between my thighs.
It’s not a sexual thing. He’s just hiding.
Looking down at his dark head, I say quietly, “What did you promise him?”
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t look up when he speaks. That’s how I know he’s lying.
I sink a hand into his hair and tug. Finally, he glances up at me, biting his lip. His hands tighten around the backs of my thighs. He looks about ten years old.
“Whatever it was, Kage will find out. And when he does, he’ll kill you.”
“I don’t care. I saved you. That’s all that matters to me. That you’re safe.”
My smile must look very sad, because Stavros’s brows draw together. I murmur, “Sweet boy. What makes you think I needed saving?”
He says angrily, “He took you. He took you.”
“I know what he did.”
The anger fades. Gazing up at me with pleading eyes, he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I thought if I…if you…that maybe we…”
I sigh, stroking his hair. “Oh, Stavi.”
That’s all I have to say before he goes back to hiding his face between my legs. “Come on,” I say, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Get up. We have to talk.”
His voice turns petulant. “I don’t want to talk. I know what you’re going to say.”
“Stavi—”
“No!”
I used to hate it when he’d get like this, stubborn as a child denied his favorite toy. I also hate the only thing that can budge him.
“If you’re good, I’ll let you do it.”
He goes still. His voice comes out small. “You will?”
“Yes. Get up.”
In one swift unbending of limbs, he’s standing, looking down at me with his heart in his eyes.
No, not his heart. The organ he’s looking at me with is farther south than that.
I point to the nearest chair. “Sit.”
He obeys without hesitation. I sit across from him in another one of the cream-colored leather captain’s chairs. The jet’s engines roar to life. “Buckle up.”
He fastens the safety belt over his lap, then sits there staring at me, fidgeting.
“Tell me what you promised him.”
“I can’t.”
“When Kage finds out, I’m the only one who might be able to help you.”
“He won’t find out.”
He gazes longingly at my shoes. I have to force myself not to heave a sigh.
“Stavi, look at me.”
It takes a moment for him to tear his gaze away from my feet.
I make my face and voice very stern. “Tell me.”
Frantic, he licks his lips. “I…I…” He pauses, then it comes out in a burst. “I told him I’d wear a wire anytime I’m with Kazimir and that he could tap my phone and my email to monitor our communications.”
I’m so horrified, I’m unable to speak for a full minute.
In the interim, Stavros starts to grovel.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have, but I was so worried about you, and he said he wouldn’t let you go unless we made a deal, so I had to, I had to!”
I hold up a hand to stop the torrent. Stavros falls silent, panting and white-knuckling the arms of his chair.
A wire. A deal. Those two details stick out in my head like neon flashing lights. They sound official. Like terms a prosecutor would use. Or the police.
Then something else occurs to me. With trepidation, I look at the front of Stavros’s white button-down dress shirt.
He shakes his head.
Relieved I’m not being recorded, I sit back in the chair and blow out a hard breath. I debate telling Stavros that Declan was going to let me go without his help, but decide against it. The less said about him, the better.
Besides, Stavros is already distracted again by my feet.
I slip off my shoe, stand, and hand it to him. Then I lock myself in the bathroom so I don’t have to listen to the sniffs and moans as Stavros jerks himself to release with his nose buried in my footwear.
I take my time using the toilet, washing my hands, and splashing water on my face. When I exit the bathroom ten minutes later, Stavros is flattened against one of the windows, staring wide-eyed and white-faced at something on the tarmac below.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s him,” he says, his voice strangled. “The Irishman!”
My heart jumps into my throat. I run to the nearest window and look out. Sure enough, there stands Declan on the tarmac near the front of the plane.
He’s got a rocket launcher slung over one shoulder.
Stavros screams, “He’s going to kill us!”
“No, he’s not. He just likes to make a grand entrance. Go tell the pilot to cut the engines.”
As a hyperventilating Stavros scrambles down the aisle toward the cockpit, the cell phone Declan gave me buzzes. I turn away from the window and pull it from the back pocket of my jeans. Though I might be having a heart attack, I make myself sound bored when I answer.
“Gino’s Pizza, may I take your order?”
Over the line comes the growl of an infuriated grizzly bear. “Aye, I’ll give you a bloody order. Get your arse off that plane before I blow your little boy toy to smithereens.”
“Nobody says smithereens anymore, gangster. In case you haven’t heard, it’s the twenty-first century.”
“You have five seconds. Four. Three.”
“I’m sorry, which personality am I speaking to now? Because it’s definitely not the one who told me goodbye half an hour ago.”
“Half an hour ago, I didn’t know you weren’t pregnant.”