Vengeance to the Max (5 page)

She touched his arm as they ascended into the night. “You okay?” she whispered as if a quiet voice would calm him.

Without opening his eyes, he said, “Don’t like taking off and landing.” His fingers still clenched the armrest.

“You should have told me.” Warmth grew inside her. Despite his fears, he’d come with her, because he thought she needed him.

“I wouldn’t have made you come with me if I’d known.”

He turned to her then, opened one eye, gave her
that
look, the one that said he wouldn’t in a million years trust her to handle whatever she found in Michigan on her own.

He was probably right. She’d get herself in trouble. In the past two and a half months, she’d gotten herself into more trouble than a puppy in a wasp nest.

She pried his hand off the arm and held it. With the comfort of flesh against flesh, she started talking. “Maybe you were ... a Kamikaze pilot in a past life.” She figured he’d laugh at that one. She wanted to make him laugh. He didn’t, but a touch of color seeped back into his cheeks. “Or maybe you were Amelia Earhart. You crashed, and now you’re terrified of flying.”

“Amelia Earhart was a woman.”

“Duh. People get reincarnated into different sexes, you know. I was Julius Caesar.”

He looked up and smiled. Sort of. “I think you were one of the Salem witches.”

She thought about that for a second. “Did you just insult me?”

He squeezed, his hand now warm around her fingers. “They’d have burned you at the stake for some of the things you say”—his gaze fell to her mouth—“and do.”

She felt a little zing and sputtered, “But they were hanged.” Weren’t they?

Witt snorted. The fasten-seatbelt sign dinged and winked out. He glanced at the college kid across the aisle, then leaned close to her, his seatbelt stretching across his jeans. “Don’t you have to use the restroom or something?”

“Not yet.”

“Do it anyway. Fancy having you crawl over me.” His eyes roamed her face, making her hot inside and out. “Right now. Take your time about it, too. Make it
reeeeal
slow.”

The crisis was over. At least that one was. The new one was that she wanted to do exactly what he asked. Despite having so recently relived the horror of the night Cameron died.

She nodded. “If it will make you forget about flying.”

“Oh, it will.” The evil twinkle in his eye belied his grave nod.

Tossing aside the blanket, she stood. He didn’t move an inch. She raised a leg, thrusting it up and over to the aisle, straddling him. A snap popped on her jean skirt. While she balanced herself on his shoulder, he held her steady at the hip, his thumb stroking.

As she raised her other leg, his fingers trailed along, eliciting goose bumps and a shiver. When she was safely in the aisle, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down, his lips to her ear.

Then he whispered a devastating order. “And take your panties off while you’re in there.”

* * * * *

Witt had politely moved his legs when she returned. He’d smiled, all sweet and harmless, as she’d brushed past his knees. He’d helped her snuggle once more beneath her blue blanket, and never once, not by action or question, tried to figure out whether she’d followed his instructions. She was itchy and twitchy by the time he covered his lap with another blanket, which was after the hostess had served their drinks, Coke for her and tomato juice for him, then picked up their trash. The lights had been dimmed for the movie, and most of the passengers had gone nighty-night.

Witt flipped up the armrest between them, settled his head back against his seat, and closed his eyes.

“
Psst
.”

He cracked one lid and lazily slid his head to the side to look at her. “What?”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“What does it look like, sweetheart?”

What had happened to his fear of flying? Was it really only going up and going down, and once in the air, he didn’t care? “Maybe you need me to hold your hand again so you’re not worried about whether the plane hits turbulence and falls out of the sky.”

“Is that supposed to help?”

“Wouldn’t holding my hand calm you?”

He smiled, laughed at her actually. “Close your eyes.” Which was what
he
did, preparing to ignore her.

She pursed her lips. They had a two-hour drive after arriving in Chicago. He’d admitted to a nice catnap that afternoon. But she hadn’t been able to sleep a wink last night or during the day.

What was the whole take-off-your-panties thing? He drove her crazy. Absolutely insane. She didn’t know what he was thinking most of the time, so she may as well get some sleep before she drove
herself
crazy thinking about why he’d said it.

She’d begun to fade, the soft rustles of the other passengers, the faint snores, coughs, and other miscellaneous sounds seeming to blend into one comforting drone. Mellow, relaxed ... a warm hand slid between her thighs. Max’s eyes flew open.

Blanket pulled to his shoulders, eyes closed, Witt’s head lolled in her direction. Anyone else would have thought him deep in dreamland, but he nudged her legs apart.

The man was a cop. He shouldn’t be doing stuff like that, not with a planeload of people around. His hand action had to be illegal, maybe immoral. Certainly risky. But Max didn’t stop the slow climb of his fingers along the inside of her thigh.

You’re not stopping him because you like it
.

Cameron. Why did he have to choose this moment to make himself known?
Go away
.

His chuckle seemed to fill the cabin, then whoosh out some unseen crack in the fuselage. Max slid down in her seat and parted her legs, letting Witt take what he wanted. She didn’t care if it was kinky. It felt good.
Witt
felt good. Rolling her head on her seat, she looked at him, and this time his eyes were open and blue-hot.

The blanket muffled the soft chink of a snap popping on her skirt, and his finger brushed her pubic hair.

“Getting much better at taking direction, aren’t you?” he murmured so softly she had to read his lips.

“I promised you I was going to change.” She’d promised him she’d try, which for her meant she wouldn’t fight him as much, wouldn’t take him for granted
all
the time, and occasionally she’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she wouldn’t even fight him about getting a room together. Now seemed a good time to put all her good intentions into practice. Especially when... “Ooh.”

His eyes blazed. He’d found the right spot, and she’d rewarded him, however unintentionally, with the sound he said he loved. He didn’t break eye contact, stroking around and over her clitoris, then down, inserting a finger for a brief second before coming back.

She sucked in a breath and pushed back into her seat, her left hand closing around the armrest nearest the window.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, but her lids were already doing that of their own accord, as if somehow attached by a string to the increasing delight between her legs. The better the sensations became, the harder it was to keep her eyes open.

His hand barely made a ripple beneath the blanket, but it sent delicious shockwaves to the deepest parts of her body. She bit her lip against the louder more vehement
ooh
that wanted to come out.

She put her hands beneath the blanket, tugging it high around her shoulders and creating a small tent over her lap. Slipping off a shoe, she pulled one leg up on the seat and tucked it beneath the other. Then she closed her eyes and gave herself up to him.

Arching her back drove her clitoris hard against his finger. He slid in her moisture, a tremor of warmth working its way inside her. She was unbelievably wet and hot with the whole kinky idea of letting him do this in public. The naughtiness. The fear of being caught if the stewardess suddenly ambled by.

Witt penetrated her with one finger, then another, delving deep. She almost flew out of the seat. Her body flexed around him. She sucked in a breath, stifled a moan, frantically wondering how she’d keep her mouth shut when she came. Rocking slightly, she set a rhythm, begging him to follow. She couldn’t help placing one hand over his and pushing down. The new pressure sent a rush of warmth, a flood of moisture.

Then he pulled back, found the button of her clitoris, and worked it with such expertise that Max squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip, and came in a kaleidoscope of colors. She held her breath until the last of her shudders slipped out through her fingers and toes, then she exhaled slowly, and collapsed against the seat.

Oh. My. God. He did incredible things to her. Anywhere, any time, any place. With a deep breath, she looked at him.

Under her scrutiny, Witt put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. His lids at half-mast, he sighed. It was the sexiest sound ever to trip along her nerve endings. Then he leaned into her, took her mouth, and shared a taste of what he’d done, before muttering “Thank you, sweetheart,” against her lips.

It took her long moments to find her voice. “Why’d you do that?” She really had to know, if it was a power play, a fear-of-flying tension-easer, or a communion.

“Because I love you.”

Je-sus. He robbed her of words. When she finally opened her mouth to speak, he stopped her with his finger.

“Wait until you’re really ready, Max. Until you’re sure you won’t take it back the next minute or the next day.” He’d said much the same thing to her before.

She was almost sure right now. But it was the
almost
that shut her mouth. When she finally said the words,
almost
couldn’t enter into them. She owed that to Witt.

Drained, sated, and curiously blissful, her small hand engulfed in Witt’s big, warm one, Max fell asleep halfway to Chicago. She fell hard, sinking into a dream of Scarface, Tattoo, and Bootman.