by Calista Fox
She enjoyed her wine and pretzels. The first-class cabin filled up and, in her peripheral vision while she still viewed her phone, she noted her row-mate had arrived. His back was to her as he stowed his rollaboard in an overhead bin across the aisle. He shed his suit jacket and the flight attendant offered to hang it for him, batting her eyelash extensions, so he must be something to look at.
Might make for an interesting trip to the States.
From what she could tell, without turning her head to get the full visual, he wore black dress pants that fit his ass quite well. His waist tapered and then V’d to a wide back and broad shoulders. He folded the sleeves of his sky-blue shirt along his forearms as the attendant returned and inquired of his choice of beverage.
“Scotch, neat. Thanks,” he told her in a congenial tone that was deep and rich and likely sounded like pure sin in the privacy of a bedroom.
Nikki suppressed a moan—that actually turned into an inward groan.
It was not like her to have sex on the mind. But lately…
She ignored the tickle along her clit and the tingling of her skin as her row-mate settled into his seat…and she caught the hint of an expensive, exotic cologne mixed with enticing male heat.
She crossed her legs to combat the more insistent throbbing she now felt deep in her core.
What the fuck?
She wouldn’t deny she needed to get laid. But scratching an itch for the sake of scratching an itch wasn’t her thing.
And Nikki still wasn’t prepared to move on from Conner.
Thus, she kept her gaze on a lengthy email thread she was trying to get through—if only her mind weren’t wandering in all the wrong directions!
She reached for her glass again and sipped. Tried really hard not to deeply inhale the inviting, titillating scent wafting her way, which seemed to serve as some sort of chick-magnet because the attendant continued to interrupt the flow of coach-cabin passengers now boarding in order to check on the gentleman next to Nikki.
“Would you like a little more scotch, Mr. Castillo?”
“Thank you, but no. I’m fine.”
“Just let me know if there’s anything you need.”
Nikki resisted a snicker. And the urge to steal a full-on glance at the stranger beside her.
As the flow resumed, he leaned ever-so-slightly her way and murmured, “Must be fascinating reading.”
“It’s work,” she said, undeterred.
“I should probably dive into mine as well.” His accent was more Portuguese than Spanish, a lush sound that was warm and textured. Scintillating. “Though I also brought a book with me. One you might enjoy… A Tale of Two Cities…”
Her gaze snapped up from her phone and landed on the back of the seat of the row before her. Her heart nearly stopped.
Slowly, Nikki turned her head.
Stared into the deepest, most mesmeric cerulean eyes she’d ever seen and whispered, “Nico.”
Excerpt from Dare Me, Book 2 in the Take Me Series
“Actually, it’s Damen. If you don’t mind…”
His hair was different—more neatly trimmed, but the longish bangs remained, curving around his temples. Beckoning her to sweep them back with her fingertips. As she’d secretly done a few times in the hospital.
He still had the bandage on his forehead and a bruise on his squared jaw.
He’d been Nico Valdiviesio a week ago.
Now, he was Damen Castillo?
And he was sitting right next to her.
Nikki’s pulse jumped.
Fuck. Me.
Who was this hotter-than-hell guy, really?
Jude’s voice instantly resonated in her mind: When someone vanishes the way Nico did and then people who surrounded him vanish, too… It can get very dangerous for anyone asking too many questions. Do you understand?
Yeah, she did.
And ominously wondered if she’d already crossed that line…
“How the hell are you sitting next to me on an airplane?” Nikki slowly, cautiously asked.
Damen tore his penetrating gaze from her and took a long drink from his glass, draining it.
“You do know who I am, right?” she quietly demanded.
He held the tumbler in his hand, twisting his wrist as he examined the spectrum of light the cut-crystal created as sunrays filtered in from the window, hitting the glass at various angles.
Nikki’s hand shot out and she jerked the shade down, cutting off the spectacle that momentarily held him spellbound.
His gaze returned to her. He grinned.
“You have a lot of questions. I’m prepared to answer…some of them. Once we’re in the air.”
“Oh, no,” she said as she leaned forward and snatched her laptop bag from under the seat in front of her. “I’m not flying back to the States with you. Whatever the fuck you’re involved with, I don’t want to be misconstrued as an accomplice. In fact…I don’t want to know a damn thing about you.”
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Her inquisitive mind was going bat-shit crazy at the moment, as she experienced a tug-o-war of emotions. Part of her needed to know what the hell was going on—and what sort of danger she’d unwittingly found herself in. The other part of her wanted to drown in his deep-blue irises.
Seriously?
That was what she was thinking about at a time like this?
What is wrong with you?
Had he paid the flight attendant to slip something into her drink?
She shook the thought from her mind. Forced herself to get a grip.
From beside her, Damen Castillo very casually said, “You can’t get off the plane.”
“Watch me.”
He smirked, knowingly. The plane began to move. They were pushing back from the gate.
Son of a bitch!
The first class flight attendant appeared at Damen’s elbow to collect their glasses. She spied Nikki with her bag in her hand and said, “I’m so sorry. You’re going to have to replace your carry-on under the seat. And shut down your phone, of course. We’re taxying, and international travel rules state—”
Blah, blah, blah.
Oh, for the everlasting love of God!
The flight attendant moved on.
Nikki wanted to scream.
Perhaps she should scream.
What if this guy was a terrorist?
Oh. Shit!
Her eyes bulged.
Damen held up his hands, in surrender, as though he knew the direction in which her thoughts had just rampantly run.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“Anyone can say that,” she fiercely countered. And instantly shifted into trauma mode. She was trained to operate in stressful situations—and this one was ratcheting her pulse with every second that passed.
“The flight attendant knows who I am,” he told Nikki. “I had to be cleared, because I have a weapon. As do the two FBI agents onboard. One is sitting in the row behind us. The other is a couple rows ahead.”
“You’re FBI?” she demanded under her breath.
“No. But I am with the U.S. government. Special ops.”
Nikki’s head slowly shook. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t tell that to a complete stranger.”
“You’re not a complete stranger, Nikita Isabelle Balentine-Kane.”
She gaped. For all of two seconds. Then said, “This can’t be happening.”
“It wouldn’t be happening,” he told her with conviction in his hypnotic blue eyes and his deep, intimate tone, “if you hadn’t wandered into my hospital room. If I hadn’t heard your sultry voice as I was coming out of the coma. If you hadn’t asked every soul under that roof if they knew where I’d disappeared to—and gotten your friends involved.”
“Oh, my God.” She knew she’d instantly paled. “Kate and Jude!”
“Are perfectly fine, perfectly safe. There’s currently no danger to them, Ms. Kane. Or to you… As long as you stay calm. Answer some que
stions—”
“Answer some questions?” she belted back. A bit loudly so a few heads snapped in their direction.
Neither she nor Damen spoke for several minutes and the curious gazes drifted away.
Damen told her, “My involvement with the explosions in Mexico City was to determine who was plotting to blow up that block—and why.”
Her gaze narrowed on him. Nikki had never vacillated between the fight or flight instinct—it’d always been to fight. How ironic the latter was going to be her destiny this time, because the plane was speeding down the runway, the wheels were lifting off the ground… And before she could form a plan in her head, they were airborne.
“Asshole,” she muttered.
“No, Ms. Kane. I’m not.” He eased back in his seat while saying, “I’m going to reach into my pocket and show you my ID.”
“Which I’m just supposed to accept as being real?” She scoffed.
“I admire your skepticism,” he told her. “Misguided, though it is.” He did as he’d indicated and pulled out his wallet, very quickly and discreetly flashing his credentials.
Her eyes returned to his and she studied him for a long moment before saying, “I don’t know what QTango Ops means. Pretty sure no one else does, either.”
“Note the Defense Intelligence Agency insignia, Ms. Kane. That’s what’s most important here.”
Her teeth ground over his amused tone. And the fact that she detected a hint of a French accent around the fringes. As well as an Irish one.
What the hell?
At that very moment, Nikki would have summoned the flight attendant to confirm the other woman truly did know about Damen and the supposed agents, or to warn her there might be a terrorist on the plane—but the attendant was strapped into her jump-seat behind the wall separating the galley from the cabin as the plane soared toward the desired altitude.
Damen said, “I have to return to the States for a debrief, and I knew you’d booked this flight. That’s how we’re on the same plane.”
She glared a bit harder. “You’re tracking my Internet activity?”
“You almost booked a trip to the Maldives. Any particular reason why?”
“You clearly don’t know as much about me as you think you do. I have training in—”
The ding that echoed in the cabin to confirm they’d leveled out caused Damen to interject, “You can use your phone now. Connect to the inflight Wi-Fi and go to CNN. Breaking news.”
“You are so infuriat—”
“Just do it, Ms. Kane,” he implored.
She seethed. As soon as the attendant stepped from behind that wall, Nikki would signal her.
In the meantime… Intrigue got the best of her and she did as instructed.
A statement from U.S. and Mexican officials was being read at the U.S. embassy…in Mexico City. A spokesperson announced a primary suspect had been located and apprehended, and that he’d acted alone to sabotage the gas lines and create the explosions—in an attempt to validate his skills and devotion to a growing, global terrorist cell.
“The statement was prepared yesterday,” Damen told her. “That it’s being delivered right now isn’t a coincidence. The governments were waiting for us to leave the country before they jointly divulged the information. Safer that way for me and my colleagues.”
Nikki captured the link and sent it to Jude, texting: Is this real-time?
A second later, she got her answer: Yes.
Damen wore a smug expression now. He was too devilishly handsome for words. Too devilishly handsome for her own good.
Still… A foreboding feeling remained.
Causing Nikki to whisper, “What if you’re the terrorist?”
About Calista Fox
Calista Fox is a multi-published and award-winning author, writing for St. Martin’s Press, Hachette Publishing and Radish Fiction. Her most recent series, THE BILLIONAIRES, is a Romantic Times magazine TOP PICK series. Book 2, THE BILLIONAIRES: THE BOSSES, is a Romantic Times magazine nominee for Best Book of the Year. The concluding title, THE BILLIONAIRES: THE STEPBROTHERS, is a Romantic Times magazine Seal of Excellence nominee. She is professionally represented by Sarah E. Younger of the Nancy Yost Literary Agency.
Calista is a Past President/Advisor of the Desert Rose Chapter of Romance Writers of America® and a four-time member of the local chapter’s Board of Directors. She teaches workshops and online courses on novella writing, creating flawed characters and generating believable and sustainable sexual tension.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/calistafox
Twitter: www.twitter.com/calistafoxbooks
Amazon Page: https://www.amazon.com/Calista-Fox/e/B002BO84XS
