For the first time in my life, I’ve done something selfish just because I wanted to and, God, it felt good.
?
Even his reply makes me smile, because it’s so business-like and to the point. I can imagine the quirk of his brow that would have accompanied it, the look of quizzical enquiry marring his symmetrical face.
Let’s just say my disappearance elicited some concern.
Ah. Should I expect to be charged with kidnapping after all?
Definitely. But don’t worry, I’ll come see you in prison.
I should hope so.
My heart turns over in my chest. I stare at the phone, my finger hovering over the screen as I draft and redraft another message in my mind until letters are swarming incoherently through my brain. I left the yacht three hours ago and already I’m wondering when I’m going to see him again. It’s just because I know I only have two more nights in Spain—and I don’t want to waste a minute of them.
Are you free tonight?
His message makes my heart leap through my chest and ricochet wildly around.
What have you got in mind?
A surprise. Meet me on the roof at eight.
The roof?
I’ll send a key to your room.
I was joking about the whole Lois Lane jumping off a building thing.
And I’m definitely no Superman.
At least, you wear your jocks inside your trousers.
Most of the time.
I laugh, placing my phone on the table. Half an hour later, one of my security guards knocks on the door, warily handing me an envelope. I rip it open, breaths coming hard and fast, and read it in front of him. It’s clear and concise instructions, written in Santiago’s dark, confident writing, directing me to a private lift and a roof-top helipad, as well as a key card to activate the lift.
‘I’ll be going out tonight,’ I say without looking at the guard, my pulse a tsunami. ‘Don’t wait up.’
* * *
The lights of Barcelona twinkle way below us. I stare down at the vista with true pleasure and a light heart. Wherever we’re going, I don’t care. In this moment, I am carefree and happy.
‘I feel like all the world’s a tiny little snow globe.’
‘And you are what? An eagle?’ His accented voice crackles over the helicopter earpieces. Any answer dies on my lips when I turn to see the expert ease with which he controls the instruments. My mouth goes dry. His sleeves are pushed up to reveal his tanned forearms, the snake tattoo drawing my gaze. There is something incredibly hot about the way he commands this expensive, powerful piece of equipment.
‘Where did you learn to fly?’ I ask instead.
‘Around the time I bought my first jet.’
My eyes are round like saucers. ‘You have more than one aircraft?’
‘I have one jet now, but over the years I’ve owned several.’
My lips form a silent ‘O’ of surprise or admiration.
‘It seemed to make sense to me to learn how to fly, seeing as I would be trusting my life to pilots on so many occasions.’