Sitting on tarmac, waiting for takeoff. Will message again upon arrival.
He’d started to put his phone away when it buzzed again.
Spencer pulled it back out and snorted at the new text, this one from Scotty.
Private flights are for pussies.
On the heels of that message came another, this time from Gage.
You owe me fifty bucks.
Spencer sighed and shut off the device before jamming it back into the pocket of his jeans. He and the guys had played poker well into the night the evening before, and he’d unwisely bet Gage he couldn’t sneak a C-4 pack and his handgun past the TSA checkpoint. Spencer should’ve known better, especially considering Gage had helped design the new safety protocols the TSA agents were now following and therefore knew every potential flaw in them, but he’d had one too many beers and his mind had been far too preoccupied with a certain brunette who was strictly off-limits.
Besides, needling Gage was fun these days, with one of the romance novel covers his girlfriend, Anna—a photographer and cover designer for Coran Williams Publishing—had shot of him finally hitting the virtual shelves this week. Spencer couldn’t remember ever laughing as hard as he did when he saw an oiled-up, plastic-sword-wielding Gage decked out as a Viking marauder.
He chuckled just thinking about it.
“What are you laughing at over there?” Toni asked, drawing his attention to her once more, not that it had ever gone far.
“Nothing.” Spencer settled back on the bench seat for the nearly fourteen-hour flight ahead. “Funny text from a friend.”
“Hmm.” She closed her laptop and pulled a blanket around herself. “Well, you better get some sleep. Things will be hectic once we arrive.”
“Yes, Mother.”
She hurled a pencil at his head, and he ducked to avoid it. “Hey now. I’m pretty sure the tossing of sharp objects within the fuselage is a violation of safety laws,” he teased.
Toni stuck her tongue out at him, then pummeled her small airplane pillow with more force than necessary. Given this was his first trip on a private plane, he’d half expected everything in here to be plated in gold. Instead it was brown leather and all-purpose dark carpet.
He wondered if she went for simple on purpose to contrast with her father. Coran Williams wasn’t known as a style maven, but the man did love to flaunt his wealth, at least from what Spencer had seen in the tabloids. Homes around the world, an art collection to rival most museums, fancy sports cars galore.
Spencer closed his eyes, hoping to get enough rest to avoid jet lag, only to open them again moments later as Toni cursed and changed positions. He watched her fuss and cuss for several seconds, then quirked a sardonic brow in her direction. “Problem?”
“No. Yes.” She punched the pillow again and scowled. “I can’t get comfortable.”
“And you think beating up the pillow will help?”
She flipped him off in response.
Every time Spencer thought he might be about to drift off, a muttered oath or a violent pillow punch from Toni would jolt him back to wakefulness. Finally, he unclicked his belt and waggled his fingers at her. “C’mon.”
“What?” Toni snapped, decidedly cranky.
He patted his shoulder and grinned. He knew he was pushing boundaries, but he couldn’t resist. It was his job to look after her, wasn’t it? Besides which, neither one of them was going to enjoy this flight if she couldn’t get comfortable. “Let’s snuggle.”
“I amnotsnuggling with you.” She tucked her body into a tight ball. “You’re my employee.”
“Exactly. Meaning you’re paying me to be useful. And right now, I can be most useful as your pillow.”
“I’m paying you to be my bodyguard.”
“Which I’ll do a better job at if I get adequate sleep. And I can’t do that with you swearing like a sailor every two seconds and causing a ruckus.”
“I was not causing a ruckus.” She sounded outraged. Still, as he looked at her dark eyes and flushed cheeks, Spencer couldn’t remember ever seeing a prettier sight. “And I can’t help it if I’m so preoccupied that it’s making me antsy.”
“Preoccupied? By what?”
“Everything.” She curled her stockinged toes, and he had the ridiculous urge to pull off her fuzzy pink socks and massage her feet until she moaned with pleasure. “Flying isn’t exactly my forte, okay?”