BELL

Peace. I rested my head on his thigh and looked up at him. In the dark interior of the plane, he was all shadows and outlines, rugged sexuality hidden just enough to drive me crazy.

He looked down at me and smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

He ran his hand through my hair, carefully untangling the strands and I closed my eyes at the sensation, stretching my legs out across the bench seat until my toes hit the cool exterior wall. The plane rocked a little, and I felt my stomach pitch in response. I put a hand on my belly. I should have skipped the pork rinds on the drive over.

“Where are we going?”

“Good question.” He shifted a little underneath me, and I almost mewled in pleasure when the tips of his fingers gently ran across my scalp. “I don’t know where to go. I haven’t been back home since—since Gwen died.” His fingers stopped their journey, and I looked up at him.

“I can’t go back in that penthouse. She’s everywhere in it. And I can’t even stand to be in the building. With what almost happened to you...” He shook his head. “It’s tainted.”

“But you have other homes, right? Somewhere else you can stay?”

He nodded, his eyes on me. “Yeah. We own—”

He stopped and swore, pulling his gaze away from me and looking out the window, the night sky illuminating the unshaved line of his jaw. I’d never seen him with facial hair before, and I reached up, running my fingers along the soft scruff of it. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed, control shuttering back over his features.

“I,” he amended quietly. “There’s a dozen other properties I own, hotels and casinos. Finding a suite isn’t a problem. But I’d rather find something without a history. Someplace we can stay that’s secure, at least to ride out the next few weeks.”

I pushed myself off of his lap and into an upright position.

“You want to move in together?”

He had the audacity to look hurt. “You don’t?”

“I—”

I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t want to be apart from him but wanted my independence. Moving in with him seemed like a giant step forward in a relationship that was barely past infancy. I pointed this out, and he frowned.

“I think we passed infancy back in San Diego. And with everything that has happened since...” He reached out and pulled me closer, lifting me onto his lap.

My head brushed against the top of the ceiling and I ducked a little, laughing despite myself. “This plane isn’t exactly designed for canoodling.”

He pulled on my neck, brought my mouth to his, and I forgot my next words. My mouth opened—hungry—and he met my tongue with his. God, he knew how to kiss. He dominated me while still teasing, his hand digging into my hair, holding my head in place as he gently sucked on my lip, bruised over my tender skin and soothed it all with one talented swipe of his tongue. I relaxed into his hold, trusting him, needing him, each kiss another stitch holding me together.

I needed more. More touching, more contact, more of him. I broke away from his kiss and glanced over my shoulder. Behind us, a row of seats faced backward, the back of the pilot’s head was visible just past the headrests. I returned my attention to him, reaching down and pulling at the soft waistband of his workout pants.

He read my mind and shook his head at me, his eyes growing darker. I slid my hand under the fabric, along the hot surface of his skin, and smiled when my fingers made contact with his cock. He hissed when I gripped him, already hard, already needy—a status that only fueled my intent. I worked my fist along his shaft and watched the drug of arousal steal over his features. Yes.

“Bell...” He whispered my name, and it was both a plea and a protest. I ignored the protest and slid my grip to the base of his shaft, admiring the length and girth of it. God, he was beautiful. His thick shaft, a smooth, perfect head, and the ability to swell and stiffen at just the touch of my fingers.

“I need this,” I whispered.

It was stupid of me to wear jeans. I should have been like him, in loose pants that could quickly be pulled away. Instead, I had on skinny jeans that would take a surgical team to peel off.

“I’ve missed this.” I leaned forward, and he lifted his chin to meet me, this kiss slower, his mouth distracted with the increased action of my hand. I broke away and glanced back at the pilot.

“Ignore him. Kiss me again.”

I didn’t argue. I leaned forward and met his lips, feeling the catch of his breath when I rolled my thumb over his head.

The plane continued, the pilot ignored us, and the cabin heated up as I worked my hand faster, and his grip on me tightened.

“I see what you did there.” Dario squeezed my knee.

I turned toward him and repositioned the pillow, stifling a yawn. “What did I do?”

Behind him, sun pierced through the window. I tilted my head to the side so his profile blocked the glare.

“You tried to distract me with sex.”

“That wasn’t sex. It was a hand job. One-sided pleasure.” I stuck out my tongue at him, and he smiled.

“I’ll rectify that situation the moment I get you out of those jeans.”

The yawn came back, and I lost the battle, reaching up my hand to cover the gesture. “That extraction process will probably have to wait. I’m exhausted.”

He ran his hand along my legs, squeezing the muscles as he went. “Why don’t you want to move in with me?”

“It’s not that I don’t—” I stopped myself. “I do.” I shifted lower in the seat. “I’ve just never done that with anyone I’ve dated before.”

“I’m not certain you’ve ever had a real relationship before.”

A valid point, but not one I was ready to admit. “It’s still a big step for me. I just need to marinate on it for a day or so.”

He nodded, and I could see how exhausted he was. My feelings of guilt, my depression, and struggle over the last few days… his had to be so much worse. And yet, he hadn’t had time to recover. He’d been in jail and confronting Hawk, working with police, and flying cross-country to see me.

I pressed a kiss gently against his forehead and he closed his eyes. “Okay,” I whispered.

His eyes opened. “Okay, what?”

“I marinated.” I smiled. “I’m ready.”

When we stepped off the plane, they were waiting. A string of FBI windbreakers, moving forward as if I was wanted for treason. I hesitated at the top of the plane’s steps, and Dario nudged me.

“It’s okay. I promise.”

I took the steps carefully and was met at the bottom by a man with a bushy mustache.

“Bell Hartley?” He eyed me carefully, examining my outfit as if it might hold evidence. While I had been wearing these jeans the night Gwen was killed, any evidence from them was probably in Laurent’s lint filter right now.

“Yes?”

“We have some questions for you.” he gestured behind him, to a dark navy eighteen-passenger. “If you could please come with us.”

“She’ll meet you at the field office,” Dario interrupted. “Or the station, wherever you prefer. With her attorney.”

The man’s gaze moved to mine, a question mark in them. I nodded.

“For your own safety, Ms. Hartley. We’d prefer you to ride with us—”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’d rather not.” I leaned against Dario, and his hand tightened on my waist.

The man studied both of us, then nodded.

My second experience in a police station went more smoothly than the first. It still took three hours, I still told the same stories four different times, and still had to be photographed and fingerprinted. But no one scoffed at me, and this time I had an attorney. She was an asshole, but she was my asshole, and half-way through the questioning, I relaxed, secure in the knowledge that she had everything under control. When I finally walked out, I leaned on Dario for physical and emotional support.

“How’d you do?” He wrapped his arms around me.

“She did great.” The attorney spoke, and Dario looked to me for confirmation.

I nodded. “It wasn’t bad. They weren’t happy that I skipped town, and I’ve been told not to do that again without telling them.”

“Fuck them,” Dario responded, leaning forward and giving me a kiss. “Let’s get you home. You look exhausted.”

Just the suggestion of sleep caused me to yawn. He chuckled, then reached out and shook the attorney’s hand. ‘Thanks.”

She nodded. “I’ll be in touch if anything changes.”

“Make sure it doesn’t.” He opened my car door and I sank into the seat.

“So... you’re staying here.” Meredith peered up at Dario as if he was an unknown specimen, one she planned to slice off a piece of and stick it under her microscope. I interrupted her inspection with a hug, the third one I’d given her since walking into the house.

“Yep.” Dario drawled out the word, looking too big in the living room. I gave Meredith a look of warning and headed for the bedroom.

“What?” She widened her eyes in innocence. “It’s just a little odd. Like that dork from Papa John’s sticking a Djorno in the oven.” She followed us down the hall without shame. “I mean, don’t you own, like, five hotels?”

“Something like that,” Dario responded.

“Exactly. And isn’t each hotel full of... I don’t know....” She looked up at the ceiling as if searching for a constellation. “Rooms? Beds? Places to put that ginormous head of yours?”

“Yo, yo, yoooooo.” Jackie wandered down the hall in SpongeBob SquarePants pajama bottoms and stopped short when she saw Dario. “Oh. Hel-lo.”

Dario cocked his head at me. “I’m rethinking the hotel.”

“You should.” Jackie turned to Meredith with a frown. “Do you have any Azo? I’ve got a bitch of a UTI that’s burning a hole through my catheter.”

“Check the cabinet by the microwave,” Meredith said.

“So... we’re just going to go to bed.” I pushed open my door and ushered Dario inside before he knew all four of our menstrual cycles.

“I missed you, B.” Jackie sidled inside before I got the door closed and wrapped her UTI-infested arms around me. I grudgingly accepted the hug, then motioned her toward the door. She winked at Dario and strolled toward the door with the speed of a drunk caterpillar.

“And… you’re staying here.” Meredith repeated the statement for the fifth or sixth time since he stepped in the front door.

I intervened. “YES. He owns lots of hotel rooms. He’s staying here in this loony, infection riddled, house. He’s Papa John with an annoying cast of roommates. Now GO AWAY.”

I pushed her as gently as I could manage and swung the door shut, the action blocked by her foot. I pushed the door harder, and her eyes narrowed. Her toes must be pure steel. Funny that I never noticed that before, at all our movie nights and pedicure parties.

“Be careful, B.” She said the words so softly I almost missed them.

I met her eyes and fought the urge to give her another hug. Be careful? I didn’t even know how to go about doing that. “This week, you and me. Lunch?”

She smiled. “Sushi at Transit?”

I nudged her foot with the door, and she reluctantly moved it. “It’s a date.”

“Oh, Bell?”

Something in her voice caused me to stop. I raised my eyebrows, and she grinned at me.

“You might wanna check the fridge before you head to bed.”

I watched her go, then turned to see Dario, in the middle of my room, one of my pillows in hand. My stomach growled, a reminder that I hadn’t eaten since before our flight.

He caught my expression. “What?”

“Don’t get comfortable yet.” I reached for his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. If my instincts were right, he wouldn’t want to miss this.