Into My Arms - Lia Riley Page 0,8
a rugged stretch of coast famous for its foggy weather, tight valleys, and jagged thrusts of cliffs that drop sheer to the ocean. A playground of beat poets back in the fifties.
I haven’t panicked this entire flight. The strange realization hits me like a lightning bolt. Strange, my breathing rate isn’t even fast. It’s as if the cold, strong presence across from me emanates a strength that I can latch on to. Which means that I’m going a little nutso, because while there is indeed a cold, strong presence nearby, it’s more a blast of North wind, frostier than a Minnesota winter dawn.
“Excuse me?” I say, and nothing. I lean forward and raise my voice. “Excuse me, Z?”
His chin drops in the merest suggestion of a nod. “I’m right here.”
“I know.”
“Then get to your point.” His voice is raspy, dark and quiet. “It is not as if you need to strive for my attention in this proximity.”
Is he actually for real? My throat grows dry, tight. Is this what propels him to earn so much? Because the only way no one has murdered him yet is that he’s worth more than half the countries in the world.
“I was trying to be polite.”
His lids lower faintly. “Polite would be not wasting my time. The expression ‘excuse me’ is nothing but a conversational filler.”
I can’t hold back an incredulous laugh. “You prefer I just start talking?”
His perfectly full lips pull back at the challenge, quickening my pulse. “That is our relationship at work, is it not?”
“Um…I e-mail or message you.”
“I prefer that our verbal communication mirror our written correspondence.”
He hasn’t touched me and yet it’s as if his penetrating stare brushes my skin, probing, assessing, searching. I resist the impulse to shiver as the helicopter descends.
“Where are we?”
“The Lookout.” He stares out the window and that’s it—whatever strange dance we just did came to an abrupt, sudden end.
The Milky Way is clear due to the lack of light pollution. From the sea comes a single bright pinpoint. Probably a fishing boat miles out. I fixate on the glow as if it’s an anchor.
“If you want me to cease cluttering your airwaves with useless questions, maybe you could explain more about the plan,” I say as calmly as possible. I’ve had it to here with people hiding their secret motivations from me. “I’m not taking a single step outside until you explain exactly what’s going on.”
“The Lookout is one of my residences.”
I absorb the small nugget of information. So this must be his Big Sur property. “Why the midnight ride? Are you holding some sort of impromptu work retreat?”
“No.”
I start tapping my heel against the helicopter floor. “Prepping to unveil a new product?”
His jaw flexes. “No.”
“Look.” I fold my arms and exhale. “The twenty questions routine is—”
“Come inside my home and I’ll explain everything, Bethanny.” He half turns but refuses to look at my face. “I won’t lie to you. That is my one promise for the weekend.”
All hail the King of Crypticland. “I…you don’t…I’m confused.” And a little pissed. But also curious.
The helicopter drops to a pad on the edge of a cliff. Katya kills the engine and I don’t move because Z isn’t budging from his seat. The bodyguard comes around and opens the door and a lonely ocean breeze slides against my bare legs in a cool caress. The scent of salt, of kelp and pine beckon, hinting that this is a wild place, away from the trappings of civilization. I take a deep, cleansing breath. The ceaseless brutal roar of waves striking rock fills the silence, but otherwise the world is hushed, expectant. Waiting. For what, Z? Is he really the master of the universe?
A distant foghorn shatters the illusion that we’re alone on the edge of the world. At last, he unbuckles his seat belt and climbs out, jumping to the lawn with an easy bound. Am I going to be left to lumber after, struggling with the dang fish? No. Instead he pauses, waits as I unclasp my own belt and unsteadily navigate to the door. It’s a big step down and I’m in a tight skirt and heels. He must be waiting to help me? I feel a flash of unwelcome anticipation. The bag slips and Koroleva slams her tail against the plastic. I tighten my grasp and extend one hand. Does he notice my slight tremble?
We’re going to touch.
“Katya,” he barks. “Come. Assist Miss Jacobs.”
My cheeks are flushed as Katya steps forward, his big, robust