“Where are we going?” I asked as I watched the countryside flash past the windows.
The nature of my new situation was beginning to dawn on me. I was about to be taken away from everything familiar to me and dropped into a foreign world, on foreign land, with a foreign man. Unease swirled inside me, originating from a number of different directions. I’d just escaped a gunfight in my own home, I had no clue where I was going, nor who I was even with.
Oh, and let’s not forget that I was now married.
In a matter of hours, my life had become one giant mad lib. There was a vague description of what was to happen next—I was going to New York with my new husband, where I would wait for an unknown number of weeks, or months, for my father to give the all-clear so I could return home. But that left a lot of blanks to be filled in. What was I supposed to do once we got to Brooklyn? Sit in his house and twiddle my thumbs? What would Nico be like behind closed doors on a daily basis?
“I have a private plane waiting,” he replied, furiously typing out something on his phone.
“To take us to New York?”
He shook his head, gaze still focused on his device. “I have business in Istria for the next two days. We’ll leave for the U.S. from there.”
“Istria?” I blurted out. “As in, Croatia?”
I was unable to contain my smile. Which was beyond ridiculous, considering we’d just fled a hail of gunfire, and my husband had beat the shit out of some bloke. And Nico seemed pretty calm for someone who was just in a highly-charged situation. He was already talking about his next business meeting, for crying out loud.
His head jerked up at my exclamation. “Is that a problem, legs?”
I didn’t even care that he’d reverted back to calling me by his smarmy little nickname. “I love Istria.”
I’d taken a trip there once with some of my university friends years ago and gone ga-ga over the aqua blue waters of the Adriatic, the rugged coastline, the colorfully-painted buildings. Oh, and the food. The whole region was simply utonchennyy. Exquisite.
Nico’s gaze dipped to my mouth, his lids noticeably drooping.
When I realized I was still smiling like a goof, I quickly wiped the enthusiasm off my face.
He blinked several times before averting his eyes, as if coming out of a spell. “Good. You wouldn’t have had a choice either way, but at least you won’t be pouting the entire time.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because I’m sure you’re an absolute joy to be around.”
“I’ll grow on you, legs. Don’t be surprised when it happens.”
“Yeah, you’ll grow on me like a tumor, maybe.”
“We’ve really got to do something about that smart mouth of yours.”
“Funny. I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
He chuckled darkly as that gaze slid over me in a frustratingly sensual move. “Believe me. You’ll want my mouth to be in full working order.”
I rolled my lips inward, fighting for patience. “Thanks, but I’m good. I don’t want anything from your mouth.”
“You sure about that?” he rasped, provocatively dragging his tongue across his lower lip. “Because want and need are two different things. And the latter often tends to overpower the former.”
“If I need anything, I assure you I have an entire arsenal to take care of that problem.”
His pupils dilated. “Oh, I hope you managed to fit it all in one of those suitcases, legs.”
“Why? You’ll never see it.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw his knuckles turn white as he tightened his grip on his phone. “For your own sake, you might want to reconsider that at some point. Because I guarantee I know how to use those toys on your body better than you do.”
My traitorous nipples reacted to his words without my permission, puckering beneath my thin sweater. Heat pooled in my belly, and my thighs clenched together. I still didn’t believe he was as skilled as he professed, but he was just so…convincing. So confident that it made me wonder.
Could he actually be that good?
Nah.
Maybe in his mind, but not in reality. He just probably never saw the woman’s disappointment because he’d already hit it, quit it, and lit out the door before waiting for the so, how was it for you? post-coital breakdown.