glass with one of my favorite brands of whiskey. Then I picked up the only bottle of vodka on this entire plane and poured it in a second glass. I walked back over and wordlessly offered it to Lexi.
It took her by surprise, I could tell. She jolted in her seat, brows slamming together, as she examined the glass. Her movements were cautious, almost wary, when she accepted it. “Thank you.”
I grunted in response as I reclaimed the seat across from her.
“I need to call my father,” she said, frowning down at her lap. “I need to know that he’s okay.”
“I’ll make contact with him once we’re out of Russia.”
He’d left me an emergency number, stating explicitly to only use it if Lexi’s life was in immediate danger. Otherwise, he was going to remain off the grid and radio silent until he’d handled all of his business.
But he hadn’t exactly planned for an invasion of his own home, now had he? I needed to at least make sure he was alive and that our deal was still on.
Her eyes flew up to mine. “Why not until we’re out of Russia?”
“You don’t find it an odd coincidence that your father’s compound was invaded the same day we got married? The same day I make a deal with him to buy his shares of the company?” I shook my head. “I don’t like the way any of that played out. So, I won’t be making any calls into Russia until I’m sure that neither of us was the target.”
She pinched her lips shut. “But what if they captured my father? What if he’s hurt?”
I rolled my neck on my shoulders. That damn knot in the center of my nape never seemed to go away. “I’m fairly certain he hadn’t returned from his business meeting, but I’ll verify his well-being as soon as I deem the line secure enough.”
She nodded without responding, looking dazed.
Over the rim of my glass, I watched her take her first sip of the vodka. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, as if impressed. She glanced back at the sidebar to get a glimpse of the bottle.
“I’ve never heard of this label,” she said, shifting around to face me again. “Who makes it?”
“One of the distilleries I own.” The only distillery of mine that produced craft vodka. “That’s the first batch we’ve made so far.”
She took another sip, a much slower one. My gaze lasered in on her throat as she savored the alcohol. She didn’t automatically take it down, like a shot. She held it on her tongue, swishing it around for moment, before finally swallowing it.
And then she grinned. In pleasure.
That might have been the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen.
A sinfully beautiful woman like her appreciating quality liquor the way it’s supposed to be appreciated. That was some seriously sexy shit. Even if vodka wasn’t really my style.
“It’s good,” she praised. “Really good, actually.”
I did not need to like the sound of her approval. Didn’t need my cock to stir at the fact that my label of her home country’s bread and butter pleased her. Didn’t need that at all.
I propped my elbow on the armrest, lifting my half empty glass to mouth level. “I don’t make bad alcohol, legs. If you’ve learned anything about me so far, it should be that I’ve got incomparable taste.”
I intentionally let my gaze travel over her figure, lingering on those ridiculously long legs that always seemed to squeeze together under my scrutiny.
What was that reaction? Was she affected by me?
You don’t care. It’s better if she hates you.
Sinking further down in her seat, she mimicked my position and propped her elbow on the armrest. “Sorry, I should have been more specific. For American vodka, it isn’t bad.”
She seemed more relaxed than before. The lines of her face had smoothed out. No more finger twitching. No rigid spine. Her focus had transferred from whatever stresses currently plagued her mind, to me.
A perverse sense of pride slithered through me.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what you meant,” I murmured wryly.
We both took sips at the same time, our gazes clashing over our glasses. Being alone in such close quarters for the first time, it was clear we were taking each other’s measure.
“How many distilleries do you own?”
I found it a little surreal that this was our first real conversation since we’d met. After the wedding, after the shooting. Up until this point, it had been backhanded insults and thinly-veiled innuendo.