Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I stared at the empty one beside him.
Eight hours on a private jet with a subdued Shawn . . . that could work. Plus, he looked tired and like he’d probably sleep most of the trip. I shouldn’t let him scare me off. Shouldn’t give him that kind of power.
Fine.
I sighed and dropped into the buttery leather of the seat, clutching my chilled glass.
He stretched out his long legs, relaxing. “Thanks for telling L that I kissed you.”
I was mid-gulp and choked on my water. Perhaps mentioning that on the phone call to Laurel last night hadn’t been the best idea.
“Don’t worry,” he continued. “I filled in the gaps on the story she got.”
Oh, no. I had conveniently left out the part where we’d made out the entire ride to my hotel. “What did she say?”
“She told me to leave you alone.”
“To which you responded by canceling my ticket and forcing me onto your plane.”
A smile teased his lips. “I’ve never been to Maastricht.”
My pulse spiked. “Why would you go there?”
“To make sure you get in safe. It’s practically on the way home for me.”
Who’d taught him geography? “No, it’s not. No.”
Victoria flitted through the cabin, double-checking the hatch was secure and everything stowed as the plane set in motion. Confident Shawn disappeared. His gaze fixed forward and he looked tense. It was unsettling.
“We’re completely safe,” I said.
“I know that, logically, but it’s a control thing.”
He was all about control, just like Paul. “You let your driver drive you around.”
“Because I, like most of the drivers in New York, have no idea how to drive in that city.” He subtly tightened his seat belt when the engines ramped up.
“Yeah, I don’t miss that, the traffic was—”
“Tell me about Paul now.”
How did he do that? I constantly underestimated my opponent. My guard was down, thinking he was too preoccupied with his fear to launch an attack. But maybe this was a good thing. Get it over with quickly, and if he pressed me, I’d go silent the rest of the flight.
I disliked talking about my divorce for many reasons, but the biggest one was embarrassment. Not so much over the divorce itself, but that I’d just chosen so terribly. That I’d once believe Paul was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
God, I’d been such a fool.
The plane rocketed down the runway, rumbling as it went along, Shawn’s tension increasing as the plane’s nose lifted into the air.
“Paul doesn’t love me,” I said. “I’m not sure he ever did.”
That comment must have been distracting because his brown eyes studied me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he said it was too much work to love me.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
The wings carried us up, the ground gone from beneath the wheels. He had one hand in his lap balled in a fist, and for a split second I wondered if it was the ascent or my words that caused this.
“Do you still love him?”
“No. I mean, part of me will always care about him, even though he’s selfish and controlling.” My fingertips toyed with the edges of my seatbelt. “Some men claim they want an independent woman, but what they really want . . . is to break an independent woman. And once they’ve done it, once they’ve succeeded—the thrill is over. They lose interest and move on.”
He peered at me and didn’t argue or tell me I was wrong. Maybe he knew it was true. Perhaps he’s one of these men, my mind warned. I frowned at the thought.
He was simply quiet for a long while.
When the plane leveled out, he began to look better and more dangerous. He confirmed my suspicions when he took the half-empty glass of water from my hand and set it down on the small table beside us.
“Tell me about the sex.”
“Excuse me?” I said, hushed.
“You heard me. You agreed to tell me about his problem.”
“It was our problem, and I’m not going to talk about it.”
“Bullshit. What was it?”
Anger made my blood pump faster. “Forget it.”
“Did it get too kinky? Too weird? Or did you lose interest?”
Heat burned my face, and I knew I was turning red. “We were incompatible.”
“Incompatible?” Confusion flooded his expression. “Incompatible, how?”
I curled my eyes down to slits. He must have realized he’d reached the edge and shouldn’t push me any further because he softened.
“The incompatibility is on his end,” he declared. “We proved that yesterday.”
I drew in a sharp breath at the memory, and it didn’t go unnoticed. His eyes lit up with opportunity.
“I thought we were quite compatible, didn’t you?”
I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. “Please, enough.”
When he didn’t respond, I gave him a sideways look. He looked at me like he was evaluating how much further he should push.