“I complained,” she snapped.
“Because I made you go to sleep. It was four a.m., Trace, people have to sleep.”
Her eyes narrowed as she jerked her head away from mine and crossed her arms, but I didn’t miss the ghost of a smile on her lips as she pretended to still be pissed.
“Slap me later?” I teased.
“Ass.” She breathed, her chest heaving slightly.
“Gotcha.” I pressed my palm flat against her chest and laughed as I leaned over and kissed her on the neck again. “Admit it. You love fighting with me almost as much as you love what comes after.”
“And what comes after?” her voice begged.
“Punishment?”
“Or rewards?” She grinned.
“Either way,” I admitted.
“Flight attendants, please take your seats for takeoff.”
“Well,” I made sure my seatbelt was buckled, “this is going to be the most painfully long plane ride of my life.”
Trace giggled. “I’m guessing it’s going to be the same for him too.”
I looked back where Luca was sitting, and Mo and Tex were fighting on either side of him.
“Now that’s punishment,” I agreed.
“So is this.” Trace moved her hand underneath my shirt and began slowly caressing my back, then my stomach, then moved lower to my jeans. My hips jerked involuntarily.
“Not funny.”
“Am I laughing?”
“Damn, I wish you were.”
“Nixon…” her hand teased right above the line of my jeans, “…threaten me again, and I’m going to move this little conversation to Sunday Mass.”
“You wouldn’t!” My head fell back against the seat as my body screamed with pent-up frustration.
“I would.”
“Damn you.”
“Nixon!” Trace removed her hand. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them.”
“Rules? What?” I looked around. “What rules?” Damn the woman had me so wound up I was ready to freaking take her right there and risk getting arrested.
“No PDA. Have a nice flight!” She pulled the magazine from the seatback pocket in front of her and started reading.
While I recited the Rosary.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chase
“Nixon looks pissed,” I said to no one in particular, halfway into the flight.
“Why are his eyes closed?” Mil asked. “And his lips still moving?”
“Hmm.” I shrugged. “Not sure, but Trace seems to be pretty amused with herself.”
Mil fell silent.
Probably not the time to have that conversation. Then again, Frank was sleeping, Luca had ear plugs in, and Tex and Mo were pouting. Leaving Trace with her magazine across the aisle and Nixon doing something that looked a lot like praying.
“You can still love her, you know,” Mil said in a low voice, her eyes darting between me and Trace. “I don’t expect you to get over it that fast, I mean you were in rough shape that night.”
“Hilarious.” I groaned into my hands and leaned back in my seat. I’d been drunk out of my mind. “I’m not sure I ever fully thanked you for all that.”
Mil’s blue gaze met mine. My heartbeat sped up a bit, like I’d just taken a hit of something and was feeling the effects of it spread through my bloodstream. “Are you thanking me for slapping you out of your drunken stupor or keeping you from drowning in the shower?”
“Well, when you put it like that…” I said dryly.
“You’re welcome.” Her smile made me dizzy. It spread wide, showing me her gleaming teeth and pretty dimples. Shit. It was like a light that had finally turned on in that damn airplane. I stared — like an absolute dumbass.
“Chase?” She blinked a few times, her dark eyelashes fanning against her cheekbones like a freaking caress. “Chase, you’re not breathing.”
I sucked in air and started choking wildly.
Mil patted my back, her touch literally setting my skin on fire. I choked again, looked out the window, and watched my manhood fall into the sky along with my pride.
“Sorry, uh… bug.” I pounded my chest a few times to prove my ridiculously lame lie.
“In an airplane?” she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.
“It happens!” I snapped.
“Okay.” She lifted her hands into the air and, thank God, removed her hand from my person. I stared at her hand midair and noticed a scar on her arm. It wasn’t a typical scar — it was like a burn of some sort.
“What’s this?” I grabbed her wrist and leaned in to examine the mark; it reminded me of a cigarette burn, but it was too big to be a cigarette and on closer inspection it had definite lines, like it was drawn on her. Like it was burned against that perfect skin with a hot knife or something.
Mil clenched her fist and tried to pull away, but I pulled tighter, making it impossible for her to do anything. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something,” I half-snarled. Holy shit, who the hell would mark what was mine? I focused in on the burn; it was an old scar, not recent, but it didn’t matter. Not a shot in hell that it mattered. Her skin, her body, everything I touched was mine, not anyone else’s to tarnish. Rage like nothing I’d ever known poured through me. My heart slammed against my chest as my jaw clenched and flexed, causing my teeth to grind.
“Another bug?” Mil whispered, a smile appearing on her expressive face.
“Tell me—” My chest heaved. “Who did this?”
“Chase.” Mil’s voice was pleading. “Let’s not do this here, not now.”
“But—”
“Leave it, or I swear I’ll knife you in your sleep.”
I released her hand, a bit ashamed about how attached I clearly was to my anatomy, and looked out the window, refusing to talk to her, like a little child throwing a pity party.
Who the hell would touch her?
My first thought was Phoenix.
My second thought was how I’d find time to go to hell, raise his lifeless corpse, and kill him all over again.
And then a fuzzy memory surfaced.
That night, the night Mil and I had been together, Phoenix had been protective, so protective that it was a bit ridiculous. I mean, I was his best friend and he was still pissed. He hadn’t talked to me for weeks…
“Dude!” I slapped my hand onto the table. “You’re like a freaking dog with a bone!”