Lina’s breath caught in her throat.
She scrambled backward on all fours, ducking behind the elegant lounge chair beside the minibar. Her heart thundered in her chest, every beat echoing in her ears.
She couldn’t see the door from where she was now, but she could hear the subtle rustle of clothing, the light thump of a shoe against the carpet.
Soone had co in.
She could sll their cologne now. Clean. Expensive. Unfamiliar?
She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking.
Please don’t find . . . don’t find . . .
She risked a glance between the slats of the minibar’s side panel. A tall figure moved inside the room now—one of the crew?
The owner of the jet?
They hadn’t spoken, hadn’t called out. They seed to be checking the space, not expecting anyone to be there.
Lina’s mind raced.
Do I reveal myself? Do I wait until they leave? What if they notice sothing—my bag?
She pulled her knees tighter to her chest, holding her breath again as the footsteps stopped . . . just feet away from her hiding spot.
Then—silence.
The room felt too still.
And just as suddenly, she heard the door click shut once more.
Whoever it was had left.
Lina exhaled shakily, her lungs aching. But she didn’t move just yet. Not until her pulse slowed. Not until she was sure they were truly gone.
She wasn’t safe yet.
Not until she knew exactly whose jet she was on . . . and whether her uninvited presence had already been discovered.
When the cost was clear, she went out from her hiding, and Lina’s breath caught in her throat when she imdiately saw a figure.
The man before her was like a vision—one conjured from both dreams and nightmares. He towered over her, broad-shouldered and sharp-jawed, the overhead light casting shadows on his high cheekbones and sculpted face.
His blond hair was slightly tousled, as though he had just run his hands through it in frustration or sleep. But it was his eyes that held her in place—icy blue, piercing straight through her, like they were stripping her down layer by layer.
"Who are you?" he asked, voice cold and low, but steady. Not a whisper, not a shout. It was the kind of voice that commanded attention in any room it entered.
Lina opened her mouth to answer, but no sound ca out.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She took a step back instinctively, bumping into the edge of a low, leather-clad cabinet.
She was trembling—but it wasn’t fear. It was sothing more potent. Anticipation? Dread? Excitent?
This was another new character she had stumbled upon, and she couldn’t wait to see how they would change the direction of the story.
The man raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
"I—I didn’t an to—" she stamred, and imdiately hated herself for it. She straightened her shoulders, clutching her small carry-on bag in front of her like a shield. "I didn’t an to board this jet. I just . . . I needed to hide. Soone was chasing ."
"Soone was chasing you," he repeated dryly, clearly unimpressed. His arms were still crossed over his chest, and his fitted white shirt did little to conceal the lean muscles beneath it.
There was an accent in his voice too—faint, European, but hard to place. French, maybe? No. German?
"Yes," she said, lifting her chin defiantly. "I didn’t know it was a private jet, okay? I panicked. I thought I’d get off before this could take off."
A flicker of sothing—interest? Amusent?—passed through his eyes. But his posture didn’t soften.
"You’re either incredibly stupid," he murmured, stepping closer, "or incredibly brave."
His scent hit her next—sothing clean, expensive, like bergamot and cedarwood with a faint trace of jet fuel. Or maybe that was just the plane. Her thoughts were spinning, crashing like waves on rocks.
"Do you always sneak onto aircraft during ergencies?" he asked, his tone now edged with curiosity, even as his eyes raked over her figure, assessing. "Or is this a new hobby of yours?"
Lina clenched her fists. "Look, I don’t want any trouble. If you want, I can pay for the unexpected boarding. Just land safely wherever you’re headed, and I’d really appreciate it."
"You’re on my plane," he replied coolly. "You’re in my room. You don’t get to demand anything here."
Her eyes widened. "Your . . . room? You’re the owner of this jet?"
He nodded, eyes gleaming. "This is my private jet. And that," he pointed to the luxurious bedding she had stumbled out of monts ago, "is my bed."
A flush crept up Lina’s neck. No wonder the room had slled faintly of musk and woodsy cologne.
"Well," she said, shifting her stance. "I didn’t know. I just . . . It was an ergency."
He studied her in silence for a long mont, the cabin humming softly around them as the engines propelled them through the clouds. Then, with a long breath, he ran a hand through his hair and took a step back.
"I could have you arrested when we land," he said, though not with real venom. "Or throw you out mid-air."
"Charming," Lina muttered, then caught herself. "Wait—you’re not serious, right?"
A shadow of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you tell the truth." He looked her straight in the eyes. "Who are you? And who are you running from?"
Lina’s lips parted, but no sound ca out. Could she tell him? A stranger? A powerful one, no less?
She hesitated. "Soone I used to love," she finally said, voice soft and bitter.
That made his expression shift, if only slightly. The ice in his eyes lted, just a touch. "Ah," he said, and this ti it wasn’t mocking. "A man, then."
She nodded.
"Soone who hurt you?"
More than he could ever imagine.
"Yes."
There was silence between them now, filled only by the sound of the engines and the subtle creak of the aircraft. The atmosphere changed, becoming heavier and strangely intimate.
"You look like hell," he said gently, not unkindly.
She laughed—a brittle, broken sound. "Thanks. You try escaping from security at the airport with nothing but a carry-on bag and a broken heart."
To her surprise, he chuckled. A real sound this ti. Warm and rough and unexpected.
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