Page 93

26
BACK LOT
5 March 2015
The Airport
The plan starts to unravel as we stand on the tarmac awaiting Edward Krakov’s plane.
Ridge is two feet from me, doing absolutely nothing to respect my personal space. The plane is taxiing into the private hangar, but his eyes aren’t observing the client’s safe landing. Nor is he doing anything remotely security-like, as is his job description. In fact, he’s barely even glanced around since we arrived.
No, those flint-colored eyes are as firmly fixed on me as they have been since we left the Villa. God only knows how he managed to drive and keep his eyes on my tits and bare legs without crashing into a tree and killing us.
I tug at the disgustingly short ice blue tube dress I’m wearing, and barely stop myself from reaching up and ripping off the pearl choker. Even in March, the California sun throws off enough heat to piss off an armadillo, and I’m no different.
Toss in Clayton’s parting words in his office this morning, and the sight of the vile Russian exchanging last words with his pilot on the steps of the private plane a few dozen feet away, and my nerves are shot to pieces.
I don’t have room for the ominous look lurking in Ridge’s eyes or the waves of creep bouncing off him.
My attempt to step away from him backfires when he immediately shadows my move.
I should be scared of him. I am on some self-preserving level. But my temper has been known to give reason a finger at the worst possible times.
“For fuck’s sake, Ridge. If you come any closer, I’ll become intimately familiar with what you ate last week.”
“Watch your mouth, little girl,” he growls. But he reaches into his pocket and pops a mint into his mouth. Then moves even closer.
“Look, Ridge, I don’t want to give Krakov another excuse to report me to Clay. You know how possessive he gets. You practically breathing down my neck isn’t going to go down well.”
“Fuck the commie asshole. He doesn’t deserve to touch you.”
My breath hitches, both at the blistering possessiveness in his voice and the waves of animosity pulsing from his massive frame. My shocked stare makes the mistake of catching his, and I glimpse blatant intent in his gaze.
A ball of trepidation knots in my gut. From the corner of my eye I see Edward Krakov approach. Ridge takes a half-step away from me, but he counteracts that move by folding his thick arms and staring with cold, dead eyes at Krakov.
My brain reels with the extra problem just dumped in my lap, but I shove a thin lid over it and produce a blinding smile for the man I’m supposed to make feel like a king.
“Eddie, I’m so happy to see you again.”
He takes the hands I hold out and kisses me twice on each cheek, even as his small arctic grey eyes slide to Ridge.
“As am I to see you, babushka. I hope you’re fully recovered from your little…ailment?”
I nod and smile brighter. “I am, and it’s so sweet of you to ask.”
The snake-like gleam that always sends chills down my spine enters his eyes. “I am sweet only for you, ’bushka. Because you’re my special one.”
“And I appreciate you all the more for it.”
We false-banter all the way to the car. Behind us, Ridge’s mountainous presence hulks ominously. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s about to go down. Something that involves me.
In the limo on the way back, I do my best to entertain Krakov. Bile rises up my throat when his hand slips underneath my dress. Swallowing it down, I blank my mind and let my gaze wander. Unfortunately, it wanders to the rearview mirror, and I catch Ridge’s impenetrable gaze. He locks on me for uncomfortably long seconds before his attention switches back to the road.
The knot of fear in my belly expands.
Definitely something going on.
We arrive at The Villa and enter the large boldly decorated foyer. A handful of guests are mingling in the space that doubles as a selection area, and Entertainers are busy chatting up clients. A server carrying a tray of champagne approaches and Krakov helps himself to a glass. I select a watered down mimosa and try not to tense when I see Clay approaching.