Page 27 of Royally Drawn (Resplendent Royals #3)

Velcro

INGRID

I rode a fine round in the stadium, leading to a ninetieth place in the finish. It wasn’t painful watching Cici get the big prize. Queen Natalie beamed as she presented the trophy to her niece. It was hard-won for a princess from a small country. I beamed with pride alongside Betty, so happy to see Cici grab this achievement. Her season would now take a massive pause as she readied for her wedding.

Unfortunately, Keir didn’t get to stay. He knew Cici would probably win when he left, but there was no time to stick around. He had orders to be somewhere with Duncan early the next day. He sent me a text apologising for leaving. He congratulated Cici but then was on his way. His leaving was followed by Duncan, who looked bored. Keir was genuinely happy for us. His face telegraphed his regret.

Disappointed not to have another night with him, I packed to head back to Norfolk in the morning. We’d get a well-deserved rest and turn our horses out for a week’s break. I’d ride my greenest horse instead, trying to get her head on straight. She was the type with oodles of potential but no chill.

While I did all of that, I would play that image of Keir licking me off his fingers on repeat. At night, I couldn’t help but touch myself thinking about him. He loved the taste of me. It was so dirty but so sexy. I’d never even imagined a man would care—let alone want to do such a thing. I frantically pleasured myself as if desperate to get it out of my system.

Try as I may, it didn’t. The house was quiet for the week. I used my shower head for far more than washing more times than I would admit. I thought about the way he gripped my hips, slapped my ass, and pressed my head into the pillow. I loved the way he owned me in those moments. I wanted to be owned, to be his. I didn’t desire a relationship but all of him—every last inch of him ploughing into me with great force.

Friday finally rolled around. I packed myself up for a weekend lounging around the house and looked forward to flying with him somewhere. That was sexy, right?

He sent a car for me, natch. I was surprised when I had to hand my driver’s licence over at the gate of a military base and ride to what I thought was a runway. Keir was there talking to someone in uniform and turned as I approached.

“Velcro, you made it!”

I cocked my head.

“I was just telling Rowan your callsign should be Velcro, Ingrid,” he explained.

I suspected the guy in a uniform was Rowan.

“Callsign?” I asked, confused.

The driver brought my bag forward, but I barely saw him. I was too focused on the odd, old plane before me. Certainly, this wasn’t the plane we were taking. This must have been Rowan’s.

“What you’re called over the radio,” Rowan said. “You don’t choose it. I heard you rode some bucking horse last weekend?”

“He wasn’t bucking at all. He was a very good boy. Stock still,” I explained. “We landed poorly. I pulled myself back on and kept going.”

Did he brag about me? That was promising.

“Well, we should head out. Gotta get back to Valley,” Keir said. “Hopefully, before traffic gets too bad.”

“Have a good one, mate. Nice to meet you, Velcro.”

Keir didn’t bother introducing me, but I waved after Rowan anyway.

“Hermes. It’s so on-brand,” Keir quipped, slinging my bag over his shoulder.

“Don’t be an asshole,” I said. “What do you mean… on brand.”

“Horse girl. I expect it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you always just say things to get under my skin.”

“You love the cruelty. You come back for more.”

He brought the bag into the plane I most feared. I stared up the steps and called to him, afraid to step aboard.

“Is this… a joke?”

Keir poked his head out, having to duck. “What? No. Why?”

“It’s like… a propeller jet.”

“I’ll forgive you this once for you saying that,” Keir said. “A jet it is not. Jets don’t have propellers.”

“But it doesn’t have… engines.”

“It has two. It’s a twin-engine piston aircraft,” Keir said.

I didn’t understand the difference, but if he quickly corrected me, there had to be one.

“But… is it okay?”

“This is a classic,” Keir said. “My pride and joy. Don’t hate on the old girl.”

I relented, worried I was about to die for what Astrid would refer to as “the good dick.” How dumb was I?

“This is an Aerostar 601, and she’s fun,” Keir said, moving aside.

“Where do I sit?” I winced, looking around the very tiny cabin.

“You will be to the right—up here in the cockpit. Have you never learned anything about aircraft?”

Perplexed, I shook my head. “Why? Why on Earth would I?”

“Because it’s fun?”

I wasn’t sure I agreed. He pulled the door closed and pulled out a tablet computer.

“What is that? Do you fly the plane with that?”

Keir snickered. “It’s not a game. This is my checklist and my flight plan. Are you frightened, Ingrid?”

“No,” I answered. “I mean… a little.”

“I have seen some shit and done a lot of stupid things—a couple of which I got a lashing from the big boss about.”

“A general?” I asked.

“We don’t have generals in the RAF, darling. No, my aunt.”

That was worse, somehow. The woman could be intimidating.

Keir flipped switches and talked to himself, virtually ignoring me. Then, he handed me a headset, not specifying if I should put it on. I did, assuming that was a signal I should.

“Should I not help you?”

“Sure,” he answered, handing me the tablet. “Just hold this.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You asked. You ask stupid questions; you get stupid answers.”

I scoffed, “It wasn’t stupid. It was an offer .”

“Do you want us to lose our place or die?” Keir asked.

That made me feel worse.

“I’m kidding—sort of,” Keir said. Relax. I would never endanger you—or anyone other than myself.”

I wasn’t sure that was a comfort or that this bucket of bolts would get us off the ground. He chimed in on the radio, repeating something with technical jargon I didn’t understand.

“Yes, Chef, we read,” some guy said.

“Chef?” I laughed.

“You don’t pick your handle, Ingrid. It’s like we said.”

I guess I was stuck with the Chef for this weekend—if I made it out alive. I had more questions than answers.