Page 11 of Troubled Skies (Blue Skies #3)

six

Ren

Adrian’s abrupt exit stunned Ren, and it took him several seconds to move toward the door with the intent of finding Adrian and bringing him back to the suite.

But as soon as he put his hand on the doorknob, he froze.

The risk of being recognized, or worse, photographed was too great, and his father had been explicit on the need for Ren to keep a low profile.

Ending up on social media was not part of that plan.

Ren could only imagine what his punishment would be if that happened.

Merde! Adrian’s distress had been palpable, and every atom of Ren’s being called for him to go after Adrian, to make sure he was okay, to…

Shaking his head in frustration, Ren returned to the couch and tried to make himself ignore the hard beat of his heart, to forget the press of Adrian’s lips against his, the quiet sounds Adrian had made as Ren eagerly explored his mouth, how good Adrian had felt in his arms. His cock twitched at the memory of their kiss, and he growled, his hand coming down on the seat cushion with a satisfying thwump that sent dust swirling in the air.

His heart went out to the man who had just fled his presence.

To have been lied to by someone you loved, to have survived a plane crash…

agitation forced Ren to his feet again and he paced from one side of the suite to the other.

As he tried to figure out what to do, Ren also struggled to understand why this man had so thoroughly entangled him to the point where he would risk further scandal.

It was too easy for Ren to blame it on the fact that he was not used to rejection.

Though true—and Adrian might easily be the first person to walk away before Ren tired of their company—Ren suspected there was more to Adrian’s frantic exit than could be explained by his embarrassment at their mile-high encounter.

But try as he might, Ren could not figure out what it might be.

Nor could he figure out why it mattered so much to him.

Adrian’s voice still seemed to echo in his ears, his taste lingering in Ren’s mouth, but the suite felt empty without him here.

Even when Adrian was sleeping in the next room, Ren had felt him, had been so aware of him he had to distract himself with an insipid movie and stalking Maurice and his other friends on social media, neither of which held his attention for long.

When Adrian finally emerged from the bedroom, it had taken all of Ren’s restraint to keep himself seated on the couch.

And when he’d finally been able to touch the man, to kiss him…

Ren stopped pacing and looked around. This room was as sterile, as soundproofed into silence as any of the countless hotel rooms in which he spent so many nights, he had lost count.

No matter how luxurious, they all became the same after many years of travel no matter who shared those spaces with him.

Until Adrian. Now his abrupt absence made the suite’s sterility all the more evident, the lack of human sound more oppressive, and the fact that Ren could not leave all the more galling.

Not to mention that Adrian had left the suite in obvious distress, was somewhere in the terminal possibly suffering through the anxiety of boarding another plane…

The memory of Adrian rubbing at his hands at the beginning of the flight to London came back to Ren along with Adrian’s admission of having been in a plane crash the previous month.

So casually uttered, but it explained so much.

Ren had seen the news coverage while in LA, had even tried to use it as a way to convince his father to let him charter a private flight back to Europe.

But now to know Adrian had been on that plane?

The images had been horrifying, and Ren had nothing but admiration for the man.

He did not think he would be as willing to fly again so soon, and it made Adrian’s use of the sleeping tablets all the more understandable.

He will not be able to use them this time.

The thought barreled into Ren’s consciousness, and he realized the truth of it.

The flight to Ibiza was only four hours, and he knew Adrian would be unwilling to risk even a small dose after what had happened when they arrived at Heathrow.

And, bordel de merde, Ren had seen Adrian’s seat assignment when they gave the concierge their connecting information. They were not seated together.

Ren began to pace again, the urge to do something, to somehow make this easier for Adrian churning through his mind. A gentle knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and Ren snarled out a command for whoever it was to come in.

“Apologies for the interruption, sir,” the concierge said as she entered the suite. “Your flight is about to begin boarding. If there is nothing else that you or your companion require, I’ll return in fifteen minutes to escort you to the transport.”

About to dismiss her, Ren was struck with an idea. “My companion and I were unable to reserve seats together. Would you be able to do something about that?”

“I will do my best.” She nodded her head and left.

Well, that was one thing sorted, but Ren wanted more.

If he had met Adrian while traveling for pleasure, Ren would invite him to lavish dinners and plan for days spent introducing him to an island Ren knew as well as he knew his own country.

Yes, he would expect sex to be part of their time together.

He was attracted to Adrian, and if their kiss was anything to go by, Adrian was attracted to him, and the sex would be amazing.

But that wasn’t the only reason Ren wanted to spend time with Adrian, wanted to get to know him better.

Unfortunately, Ren was scheduled to depart for the Maldives as soon as he stepped on board the Belleza del Sol.

There would be no invitations to dinner, no excursions, no hours spent lounging naked by the Belle’s pool or in Ren’s bed.

Unless…

Ren paused as he was checking the suite for anything he might have left behind. Retrieving his phone, Ren called the one person who might be able to help him out.

“Bonjour, mon cheri! I’m so excited you’ll be with us in a few hours. It has been too long.” The warmth in the voice of the yacht’s chef was genuine, as was Ren’s when he replied.

“I’ll be happy to see you, too, ma chérie.”

Rachel laughed. “What did you do this time, Henri? Your father has forbidden me to even cook with wine. I should serve you cold oatmeal and bitter coffee all the way to Malé!”

“I am sorry about that,” Ren said, and he meant it.

The one bright spot in his punishment had been the chance to spend two weeks eating Rachel’s excellent food and helping her in the galley, something he had been doing since his early teens when they’d bonded over their mutually adventurous culinary tastes.

Ice goby, witchetty grubs, escamoles, and ant egg soup were a few of the dishes they had tried on the many voyages they had made together.

Best of all, though, Rachel never deferred to him or treated him with deference because all she cared about was cooking the food she loved, learning new cuisines and techniques, and fucking.

He loved the woman dearly and would do anything for her as she would him.

If the fates had been just, Rachel would have been his older sister or aunt, the cool one who didn’t give a fig about protocol or titles.

“I am sure you will find creative ways to abide by my father’s restrictions,” Ren said, and they both laughed. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Rachel laughed, and it was a rich, deep sound that was full of dark secrets, smoke-filled rooms, and late nights with all the wrong people. How he adored this woman. “You know what I like, cheri.”

“Consider it done,” Ren told her and immediately sent a message to the concierge placing an order for a bottle of Rachel’s favorite whisky.

“If your father finds out, it will be the end of us, you know this.”

“I do. And I’m grateful for your efforts on my behalf.” Ren smiled at Rachel’s inelegant snort. “Truly, I am.”

“We shall see. But, why have you called? Surely you did not miss me so much you could not bear another few hours without speaking.”

“Bien s?r que si! But, I have a request. Is there a way to delay our departure until tomorrow?” Another deep-throated laugh came over the line. “You are in luck. We were supposed to depart as soon as you arrived, but a storm will keep us in port for another two days.”

Ren’s heart soared at the news. “Génial! Merci mon Dieu pour les tempêtes d'octobre en Méditerranée.”

“Oui, but you should know the Captain has said we will leave at a moment’s notice if he sees a chance.”

“Then I shall pray for a hurricane.”

“You are up to something, my prince.”

“Moi?” Ren asked. He could practically hear Rachel roll her eyes and laughed because, yes, he was. “Honestly, I do not know, but it is very important to me, and I will need your assistance.”

“Henri Renard, I am intrigued. What do you need me to do?”

By the time Ren stepped onto the plane bound for Ibiza, he had one objective in mind: convince Adrian to have dinner with him that night aboard the yacht.

He followed a good-looking man down the aisle, his gaze focused on Adrian who was staring intently out the window and hadn’t seen him yet.

Ren watched the man pause at the empty aisle seat next to Adrian, felt a flare of heat in his chest as the man obviously checked Adrian out then looked at his boarding pass and sighed.

This must be the passenger Ren had exchanged seats with, and he was grateful he’d taken steps to ensure he would have four uninterrupted hours with Adrian.