A Tiger's Bride (A Lion's Pride Book 4) (8 page)

Damn how he wanted her.

Now.

Here.

Who cared if there was no bed and their privacy was iffy? His little kitten had made the first move. She had seated herself on him as if she belonged on his lap, which she did.

Despite her innocence, and his methods, she seemed prepared to make the marriage real.

She accepted and wanted him.

Or was this just a ploy?

Suspicion was an ugly beast. It tainted the most innocent of actions with doubt. Dmitri had dealt too many times in his life with people who lied, and lied well. He wanted to believe the guilelessness in her actions and gaze, but what if she fooled him. After all, her twin had been adamantly opposed to them uniting, a good thing too.

He could see now just how wrongly suited they were for one another. But that did not mean Teena felt the same way. Her words and actions seemed to indicate otherwise, or was he letting his own hope and attraction to her cloud his judgment?

I am not wrong.

It just wasn’t allowed. If he let doubt seep in now, he’d forever question, and Dmitri wasn’t one to live with that kind of uncertainty on his back.

He would trust his little kitten wanted this marriage to work, especially since, other than a few words—really just a token protest—she had done nothing yet to fight it.

The rumble and toss of the plane as it fought the vicious air currents proved lulling especially since, now in Russian territory, he felt a lot of the tension that had followed him as he escaped from the United States with his prize easing.

He yawned and smiled as he noted Teena trying to hide a jaw-cracking one behind a hand. Perhaps a short nap was in order before they landed and he began the task of wooing his wife. 

The popping of his ears woke him. They must have begun their descent, except, when he peered from the window, instead of the familiar farmfields and pathways of roads he expected to see, mountainous terrain and thick forest tops, dusted in white, greeted him.

This isn’t right.
He’d flown this route too many times to think this was normal. Had his pilot veered off course?

He unbuckled his lap belt and stood as Teena, her voice thick with sleep, asked, “Are we there yet?”

“Soon, little kitten. I must speak with the pilot for a moment. Rest some more.”

He let his fingers stroke across her cheek as he passed her, and her lashes fluttered to tickle the tops of her cheeks. She did not flinch from his touch. On the contrary, a small smile curved her lips.

He would have loved to spend a moment with her, especially with her so soft and desirable. However, the sense of something not right nagged him.

Reaching the cockpit door, he pulled the handle, only to find it locked. How odd. Gregori and Viktor usually never locked it.

A sharp rap on the door yielded no result. A frown knitted his brow, and he banged again.

Still no answer, which didn’t bode well.

This is why I hate flying.
At least on the ground, he controlled what happened. Up here, he was at the mercy of the pilots.

“Is something wrong?” Teena asked, having come up behind him.

“Wrong? Of course not.” He lied with finesse. “Simply an issue with our flight plan, which I plan to resolve shortly.”

“Issue? What kind of issue?”

“Merely we are not where we should be. But I am sure there is a good reason for it.” And if not, Gregori and Viktor would feel his wrath.

She giggled.

Odd because he’d not meant to make a jest. “What is so funny?”

“Just that wouldn’t it be ironic if you kidnapped me, only to end up kidnapped yourself?”

“No one would dare.” Not if they wanted to live. But then again, most of his enemies did have a death wish.

He rapped on the door again, and this time, he got an answer. Just not one he liked. “Fuck off, mate. I ain’t letting you in.”

That wasn’t Gregori. Or Viktor. Or anyone who worked for Dmitri. Earlier, when someone had spoken, he’d been distracted and had not questioned the muffled voice. However, now he had to wonder who the hell sat in the cockpit.

“I’ve been hijacked.” The nerve of it stunned for a moment.

“By terrorists?” she asked.

Well, that was jumping to extremes. He quickly set her straight. “Bah. I wouldn’t call him that. I’m not terrified, are you?”

She blinked. “You do know the meaning of terrorist, right?”

“Yes. I also know the meaning of corpse, which is a more apt name for the idiot in that cockpit.”

“That idiot is flying this plane.”

“Which means he’s hardly going to do anything to harm us while we’re in the air.” Yes, once again, his vast intellect located the most pertinent fact.

She jabbed at his fact with a sharper one. “Nope, you’re right, which means he’s going to take us to somewhere he feels in control before telling us what he wants. I guess we wait and see.”

“Wait?” Dmitri scoffed. “Hardly. Have you forgotten? I am not a patient man.”

“Except when it comes to deflowering your wife,” she grumbled, only a second too late realizing she’d said it aloud. Her cheeks bloomed with color.

“Waiting in this case is good.”

“Why, because it makes the heart grow fonder?”

“No, because it makes you more desirous of my touch.” At her rounded O of surprise, he winked. “Now, little kitten, I will need you to stand back whilst I pay our misguided pilot a visit.”

“How? The door’s locked. Do you have a key?”

Probably, but damned if he knew where it was kept. Before he flew again, he’d make sure he kept it on his person. In the meantime, though, he had a door to open.

Teena moved away, giving him ample room. Taking a step back, he lifted a foot and kicked.

Thud
. He made an impressive noise, left a bit of a dent, but the door mocked him by not opening.

Bang
.
Bang
.
Bang
. Over and over he kicked the damned thing. While stricter aviation safety rules had made the cockpit doors on commercial jet liners virtually impermeable, on smaller private jets, like his Cessna Citation, the door was more to provide privacy to the occupants.

The door caved in, the metal frame holding it bending enough to pop the lock. It took him only a moment to notice that the cockpit held two people. One never even bothered to turn around and look, but he wasn’t Dmitri’s greatest threat. That was reserved for the guy standing in front of him holding a gun.

His feline proved less than impressed. Bringing a weapon to a shifter fight. Some people had no honor.

“Back up, mate.” Words punctuated by a wave of the gun.

Not usually one to obey, Dmitri, for the moment, did as told. It might have had a lot to do with the barrel pointed right at his forehead. While he might heal at a faster rate than a human, a bullet this close would kill him.

Totally unacceptable. I’ve yet to bed my new wife.

But did this idiot—sniff—who stunk of reptile, give a damn? Apparently not, as he snarled, “Move to the back end of the cabin, or I’ll blow your brains out.”

A few things happened then. For one, Teena moved, but given she had her wide-eyed gaze trained on the hijacker, she didn’t mind where she was stepping.

Her foot caught on the edge of a seat. The plane chose that moment to tremble, the wind buffeting it. It threw his new wife off balance, and she toppled toward the wall of the craft. It also happened to be the wall with the door.

She caught the lever that sealed it shut, and all might have been fine if the gunman hadn’t  ordered her to, “Stand up and put your hands where I can see them.”

The plane still wobbled, so it wasn’t by intention—or so Dmitri assumed—that she stood still grasping the lever. It didn’t make a sound as it rotated. However, once it reached a certain spot, the sound of the cabin seal being breached proved loud.

The gunman barked, “Get away from the fuckin’ door. Now.”

And that was when shit got really interesting.

Oops. The suction of air, whistling at the intense pressure, didn’t bode well.

Teena stumbled away from the opening in the plane. She’d not meant to open the door. Didn’t those things have a better lock?

It didn’t really matter now.

When she’d pushed away from the door, just doing as she was told, it swung open, and stayed open, their aerial momentum keeping it from slamming shut. A big, wide hole in the side of the plane that resulted in a certain suction inside the cabin.

Totally unpleasant, but thankfully their heads didn’t explode. Luckily Teena knew enough about flying—given the incidents she’d lived through—to know they were low enough and that pressurization of the cabin wasn’t necessary. However a pressurized environment sure made for a more pleasant flight, given the open door created a whirlwind within.

Her hair whipped around her head and blinded her. Unable to see, she stumbled away from the deadly opening—big open sky without wings to fly, never a good thing. Just ask Uncle Marty.

She tripped over the couch—damn her clumsy, giant feet—and fell on to it.

While she struggled to get upright, a task made increasingly difficult as the plane wobbled in the air, she noted that Dmitri, rather than retreating from the guy holding the gun, rushed to confront him.

Heroic or stupid?

Either way, she found herself riveted and watched the unfolding action.

Her new husband possessed quick movements. In the blink of an eye, he clasped the wrist holding the weapon and forced it to aim overhead. With his other arm, he hugged the hijacker close in an attempt to choke him.

Channeling her twin, Teena couldn’t help but yell, “Get him!”

Dmitri grunted in reply as he and the gunman danced clumsily. Both fought to gain control of the situation, but the tight confines and the rough humping of the plane worked against Dmitri.

I should help.
But how?

The gun. If she could get the gun, that would even things out.

Springing to her feet, she held out her arms and bent her knees as she walked up the pitching aisle between the plush seats.

Much like a tossing ship, the plane rolled and dipped. It was enough to make a girl toss her cookies. But given many of the trips Teena had gone on had some kind of issue—like the ferry that hit a sudden storm and took on water or the helicopter that hit a huge pelican and went spinning out of control—she had learned to not lose the contents of her tummy.

Reaching the struggling pair, she had to hop on to a seat as they grunted in her direction. The added height was perfect though, as she could clasp, with both hands, the gun, which the guy released especially once she leaned in and bit a few fingers.

“Bitch!” screamed the bleeding hijacker.

“Don’t you call my wife names!” Dmitri bellowed. He pulled back a fist and punched the fellow in the face. Once, twice.

The hijacker reeled, his eyes momentarily unfocused, but when they did blink and regain clarity, he saw her and lunged.

She squeaked, and dodged to the side.

“Aaaaa
aaaaaa
aaaah
!” The guy’s scream receded in volume as he fell from the plane.

Biting her lip, Teena couldn’t help but utter, “Oops. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Dmitri beamed. “Beautifully done, little kitten. Now shall we take care of the pilot?”

Except the pilot didn’t want taking care of. Emerging from the cockpit, a parachute strapped to his back and goggles hiding his eyes, the second hijacker aimed yet another gun at them.

“Two guns on my plane?” Dmitri exclaimed. “Who the hell has been bribing my officials? This is simply unacceptable.”

“Don’t come near me,” the pilot said as he inched toward the opening.

“I can’t let you jump,” Dmitri said with a shake of his head. “So get back in there and fly the plane. If you listen now, then maybe I won’t kill you later when I question you on who paid you to do this.”

“Fuck you.” With those words, the pilot dove toward the opening, and Dmitri couldn’t move fast enough to stop him.

He muttered an expletive in Russian.

So vulgarly sexy, but not helpful.

“This is not the time to bitch. We have to do something.”

Except he didn’t move. “Why aren’t you panicking?”

She shrugged. “When you’ve been on a ferry that capsized, on a plane that had its landing gear jam, and a bus whose brakes failed, something like this kind of seems normal. I warned you trouble followed me.”

“Whereas, luck loves me. Fear not, little kitten. We shall prevail.”

Given his confidence, that could only mean, “You know where to find more parachutes?”

“Nope. The one the pilot wore must have been brought aboard.”

They both clued in at the same time, but she said it first. “What about the guy who fell? Maybe he had one.”

They both couldn’t fit through the doorway at once. Being a lady, she let Dmitri poke around inside. He emerged with a triumphant grin. “Success!” The parachute dangled from his hand.

Perhaps they would survive after all.
There’s hope I won’t die a virgin yet!

The straps for the chute required loosening, and she handled one side while he did the other. All the while, the wind whistled through the open door.

Just as he exclaimed, “I think it’s loose enough for me to cinch it on,” the plane, unmanned and on some kind of autopilot, wobbled hard. Teena stumbled, her arms windmilling, the suction of the door pulling at her.

“Eep!” She couldn’t help a squeak of fear.

But Dmitri wasn’t about to let her down—especially not thousands of feet down, where a landing would mean a funeral instead of a honeymoon. His hands clasped hers and drew her back to the center of the plane and safety.

He saved me.
It was so utterly romantic.

However, in saving her, he’d dropped the parachute on the floor. Teena could have predicted what happened next. The plane decided to tilt again, and their only hope went sliding out the open door.

Damn it.