Blood Price (The Blankenships Book 5) (4 page)

“Are you kidding? Of course not.” He actually rolled his eyes at her. “I suppose it’s cheating a bit, since we’ll be on a private jet, but still. Mile high, sex. I say it counts.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to breathe. Her father was a proper Southern democrat. If he ever found out that she had flown anywhere in a private jet, the ribbing would never end. “You own a jet,” she said. She meant it to be a question, but her voice came out flat and slightly disgusted.

“What? No, of course not. The damn things cost millions to buy, and a fortune to maintain.” He wore a lofty look that made her eyes boggle. “AEGIS owns a time share on a private jet with three other corporations. We’ve never had a scheduling conflict yet. And, whenever we fly, we donate money to an eco group to invest in tree planting to offset the carbon emissions.”

He looked so proud of himself. Like a school boy who’d just memorized the answer the teacher never thought he’d get. She wanted to keep arguing, she truly did, but for now—for now the right thing to do was to climb into his lap and kiss him until he shut up.

CHAPTER FOUR

They took off from JFK. The plane was like something off a movie set—smaller than she expected, really, but still giving the impression that it was huge. There was a big screen TV, a table, chairs. She watched Alex speak briefly to the pilot, and then lead her back towards a small cabin over the wings of the plane.
“I’ve told the crew that we’ll eat in a few hours,” he said. “London is ahead of us, and it’s about a six hour flight, so we’ll get there around dinner time. I imagine you’re tired, but you’ll feel better if you can manage to stay awake until bedtime there. The jet lag will be less intense. I’ll need to speak with Peter briefly tonight, but we’ll save the big dramatic work talk for tomorrow.”

She stepped into the cabin and had to reorient herself. The room was small, but luxurious, with a full bed and plush covers stretched over it. “If you don’t want me to sleep, then why are you bringing me into the bedroom?” Zoey gave him an arched eyebrow, and Alex laughed.

“Because all we ever do in bedrooms is sleep,” he chuckled.

She ran her fingers over the velvety covers and shrugged. “I just have to say—when you started going on about the mile high club in the car, I was really anticipating something much more…deviant.” She let her eyes sparkle as his jaw set. “This won’t be any more fun than fucking in a hotel room.”

“Excuse me,” he said, in mock outrage.

“I always figured that the fun in sex on a plane was the potential for being caught, after all. What if the stewardess sees you? What if she wants to join in?” She waggled her eyebrows, and he burst into laughter.

“Fine. You want public? I’ll give you public.” He reached into a tiny closet and pulled out a robe, tossing it to her.

Zoey had to chuckle. “I thought I told you that I didn’t accept silk kimonos.”

His expression was heated, but firm. “It’s up to you. You get what you want.”

“I want you.”

He shrugged. “You decide. I’m going to go put on a movie and open my laptop.”

He walked out of the room before she got a chance to argue any more.

She only debated for a moment. He’d lost control that one time, and she was quite sure that if it was going to happen again, it wouldn’t happen in the middle of a plane with no implements. That night had been an aberration. She’d keep watching carefully, but she thought she could trust him with this much.

She slid out of the clothes she’d just put on, even her bra and panties, and wrapped herself in the kimono. It was a dove gray, with a delicate pattern of cherry blossoms around the hems. She crossed the fronts, then tied the belt neatly around her waist. The silk whispered over her nipples, making her sigh softly with the sensation.

She took a long, slow breath, feeling for the first time as if she were putting a show on for Alex, and walked out to the main area of the plane.

True to his word, he was stretched out on the couch, his legs in front of him, his laptop resting on his thighs as he tapped away at a document. He looked up as she walked in, and he grinned for just a second before pulling the smile back. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

He closed his laptop and set it aside. “Come here.” She stepped over to him, and before she could do anything about it, he untied the belt, reversed the cross of the fronts, and retied it. She felt her cheeks go hot, and found herself looking over her shoulder for a flight attendant.

He laughed again. “Sure you’re ready for this?” His eyebrows were up high, and the way his gaze skirted her curves made her shiver.

The flight attendant poked her head in from the door that separated them from the crew quarters and the cabin. “Mr. Blankenship, the pilot is ready to taxi, if you and your guest could please buckle in?”

“Of course, Andrea, thank you.”

The door closed again, and Alex gestured to the couch. “We just have to keep them on during take off and landing. Safety first.” The chipper tone was so strange on his serious face that it made her giggle. She sat down where he pointed, and when she dug under the cushions, she found the classic strap seat-buckle that George Carlin had mocked so many years ago. She buckled in, Alex doing the same next to her, as the plane’s engines started up, and they began to move along the runway.

“So what was wrong with the kimono? Or did you just want a chance to look at my tits?”

That eyebrow again. Why did that look, that long appraising look, tie her up in such delightful knots? “Do I need to sneak looks at your tits now? It seems I've gotten to see them pretty much whenever I wanted.”

The serious downside to the vee of the kimono, open down to her insignificant cleavage, was that he could see just how far down her chest she blushed. “Well, then, what was wrong with it?”

“Left over right,” he said, gesturing at her chest. “Kimonos are only closed right over left for the dead.”

“Well,” she said. “That’s definitely not the look I was going for.”

He nodded, and then the engines roared as the plane sped down the runway, tilting into the sky. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the Earth falling away.

CHAPTER FIVE

Alex’s fingers crossed the space between them and twined around hers. She almost pulled her hand away, afraid for a moment that he would ground her, pulling her down. Most people did, in truth, most people expected things from her, wanted things. She’d never resented them for it—after all, she wanted things, too. But she so rarely got the chance to fly.

Only Alex didn’t drag her down. If anything, he lifted her higher, helped her get clear of the sense of being tied to the earth. Helped her be free. She opened her eyes, surprised that she was suddenly seeing him through a fine mist of tears. “I love you,” she whispered.

She doubted that he heard her over the roar of the engines, but he smiled all the same. He must have been able to see the shape of her words. He leaned forward, and his lips brushed over hers, soft and gentle. It was her choice to deepen the kiss, her choice to pull him close to her and run her tongue over his lower lip, teasing his tongue with hers. His hands were locked in his lap, and she freed them with a touch, bringing one to her thigh, the other to her breast as he pressed kiss after kiss against her.

As the plane leveled off, he unbuckled his seatbelt, and hers, then turned so that he was stretched out on the couch again, her settled between his thighs. He pulled a blanket from she didn't know where, and draped it over both of them as he switched on the big screen TV. “What would you like to watch,” he asked, one hand on the remote, the other resting chastely over her belly. 

“I—don’t know. You pick something.” Cuddled up against him like this, though, she found it wasn’t sex she wanted, all of a sudden. Her eyes were drifting shut again. She heard a soft laugh rumble through his chest and felt his hand on her hair. “I’m going to be jet lagged,” she murmured, not sure if he’d understand the words.

“You wouldn’t be a proper international traveler if you didn’t experience it at least once,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair. “And don’t worry. There’s always the flight back.

***

Zoey woke when the entire world gave a loud and vicious jerk. She gave a little scream, not entirely conscious, and her hands flung out to the sides, grabbing at whatever was there.

Arms circled her, and a soft voice whispered “Easy, easy, it’s just the plane landing, you’re fine, everything’s okay.”

The world swam back into focus, and she recognized where she was. She rubbed at her eyes, gritty from the dry plane air. “Did I seriously just sleep through my first international flight in a private jet?”

Alex chuckled against her. “Yes, indeed you did.”

“Well shit,” she muttered. “That was a missed opportunity.”

There was quiet for a moment, and then his arms grew a lot tighter. “If you let me take you all the places I’d like to take you, we’ll have plenty more chances.”

She stared up into his eyes. There was warmth and kindness there, and she had to wonder about how surprised she was to see it, time after time. Why was she constantly so quietly shocked to be treated well?

She sat up—somehow, he’d wrapped the seat belt around her waist without waking her up, which seemed an impressive feat of dexterity—and straightened the kimono. She’d shifted in her sleep, curling up in his lap. She didn’t detect any signs of drool, but hey, things were getting pretty real between them anyway. Maybe she would survive drool. If it had happened.

Once the plane had come to a halt, they ducked back to the cabin. Zoey changed back into her clothes, and Alex took a moment to put on a fresh shirt and tie. He surveyed her critically for a moment, and she tried not to feel too self-conscious. “Not fancy enough?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” he replied. “We’re meeting Peter at a flat the company owns in town. Peter’s a very down to earth sort of man. He won’t even notice what a woman wears in her own home.”

She let her brain gloss right over the part where he’d referred to the company apartment as her home, because that was way more than she suspected she could handle in that moment, and focused on his shirt and tie. “Then why worry about what you’re wearing?”

His grin was always infectious, always warm and bright. “Because,” he said. “I’m the boss. And, let’s face it, there are certain things about me that, to many people, mark me as a lower social class than them, even if they don’t consciously think of it that way. I have to compensate just to be seen as an equal.”

It was something she’d never really thought of before, and her brow furrowed as she watched him. His grin didn’t fade, but something in his eyes was just a touch sad. She wasn’t quite sure what to say.
I see you as my equal
wasn’t helpful or even exactly true—because after all, when it came to social power, he wasn’t even close to his equal, or rather, she wasn’t even close to being his—and
I’m sorry
wasn’t anywhere near enough. She’d never experienced the kind of systematic reduction in status that he had. Being female in a career that had been dominated by men for centuries was similar, but it wasn’t the same. Not really. “That sucks,” she said, finally. Because it did. “I’m really sorry.”
Because the really somehow made it more meaningful. Way to use your words, Zoey
.

But if it wasn’t 1194480341
the
right thing, it was at least 1194480341
a
right thing. He smiled, tangled his fingers in hers, and kissed her knuckles in the way that made her heart flutter. “Thanks,” he said.

The day outside was gray and cloudy, descending rapidly into darkness as the fall afternoon fell into night. The air felt damp and cool on her skin, and she was glad of the sweater she’d put on. She found herself almost wishing for a coat, not necessarily for the warmth, but for the sensation of something to wrap around herself.

Heathrow Airport was huge. She was used to the largeness of JFK, but somehow, it was just…bigger. Something about the way the ceiling arched, and the lights were set in. Or maybe it was just that she’d never been this far away from her little town in Louisiana. She found herself clinging to Alex’s hand as he wound his way effortlessly through the terminals, though she was surprised when they turned towards the signs for public transit instead of towards the exit signs. “No car service in London?” she asked, hoping her tone sounded interested instead of bitchy.

“Honest truth,” he said, without really looking directly at her. “I hate the car service at home, but the subways are a impossible pain the ass also—too much media and onlookers. I can get away with taking the Tube here. I don’t get recognized here.” Another one of those sad, soft smiles. “No one would take pictures of us here and out you as my girlfriend. It’s refreshing.”

There was a whole speech in her head about the responsibility that came with the power he wielded, how hiding from it was not just irresponsible and letting down the people who entrusted him with that power. But at the same time, she wondered how exhausting it was, to have your every action measured against a standard you couldn’t actually achieve. If you were too much of a playboy, you were nothing but a joke, but if you were always good, people stopped trusting your actions as having their own merit. They’d tear you down just to prove that you were no better than them. She’d seen it happen. Hell, she’d been part of it, now and again in her journalistic career, though she’d certainly tried to avoid those assignments. But when the choice was write a clickbait headline that would get the views her editor needed, or eat yet another dinner of rice and beans—well. It wasn’t actually that hard of a choice. She tried to be fair, and not hurt the person more than they deserved, but she’d prioritized her own survival over theirs. As much as she’d tried to justify it later, that was exactly what happened.

“I can see that,” she said eventually. After all, wasn’t the attention of the paparazzi one of the reasons she was concerned about this budding relationship? “So where are we headed?”

“We’ll take the train to Paddington station, then walk just a bit, then take the Tube the rest of the way to Regent’s Park. It’s—different than my place. But I think you’ll like it well enough.”

It had been a very long time since she’d been somewhere new. They’d packed light: it seemed like Sophia had approved of practically none of Zoey’s own clothes, so she had one messenger bag holding her electronics, a make-up and toiletries case, and at the very bottom, two pair of underwear and socks, neatly folded, which made a strange kind of sense that made her giggle. Alex had a small suitcase on wheels that he towed behind him, and his own messenger bag slung over his chest. The Tube station was well underground, and there was an odd echo to the old station that made her feel shivery and strange. An excellent setting for a horror movie, she thought to herself, and far too similar to
V is for Vendetta
. If someone in a Guy Fawkes mask came out of the corners, she was pretty sure she would scream. It was entirely too similar to the time she took a trip to DC after playing Fallout 3 when she was younger. She kept looking for Super Mutants.

Was this what jet lag did to your brain? she thought. She was entirely too tired and disoriented, especially after her nap on the plane.

The train pulled into the station, a modern silver affair not unlike the trains at home. The proper accent telling her to Mind The Gap made her giggle; she’d always figured that was just something that they did in movies, not in real life.

They settled into seats; at this end, the train was about half full, and it stopped every few moments. She tried not to smash her nose against the window like a tourist, but it was inevitable. They were traveling through some of the less picturesque parts of London, but it was still fascinating to her. There was something so different about the city than anything she’d ever experienced, but she couldn’t lay her finger on what exactly it was. A sense of age, a sense of—patience, of
more
than she’d ever experienced, either in New York, or back home in any of the cities in the South.

By the time they switched trains, it was verging on full dark, and her stomach was growling. As they stepped onto the second train, Alex gave her a long look. “How do you feel about Indian food?”

Zoey grinned. “Great, as long as you get it from the place Claire told me about, and not one of the fancy restaurants she said you’d try to use to impress me.”

She had a sense that if his complexion were lighter, he’d be blushing. “That sister of mine,” he said, his tone cheerful. “Fine, my secret is out. The best food is rarely the most expensive, no matter what the fancy chefs want you to think. Do you prefer meat or vegetarian Indian?”

“Sag paneer’s my favorite,” she said. “After that, whatever you’d like.”

“Excellent,” he said. He pulled out his phone and tapped away at a message for a bit, then smiled at her as the train jerked into motion again.

“What was that? Do you order from them by text message?”

His expression was genuinely confused. “No. I let the London housekeeper know we were almost there, and if he could send someone out to pick up my usual order, plus sag paneer, that would be our dinner.”

It was another one of those disjointed moments she just couldn’t wrap her head around. “You even have someone to order take-out for you.”

“Take away.”

“What?”

“When in London, you call it take-away.”

“That’s…a very random cultural difference for you to point out.”

He shrugged. “I studied at the London School of Economics for a semester abroad. It was the randomest thing, but when I came home, I couldn’t remember to say take out for months. Leo gave me such a hard time about it.”

“Leo?”

He nodded. “Leonard Khodorkovsky, though if you ever called him that, he’d probably laugh at you.”

“Wait, the son of the Russian ambassador?”

Alex nodded. “The same.”

She laughed. “Between his diplomatic immunity and your resources, was there anything you two didn’t get away with?”

Alex shook his head. “Not much. But don’t be too impressed by my resources. I’m small potatoes, compared to Leo. His father was one of the oligarchs that took over massive swathes of the dying Soviet industries in the nineties and has done a lot of dark deeds to keep it, to hear Leo tell it. His father left when things between the U.S. and Russian chilled off again, but Leo stayed somehow. I’m not sure the man even really has a visa, but it doesn’t seem to matter to him.” He glanced sideways at Zoey and laughed. “I take it you have a thing for big Russian men?”