“No,” she simply says, turning her body toward me. “I think I’m just going to surprise them with that one.” Then she mutters under her breath, “I’m sure they’ll be just as thrilled as I was.”
I grunt in agreement. I can’t pretend like I was looking forward to this, but that was before I saw her. I scrub my hand down my face. No. Her looks don’t change the fact that she’s a cop, and I can’t ever go there. Not only would I never be able to trust a cop, but I’d lose respect in my world for fraternizing with the enemy.
“What, don’t you like Faye?” I ask her, twisting her words around a little. “I’ll be sure to pass on the message to the woman who is helping find your cousin when she doesn’t have to.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “I wasn’t talking about Faye, and you know it.”
Her lips.
They’re flawless. Heart-shaped and the perfect size. I’d like nothing more than to close the space between us and taste them. Why don’t I ever want something that’s good for me? I never seem to choose the easy route. Maybe easy is boring. Maybe I’m just a person who can never get what he wants without a fight.
I’m okay with that. I fought to leave the trailer park where I grew up, to become something, even though it may not seem like I became someone to be proud of, but in my mind, I did. When my mom was alive, she was so proud that I was in college. She never lived to see me graduate, but I know it would have been the happiest day of her life. Would she want me to be a biker instead of using those three degrees? Probably not. But it is what it is, and I am what I am. I joined the Wild Men right before I finished college. They became my family, and I never looked back, using any skills I gained in school as an asset to the club. I made them money with investments and playing in the stock market, shit like that. I didn’t need to get a “real” job.
“We’re going to have to get along until we find her,” I say, offering her my hand. “Why don’t we call a truce for now?”
We’re here for one reason, and that’s to find Elizabeth. Yes, I’m attracted to Johanna, but it’s not like I’m going to act on it. I’m a grown man, and I can control myself.
I think.
She eyes my hand for a second before placing her small one in mine. “So I’m not a cop, and you’re not a biker? We’re just—”
“Ranger and Johanna.”
She nods and lets go of my hand, even though I don’t want her to. The airline personnel call us to board, and I follow behind her, wondering what the fuck I’m getting myself into.
• • •
I’m not a small man, so when I see that Faye put me in business class, I send her a little prayer of thanks. Johanna sits right next to me, and even though we just declared a truce, I kind of wish she was seated somewhere else, because she’s a distraction I’m trying to avoid, and it’s hard when she’s so damn close. I guess I better get used to it though. Still, if we were in economy I’d be pressed up against her, and now we have space between us. I catch her glancing over at me but pretend that I don’t notice it. Maybe I should pretend I’m asleep or something. Fuck it, I’ll just watch a movie. I’m about to put on my headphones when she speaks.
“Ranger?”
“Yeah,” I say, turning my head to the right and looking into her eyes. Her beauty hits me. Fuck, she’s stunning.
She wrings her hands together, then winces. “I’m not a very good flier.”
I sit up straighter. “What do you mean you’re not a good flier? Do you get sick?”
“Sometimes,” she admits, the color leaving her face as the plane starts to move. “I usually just feel nauseous and drowsy. Light-headed.”
I undo my seat belt, get up, and crouch in front of her seat. I know I’m not meant to, and I’m about to get told off, but I can’t exactly leave her to suffer. Fuck the rules. “You’re only mentioning this now? Isn’t there some motion-sickness medicine or something you can take?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m only telling you in case I pass out.”
My eyes widen. “Pass out? Fuckin’ fuck, Johanna! Should I call a flight attendant? I’m sure they’ll have something that will help you.”
She shakes her head. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She waves me off, even though I can see she’s not feeling well. She’s clearly stubborn.
“Excuse me, sir, but you must be seated and have your seat belt on for takeoff,” a flight attendant tells me. I sit back down but ask her if she has anything that can help Johanna, who, from the side, denies needing any kind of assistance. The attendant fusses over Johanna for a little while, gives her some water and a bag, in case she needs to be sick. Johanna convinces her she’s fine, so the attendant leaves us alone.
“You’re not fine,” I growl, narrowing my gaze on her. As the flight ascends, I can see a sheen of sweat appear on her brow. I wait until the stupid seat belt light is off, then return to her side. She doesn’t even react to my nearness, just keeps her eyes closed and her head back against the seat. Getting tired of her shit, I undo her seat belt, lift her up in my arms, and lift her into my lap.
“Ranger? What are you doing?” she asks in a soft voice. She must have a killer headache, because she seems so disoriented, nothing like the feisty cop I met at the café. She doesn’t even try to move from my hold, something I’m sure she’d have done if she were feeling normal. I sit back down, with her cradled in my lap, rubbing her back gently. She presses her cold, clammy face against my black T-shirt, so I start to give her a gentle head massage, hoping it helps with the tension. It must work, because she relaxes against me, her body going limp. Soon after, she falls asleep on me, her soft snores making me grin. Just who is this woman in my arms? Not just her job—who is she, other than a cop? If all of that was peeled back, to the very essence of her, that’s what I crave to know. I, too, close my eyes and try to sleep. I don’t think we’ll get much rest after this flight, so I should take advantage of it.