At the front door I hesitate, and then make a noise of frustration. ‘Let’s just get this over with!’
I wrench the door inwards and my breath bursts through me, driving all thoughts of me and what I look like from my mind, leaving only room for Barrett—to appreciate him, to admire him. He is overwhelming to all my senses. Dressed in faded jeans and a polo shirt, his hair pushed back from his brow, aviator sunglasses in place—that he pulls off as I step out.
‘Hey.’ His deep, gravelly voice is so hot I want to tell him to cancel whatever restaurant he’s booked us into and to get his butt into my place. But he holds a hand out and his smile is so full of something like anticipation that I miss my opportunity. ‘You ready?’
‘I think so.’ I pull the door shut behind me, then put my hand in his. It’s not too late to get out of this. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’
Everything is a surprise. From the car that collects us—a black SUV with darkly tinted windows and a driver behind the wheel—to the champagne he pops as we pull away from the kerb, pouring expertly and handing me a glass, to the conversation he makes as we drive away from my home, away from the city. True to our agreement, it’s light, and there’s not a single mention of the Harts. Thank God.
It’s only a twenty-minute drive—enough time for a glass of champagne and to spark my curiosity. I don’t recognise where we are until the car pulls to a stop—Barrett has occupied all of my attention for the entire drive.
‘The airport?’ I murmur as the driver opens my door. But not any part of the airport I’ve been to before.
‘A private airstrip?’
My eyes skim the surroundings and land on a huge jet. ‘Hart Brothers’ is emblazoned down one side in big gold lettering.
I freeze, panic flooding me.
‘Barrett?’ He steps out behind me, putting a hand around my waist, his fingers stroking my hip.
‘Relax.’ He breathes the word against my temple. ‘It’s just a means of transportation. They’re not on board.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘It’s just a jet.’
‘A private jet owned by them.’ My eyes slam over ‘Hart Brothers’ and I feel an ache deep down, a pain, and I’m sure it shows in my eyes because he draws me closer, dropping his face nearer to mine, understanding in his features, a look of complete sympathy.
‘This isn’t going away, Avery. One way or another, you’re going to have to face up to the fact of who you are.’ I suck in a tortured breath. ‘But not now. Tonight, this is just a means to an end.’ He pauses, his eyes roaming my face gently. ‘Trust me?’
I bite down on my lip, eyeing the jet once more. I do trust him. Which scares the bejeezus out of me. I don’t trust anyone, ever. It’s like a rule I have, one I didn’t ever consciously make but that I’ve been living by for a really long time. Trusting people is dangerous. Happiness comes from independence—not reliance.
‘Fine.’ And then, unable to shake a frown from my face, ‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’ He drops his arms, catching one of my hands in his, lacing our fingers together and drawing me towards the jet. My heart thumps as we get closer—this obvious wealth, a sign of the disparity between them and me—hits me hard. There’s a sense of disbelief and anger but also awe, because this plane is like something out of a fantasy. It is the last word in luxe—and it’s not like that’s a foreign concept to me.
‘So you don’t have your own plane then?’ I tease, choosing a seat from the many available. There are armchairs and sofas, each with a seat belt buried in the cushions.
‘I don’t travel enough to warrant it.’ He lifts his shoulders.
It naturally leads to me wanting to ask about the owners of the jet, but I don’t. I’m already breaking a shedload of my own rules.
‘No? I would have thought with your job you’d be in the air a bit?’
‘Once a fortnight.’ He lifts his shoulders. ‘Sometimes more. Not like these guys.’ He thumbs towards the back of the plane, indicating the ghosts of the Hart brothers. ‘Sometimes they fly daily. They have businesses all over the world and like to be on hand.’
Perhaps he senses my reticence to be drawn into that subject because he leans towards me conspiratorially, ‘Plus, between you and me, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with flying commercial.’
‘But not tonight?’
‘This was easier.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ve already asked that.’
‘You didn’t answer.’