From pilot to masseuse. Is there anything this man isn’t good at?
I closed my eyes and leaned automatically into him. “Bad ones actually.” I peeked up at him through my lashes. “I dreamt I got this crazy idea in my head and took off to Peru, just left everything I care about behind in a city of smog.”
Nick’s eyes met mine, and his fingers tightened, giving me a little squeeze. “That crazy idea ended okay though.”
An automatic flush swept through my body, warming my face with a tentative smile. “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” I said, although the secret that really drove me down there remains. Pushing that precarious thought purposely from my head, I glanced out the window. “Where are we going?” I asked, feigning surprise. “Aren’t we headed back to the penthouse?”
On any other day, Nick would have seen through the false surprise at once, but on this particular occasion, he was too busy pretending himself. “No. I, uh...” He raked a casual hand through his hair. “Actually, I’ve got another condo, on the far side of the city. I thought we might go there instead.”
I shot him a questioning look.
“Less press and everything,” he quickly explained and justified.
Less press? Translation: less of Daddy Dearest, who’s surely waiting for him back home with his claws out, ready to pounce. Nevertheless, he had a point when it came to the media.
My entire body stiffened, then deflated with a soft sigh. “I’m sure those media maniacs will be all over this like frenzied sharks,” I said. A painful wince shot across my face, a preemptive echo of the flashbulbs and screams soon to come. “Talk about a bad dream. That’ll be a nightmare.”
Nick pursed his lips but said nothing at first. He had a tendency to protectively sugarcoat things every once in a while, but he was never one to lie. The press was going to be horrible, and we both knew it. “We’ll stay inside as much as we can, send the staff out for anything we need,” he finally assured me.
Wow, that sounds like fun. House arrest for the man who can’t stand to be in the same country for longer than any amount of time.
He caught me staring and shrugged, as if it couldn’t possibly matter less. “I’ve dealt with bad press before, Abby. We’ll handle it.”
I flashed him a weak smile and rubbed my eyes. Sure, it was a kind sentiment, but I could tell that there was a lot that wasn’t being said. Certainly he’d been a victim of press bullying before, but we’d never been through it together, a whole other thing entirely. I knew the press would treat us 100 percent differently as a couple, especially because we were really unofficial Manhattan royalty who appeared to be struggling. I was sure it would be a media blowout the likes of which we’d never seen. Inquiring minds would want to know, and every tweet, blog, and Facebook post would be happy to oblige them with all sorts of so-called news about us as soon as they sank their teeth into the first tasty morsel of gossip they could exaggerate or distort for shock value.
“This is the captain speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts as we prepare to land.”
As if reading my thoughts, Nick kicked my shoe, settled back in his own chair, and flashed me a little grin. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as Argentina.”
My eyes narrowed into an automatic glare as the recollection struck me, the two of us trapped with four Washington Post journalists during the rainy season, four reporters who really hated getting wet.
“That was different,” I snapped, fighting back a reluctant grin. Argentina had long been a sore subject for Nick and me, one of those hot-button issues we seldom brought up. I staunchly maintained that the entire incident was his fault, but Nick just as staunchly maintained his innocence. “We were trapped in a fishing village, and they had no signal. By the time the boat came back, you’d already rescued Henry from that rabid parrot. There was no way he’d print a bad story about you after that.”
Nick pursed his lips, wisely choosing not to push the envelope. “Well, what about Prague? Surely nothing could beat that.”
My eyebrows lifted slowly, and I sat up a little straighter in my seat. “Do you really want to bring that up, now that you have a girlfriend?”
The smile vanished from his face as he placed the old story in an incriminatingly new context. He shifted uncomfortably as the memory of a Bohemian princess died in his eyes. “No, ma’am,” he decided.
A sudden smile broke through my teasing, and I fought the need to jump him right there in his chair. I guess boarding school works. Those manners pop up at all the right times.
The plane skidded to a stop on the slick runway, and the moment thankfully passed.
Whether Nick had delivered us there to avoid his father or not, it was a brilliant move in terms of the press. I didn’t see a single photographer as we hurried down the fold-out stairs and into a waiting Town Car. This, coming from a woman whose career it’s been to spot them, I thought with a smirk and a shake of my head. The driver took off without a word from Nick, and less than a minute after landing, we were flying down the dark New York streets.
A baby. You’re going to have a baby, his baby, my mind taunted when I glanced over at my backseat companion. You have to tell him...sooner rather than later. He deserves to know, damn it!
For a split second, I almost spilled the beans about our little bambino. Despite all my planning and excruciating self-control, I almost blurted the big secret right there in the Town Car. However, just as I opened my mouth to speak, Nick loosened his collar and slid half a foot closer to me on the leather seat, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back in utter exhaustion. “I missed you,” he said, words that caught me completely off guard, stopping mine in their tracks.
I cocked my head curiously to the side.
He flashed me a crooked grin. “Less than a day, Abby. I already missed you before a whole day even passed.” He ran his fingers up over his face, chuckling quietly at his own uncharacteristic dependence. “What the fuck have you done to me, Wilder?”
No, not now. I can’t tell him now.
My confession vanished on my tongue as I scooted closer to him and slipped discreetly under his arm. “I believe they call it...whipped.”
He laughed again, and something about the sound of his chuckle sent a host of shivers up my spine. Nick wasn’t exactly a whipped kind of guy, so I knew that little joke was going to come back to bite me, one way or another. Not only that, but Nick tends to bite hard!