Page 31 of Burn for Me

“Fine, I see how it is. Don’t give your best friend the nitty-gritty details.”

I huff as the door closes behind us, making the air cling to my freshly shaved calves.

It's easy to slide into this role without even realizing it. One foot in front of the other—face neutral. Never show your weakness. Always display the power that follows in your shadow. Look pretty, but don’t speak. My mother's voice echoes in my head, loud enough that it feels like she’s talking over my shoulder. I shiver as a chill runs down my spine.

“God damn, I feel like I should be asking for your autograph.” Moe whistles as he steps out of his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. That's the confidence boost I needed. So what if Sam didn't like the kiss?

I’m powerful. So powerful that I could make the demons that haunt me bow at my feet, and I could burn the world down with a snap of my fingers.

“Back off, that’s my friend.” Sharkie hisses, and I laugh as we exit the corridors onto the landing pad. The jet sits idling, sleek, and white in the center of the large opening. I raise my arm to shield my eyes from the sun's dazzling glare.

“I thought you’d never get her out here,” Tide grumbles as he steps beside Sharkie, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her temple. I want to gag at their affection simply because I don’t have that–I have something fake that feels real.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Sam ducks his head under the aircraft's door and walks down the steps, running his hand down the front of his white button-up until his fingers hook into the waist of his black slacks.

My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip as he tilts his head in acknowledgment toward a soldier. His hair is freshly buzzed atthe sides, leaving the top slicked back and longer. His arms bulge from below the cuffs rolled up to his elbows.

He thinksI'mthe devil? Has he looked in the mirror?

“We need to get going if we’re going to make it to our dinner reservations.”

He may look different, but his tone is still as cold as ever as he extends his hand toward me. I raise an eyebrow at his gesture and place my bag in his palm. They want a trophy wife, and they already have one.

I’ve always said that I learned from the best, but it was never my father I referred to. He could never stand how my mother held herself. He expected her to be quiet and proper, but he never realized she wielded power with just a tilt of her nose and a wave of her hand. I’ll gladly act like her, but I refuse to become her.

As I reach the top of the stairway, I flash a bright smile at the captain, who takes my hand to guide me through the luxurious white leather interior. In an instant, Sam's hand finds its way to the small of my back, and he clears his throat.

“We need to stay on schedule, which means we should be taking off,” Sam says as he guides us to two seats opposite each other, with a tray in the middle. It's clear that I'm not the only one picking up on the undertone of danger in his voice; even the pilot backs away with a nod and says, “Please enjoy your flight.”

“We’ll get there long before scheduled. It should only take three hours to reach New York from here,” Sam rambles. A woman strides up with a tray in hand, giving us both a glass of champagne, and the grin I didn't even realize I was wearing drops as we lock eyes. Not just any woman–Lacy. She is the one person I try to avoid at all costs becausesheis the reason I found out I might have a slight jealousy problem over things that aren't mine.

“I'm not drinking that soddin’ stuff.” Sam grumpily refuses with a wave of his hand.This isn't happening again. I drag my gaze from her black heels up her pantsuit to her features. Her eyes squint with how wide her smile goes as he finally glances in her direction with a raised brow.

“He’ll have whisky,” I say without thinking, but I don't let my sudden anxiety about opening my big mouth show. Instead, I flash her a smile and hold out my hand, expecting her to place the glass in it. I focus extra hard on the crook in her nose.

“A fuckin whisky sounds amazing,” Sam says, oblivious to how thick the air has turned around him. The tension only grows whenhe'sthe one to lift the glass off the tray and place it in my hand.

“That’ll be all.” I purr, and Lacy simply huffs in response as she turns to walk back down the narrow aisle. I sigh and lean back into the plush cushion, tilting the flute gracefully.

I’ll just blame my behavior on my nerves.Like a Godsend, Sam reads my thoughts and taps his fingers to the table with a quiet, “Relax for a bit; you're too tense.”

“I think you're the one who needs torelax,” I mutter, clearing my throat from the potency of the alcohol. Sam’s silence draws my attention to the smirk that deepens his smile lines.

“Are you offering to help?” The huskiness in his voice makes my throat constrict.

“What if I said yes?” I purr, attempting to gather my composure.

His eyes narrow in amusement, and my smile grows as he leans his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers, and tilts his head thoughtfully.

“I’d warn you that I haven't been with a woman in eight years.” he grins, though he conceals it by gliding his tongue across his canine.

He hasn’t?It's hard to believe that with how he looks and how women lookathim. I grin, glancing at Lacy, making Sam drink with a tremble in her hand from the turbulence. It brings me an odd sense of relief to know that, even though I haven’t been allowed to appreciate the scarred flesh I know lies beneath his clothes, no one else has either. However, now my mind is spiraling into more sinful territory.

What would he be like after being deprived for so long? Would he savor it–make it slow and sweet? Would he be so eager–ripping at clothes and devouring skin like a man starved?

I turn my attention back to his laid-back posture—one arm on a rest and the other pulling at the collar of his shirt, exposing the chain of his dog tags beneath–and my heart rate skyrockets.

How loud would he moan? Would his muscles ripple and tense when he gets close?

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