Page 135 of Sinful Desires
“I’m so sorry, ma’am,” the stewardess said, voice brittle. “There’s?…?an issue. Some paparazzi broke through the outer perimeter. They’re surrounding the aircraft.”
LeRoy stood slowly and leaned toward the window.
His voice dropped, flat and cold. “You’re telling me four bald parasites with discount cameras are holding this fucking plane hostage?”
She flinched. “The airline has strict policies regarding?—”
“Fuck your policies. Come on,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.
I threw on my hoodie, tugging the fabric low to hide my hair, half my face swallowed in shadow. I grabbed my bag and slipped on my sunglasses.
Nicholas cracked open the private suite door, rubbing the sleep from his face. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Paparazzi breached the perimeter,” the stewardess muttered as two staff members wrestled the door open and locked the metal stairs into place with a hiss. “They’re surrounding the plane.”
Nicholas grabbed his bag, tugged his hood up, and fell into step beside me as we started down the aisle.
“We should hold hands when we step out,” he murmured, just loudly enough for me to hear. “Or I could wrap my arm around your waist. Really sell the narrative—young couple in love, escaping to the South of France for a sun-drenched, scandal-free weekend.”
My gaze slid up to LeRoy. His black shirt pulled tightly across the muscles of his broad back, his hands clenched like he was one second from snapping someone’s neck. His whole body was strung tight, like control cost him blood.
He’d heard every word. Of course he had. The man heardeverything. Even the darkest secrets I’d buried in my heart.
“Let’s loop arms instead,” I muttered, flicking a glance at Nicholas.
The door was already open, wind slicing through the cabin in sharp, hungry gusts. Two staff members stood stiffly beside it, tight smiles plastered on like apologies they weren’t brave enough to say aloud. Their eyes avoided ours.
LeRoy stopped just past them, the light from outside kissing the edge of his jaw. One foot on the threshold, body still.
He turned slightly, his grey eyes locking on me. “I’m going down first. When I hit the tarmac, you both come. Walk straight to the car. Don’t stop.”
His eyes dropped to where Nicholas’s arm was looped through mine. His tongue swept slowly across his teeth as his jaw flexed. That thick, gorgeous vein in his neck ticked. Then he turned and stepped out into the frenzy.
The second his boots hit the tarmac, the chaos cracked open.
“Miss Scarlett, are you happy to be in France?”
“Scarlett! Scarlett!Putain, connasse! Ici!”
“Nicholas, any Oscar buzz yet?”
“Are you two engaged?”
“Scarlett! Scarlett!T’es magnifique!”
The flashes came fast and hot, searing through the daylight. My grip latched to the stair rail, knuckles tight, the glare turning everything white. Nicholas unlinked our arms and slid an arm tighter around my waist, holding steady as we descended.
Cameras screamed from every angle. Questions pelted the air.
I pulled my hood lower, head down, pace locked. We hit the tarmac, our shoes thudding on wet concrete.
The paparazzi then jumped closer.
LeRoy moved fast. He tore through the crowd with brutal precision, shoving bodies aside like they were nothing but clutter in his path.
The door of the car swung open. But before we reached it, one of them lunged.
A man in a red shirt with my face stretched across his chest broke from the line, arm raised, camera way too close. LeRoy was twice his size, so the idiot had to jump to even try for the shot. He tripped, lost control, and the lens slammed into my shoulder with a sick, blunt crack that sent heat tearing up my spine.
