Page 194 of Mine Again
“They’re both terrible. But points for coming up with them in under a minute.”
He leans in close enough for his breath to brush my ear.
“I guess what matters is that Bond always gets the villain… usually with a little help from his girl.”
The way he says it is low and gravelly, and the knot in my stomach tightens, but for an entirely different reason now. My pulse trips over itself, and for a moment the shadows around us seem less heavy.
Still, the unease clings, reminding me that whatever this is, weare stepping into something far bigger than the island we’re leaving behind.
“In that case, I wish the movie was already over and the credits were rolling.”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to skip to the ending. You’d miss the best parts.”
He offers his hand, and I take it, letting him help me into the passenger seat. He leans in, brushing a quick kiss over my lips before reaching for the harness.
His movements are precise and deliberate as he adjusts the straps, checking twice that they’re neither too loose nor too tight. His fingertips graze my collarbone in the process, and even through the layers of fabric, his touch burns like a quiet brand.
When he steps around the nose of the helicopter, my eyes follow him. The focused line of his jaw. The unhurried, controlled way he moves, like he was born knowing how to command any space he’s in.
He’s a man of many talents, and now I can add helicopter pilot to that list.
“We’re not flying in this to Tangier, are we?” I ask, the question sounding ridiculous even to my own ears. But until Las Vegas, I had never left Sicily, and I was unconscious for the trip to this island. How would I know?
“No,farfalla. We’re flying to the mainland. My jet is parked there.”
I blink at him. “You’ve got a jet?”
“Wedo, actually. Because what’s mine is yours. Remember? We’re married.”
My heart stumbles. Swoon.
“And is there a pilot for that, or are you flying that too?”
He smirks and hands me the headset.
“Are you serious?” I stare at him, shaking my head.
Who is this man?
Maybe he’s more James Bond than he lets on.
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
He fastens his harness and starts flicking switches, his lips curving. “Stay away from you.”
I grin. How could I not? We might be flying straight into the dark unknown, but with Luca, my smiles are never far away.
“So you’re going to fly us to Tangier? How long will that take?”
“Actually, I’m flying us to Gibraltar, in case Hale or the authorities manage to track us. From there, we’ll take a speedboat across the Strait to Tangier. We should be there in about twelve hours,” he says, flicking another switch, his gaze never leaving the controls.
The thought of being hunted, of someone close enough to track us, is like ice under my skin.
The blades above us begin to spin, their slow rhythmic churn building into a rapid thrum that vibrates through the seat and up my spine. Even with the headset in place, I can hear the deep mechanical hum.
A tight flutter stirs in my stomach. I’ve never flown in a helicopter before, at least not that I can remember, though it must have been how I arrived on the island. The sensation is strange, part thrill and part unease, but neither is strong enough to push past the weight of what lies ahead.
Beside me, Luca’s hands move over the controls with quick, confident precision. His gaze sweeps across the instrument panel, checking readings, adjusting levers, and flicking switches in a rhythm that seems instinctive.
