Page 57 of Sticky Fingers
Chapter Nineteen
Malcolm
“You’re kidding.”
“Not really.”
“All of it?”
“As far as the eye can see,” I tell Sonia with a smile, laying my hand on top of hers as she presses her forehead against the small window next to her seat.
Her eyes widen as the plane slowly descends, the island down below growing larger against the blue backdrop of the Caribbean Sea.
“How much does an island like this cost?” she asks me, probably still not believing that I own one.
I don’t blame her—I never thought I’d own one, to be honest; but then again, I never thought I’d be the main character in a romance novel.
“I have no idea,” I reply with a shrug. “This one belonged to a Greek shipping magnate. I won it from one of his heirs in a poker game.”
“Of course,” she says, laughing. “Everything’s a game to you.”
“Not everything.” I laugh, too, but I don’t offer an explanation.
Truth be told, I don’t have one. Before Sonia, everything really used to be a game to me. A game with high stakes, a game of survival—but a game nonetheless.
Now, though…now I have no fucking idea.
When the wheels finally connect with the tarmac and the plane grinds to a halt, I grab Sonia’s hand and get to my feet. I guide her out of the plane, and I watch her face attentively as the afternoon sun greets her.
“Holy shit,” she mutters to herself, taking in the scenery.
Lush greenery surrounds us from all sides, the airstrip and a small control building the only man-made structures around. A light breeze tries to placate the afternoon heat but, despite that, I already see beads of sweat dripping down the back of Sonia’s neck.
I need to get her something fresh.
Like a bikini.
Areallytiny bikini.
“Let’s go,” I say, leading the way onto the tarmac.
As we climb down the stairs, a few men, part of the island staff—all of them wearing worn button-up shirts, shorts and sandals—start unloading the plane.
“Is that for us?” Sonia asks me, pointing to an old Jeep parked a dozen feet away from the plane. Despite its old age, the metal frame gleams under the sunlight spotlessly.
“That’s right,” I reply, grabbing Sonia by the hips and helping her onto the Jeep. “It’s a Willys. You don’t see them that much anymore, but during WWII these things were everywhere.”
“A man that knows his cars, huh?”
“And his women,” I grin, sliding into my seat.
As I rev up the engine, I notice Sonia turning around in her seat, her gaze focused on the staff as they unload the cargo.
“Smartass,” she comments. “Are you going to leave the boxes behind?”
“What boxes?” I flash her another grin as I play dumb, but I know exactly what she’s talking about.
She’s hellbent on having me play her little game, but I’m way more interested in playing withher, and in an R-rated manner at that.
