Page 67 of The Viper
I turned fully. “You really falling for me, Lucas Dane?”
“I told you I was,” he said softly. “Yeah.”
There are moments when the world cooperates—the engine a steady hum, the wind pitched to the right key, the city doing its best impression of a charming witness. I stepped into him and felt his exhale, that low surrender that never sounded like defeat. His hands bracketed my hips, careful, sure. I tipped my mouth up to his and he met me halfway, the kiss patient at first, then less so. The kind that says we have time, then proves it wrong.
He tasted like the sea. I curled my fingers in his shirt and found the solidity underneath. The rail pressed against my back; he caged me without caging me. The angle stole my breath; hegave it back. I made a sound I didn’t recognize and felt him answer with one I did.
Yes. There you are.
“Inside,” he said against my mouth, voice gone rough. Not a question.
We didn’t rush—rushing was for people who didn’t understand what was about to happen—but the corridor blurred. Leather. Glass. Pale wood. A cabin that smelled like cedar and salt and the shadow of a thousand miles. He locked the door with the kind of casual efficiency that made my knees soften, then leaned back against it as if to say the world could knock itself out on the other side.
“Tell me ‘no’ if you need to,” he said.
“I need to,” I whispered, “get you closer.”
His laugh was wrecked silk. My back found the edge of a low settee; his hands found the shape of me like he’d memorized it in the dark.
By the time we climbed back onto the deck, the sun had tipped, the sky the exact color of my dress, then dimmer. Lucas stood behind me again, his chin in the curve of my shoulder, his breath warm against damp skin. We didn’t say much. We didn’t need to. He pressed a kiss to the place below my ear that made me think of future mornings, and I pretended I wasn’t already thinking them.
The yacht ghosted back toward the marina. Crew appeared as if conjured. The captain thanked “Mr. Dane” and “Ms. Montgomery” with professional discretion that still made my cheeks heat. Lucas gave him a nod.
My world loved chatter; Lucas’s world prized silence. I was figuring out that I could live inside both.
The drive to the airfield was another kind of quiet—the city giving way to flat stretches, the SUV steady like a heartbeat. We passed through a private gate that recognized the car withoutmaking a fuss. The jet waited like a promise someone had remembered to keep.
I’ve flown on plenty of nice planes. The studio sometimes springs for mid-tier glamour when it wants you bright and obedient on a talk show sofa. This was not that. This was matte black and whispering, walnut and cream leather. A flight attendant with an elegant bun smiled like she’d known us for years. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Dane. Ms. Montgomery.”
Lucas nodded the kind of nod that means you grew up without this and you’re never going to treat people like furniture. “Thank you,” he said.
She melted into the efficiency you only notice if you’re looking for it. We took the seats opposite each other at a low table, so close our knees brushed. Through the oval window, the runway lights winked in a line like a dare.
“First time?” I teased.
“On a plane like this?” He huffed. “First time where my feet aren’t in a duffel and my head isn’t on a rucksack.”
“You said you wanted to spoil me,” I said, reaching for his hand under the table.
He laced our fingers together, a simple interlock that did something reckless to my ribs. “I also said I’m not used to any of it,” he said. “That’s still true. But I can learn.”
A tray appeared—champagne already beading on the flute, a small tin that didn’t need its label read to be understood. I raised a brow. He looked almost sheepish.
“Humor me,” he said.
So, I did. I let him feed me a bite I’d had before in places where everyone wears black and waits for you to announce your virtue. It tasted better here with my bare knees against his and his thumb stroking the back of my hand like I might bolt out the emergency exit if he stopped.
The jet nudged forward, turned, paused. Acceleration caught our breaths and pushed them back into us. Charleston fell away in blue squares of light. My stomach dropped, then steadied. Lucas didn’t look out the window. He looked at me, and the intensity of it made the cabin smaller, safer, more dangerous.
“What do you think?” he asked, stealing my earlier line.
I leaned my head against the leather and let the engine hum fill my ears. “I don’t want to go back to pretending I don’t want you.”
His hand tightened on mine. “You won’t have to.”
“You say that like you can promise me anything.”
“I can promise what I can control.” His mouth curved. “It’s a short list. But you’re on it.”
