Page 2 of Depraved Royals

I pat my coat, feeling the outline of my boarding card and passport tucked safely in my inside pocket. Like my father always told me - you can’t be too careful.

I turn away from the fight and run, hoping I’m not too late.

* * *

My shoes squeal on the floor as I take a corner fast, sprinting for the gate. A steward is putting a small sign on the desk just as I crash into it, slapping my passport on the counter.

“I’m here,” I gasp. “It’s me. I’m Danica Pushkin. Ready to board.”

The steward cocks his head and gives me a condescending half-smile. “I’msosorry, ma’am. The flight is departing now. You’re too late.”

I look over his shoulder to see the Boeing, barely visible through the blizzard. It’s already moving, taxiing towards the runway.

I look back at the steward and give him my best ditzy expression. With me being only twenty, it’s often possible to give the impression that I’m a massive idiot who knows nothing about the world. If I can get this guy to take pity on me, maybe he can call the plane back…

“So here’s the thing,” I begin. “I need —”

“A ride?”

I turn around, furious at being cut off mid-sentence, to see those cold blue eyes again.

How is he here, standing behind me like nothing happened?

“What?” I say.

“You need a ride,” he replies. His mouth tilts into a devilish grin, and I suddenly feel restless and warm inside.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dani. He’s attractive. Very attractive. So what?

Well, it’d help if he didn’t use such a provocative turn of phrase. Becausefuckyes, I’d like a ride very much indeed.

I turn away from the sexy smile and back to the desk jockey. “This is my flight,” I say, waving my boarding card at the steward, “and I have paid for it. If you can’t recall it, I want to be booked onto another oneimmediately, please.”

I hear a derisive snort of laughter from behind me, but I ignore it. The steward raises his eyebrows.

“There are no more flights to New York today, I’m afraid.”

I’m about to lose my shit when the hottie reaches past me and picks up my passport.

“I’ll deal with her,” he says to the steward. He turns, my passport in his hand, and starts walking away.

For a moment, I’m lost for a reaction. I stare at his retreating back for a few seconds before turning to remonstrate with the steward again. He’s walking away too.

I look from one man to the other and make my choice.

“Hey!” I shout. “You, Mr. I’ll Deal With Her? Who thefuckdo you think you are?”

He stops and turns around to look at me. He extends a hand as though we’re meeting at a conference.

“I’m Kal,” he says. “And you are… let me guess.” I slap his hand away, and he grins. “I got it. Furious, right?”

“What is your problem?” I ask. “I had it under control. That guy was going to get the plane to come back for me.”

“Yep, I’m sure he was,” Kal says. “Then he was going to turn water into wine, invent time travel and, just maybe, make the in-flight food taste amazing.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Oh, great. A stalker, a brawler, and a comedian too? What luck I have.”

He shrugs. “So,” he says, looking at the name on my passport, “Danica. Do you want to get out of Geneva or not?”

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