Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(78)

Please try to act like something a little more classy than a bumpkin, I silently begged myself as I climbed the stairs, gripping the railing and counting down the number of steps before I would be safely in a seat and no longer in danger of tripping, falling, or hurling myself into a turbine or something. Not that it was likely; it’s just likely for me. I’ve learned that I have a peculiar talent for heretofore impossible feats of clumsiness. I think I may have been cursed by a gypsy as a child.

A man in a dark blue turtleneck stood in the cabin patiently, smiling at me as I carefully mounted the stairs to the jet. He nodded politely when I was finally safely inside.

“Morning, captain!” I said jovially.

He grinned and winked at me. Taken aback by his rakish attitude, I darted quickly down the aisle to the left, finding a seat and turning to aim my backside at it. It was lower than I anticipated, and I fell into it with a loud whoosh and creak of the leather.

Jackson ambled in behind me, stowing his bag behind the chair facing mine. He met my gaze as he sat, offering me another brilliant smile. Could he really be interested in me? It seemed a little too good to be true.

The door closed with a hydraulic clang and the man in the turtleneck walked down the aisle, taking a seat on the long sofa across from me. I squinted at him slightly, wondering what was supposed to happen next. Was Jackson going to give some kind of sign that we were ready?

“You’re not the captain,” I nodded, realizing that I had just called my other host a worker. I hoped this was the first and last dumb thing I was going to have to admit.

“The pilot? No,” he grinned. My discomfort seemed to please him inordinately.

“Pilot, right. Not captain,” I corrected myself.

Two dumb things in 30 seconds, I thought. That has to be some kind of personal record.

“You can call me Captain when we get to our boat,” he offered gamely.

“Our boat?” I asked, unsure if that was on the itinerary or what.

“Well let’s just see how this goes,” he winked, and I felt my cheeks go all hot in response. Oh, OK, this is the sort of guy who likes to mess with you for fun, I noted. Trip you and then pull you back up. Great. And here I am: a world-class klutz, ripe for falling.

He stuck his hand out. “Declan Burke.”

“Margot Trask,” I said, offering my hand and leaning forward just enough that I didn’t flash him too much cleavage.

“I can see that,” he said with a grin fully as brilliant as his brother’s. His hand slipped against mine and held it firmly, securely. Tiny sparks of electricity jumped all along my arm and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to yank my arm back or just offer it to him to keep. How these two were just walking around on Earth, I could only begin to guess. They didn’t even seem real.

The sound of the jet engines wound up, temporarily filling the cabin with an impenetrable roar as we began to speed down the runway. I closed my eyes as we took off, allowing the ascent to press me back against the soft, cream-colored leather with no resistance. I always loved the feeling of entering the air, how the earth drags you back, pulling you back to land until the plane commits to a cruising altitude.

For long moments nobody spoke. I just kept my head down and hid my secret smile behind my hair. Flying on a private jet with (admittedly) the buffest mofos I ever saw… It was just too much.

Rather than risk any more gaffes, I dragged the biography out of my purse and gingerly cracked the spine. The paper was stained and rigid, and I really didn’t want to think too hard about that.

“So you’re a fan of the ‘Zefron’ are you?”

I looked up and met Declan’s bemused smile with a defiant quirk of my eyebrow.

“Is that a problem?”

“Oh no, no problem, certainly. I love a woman who reads. Tell me… where does a person procure such a fascinating tome?”

He looked accusingly at Jackson, who just shrugged.

“Never seen it before in my life,” he said innocently.

“Huh,” Declan continued. “Well I guess you should consider yourself lucky you got your hands on it then, Margot. Jackson has read pretty much everything there is.”

“Oh, you know… I’ve got the whole High School Musical and Hansen brothers collection now, so I’m considering it a bit of a win.”

I crossed my legs at the knee, causing my heel to come unstrapped and dangle precariously off my toe.

“Oh, my stupid shoe,” I gasped, reaching for it.

“Let me,” Declan insisted. In an instant he was kneeling in front of me. One hand held my ankle and the other fit the shoe back on. His fingers deftly worked the straps closed and I sucked in my breath, unsure what to do.