Kidnapping the Billionaire's Baby

She managed to pry the phone from his near hand. She laced her small fingers in with his large ones and squeezed. He squeezed back and mumbled something she couldn’t make out.

Outwardly, Amara continued to comfort Quint, telling him every which way she could think of that they were going to be fine. Inside, she cursed the bad luck of hitting turbulence on this day, of all days, and with this man, of all men, present.

It seemed to go on forever, until Amara was getting more than a little worried. Quint began to moan. She hated to imagine what he must be remembering, what he was reliving in that moan. How terrifying must that crash have been? Beyond her ability to comprehend.

He’d seen his friends and employees burning alive in the wreckage. Burning alive. Is that what he was seeing behind those closed eyelids?

That wasn’t going to happen today, she told herself. It wouldn’t. Nothing could happen to them, because they had to find Hampton.

She stroked his hand and began humming softly. Quint’s moaning died away.

Several minutes later, the ride smoothed out. Amara held her breath. Was it over?

The pilot’s voice answered her question. “I think we’re in the clear now, Mr. Forbes. All systems are operating as they should. With any luck, it will be smooth flying the rest of the way in to Montevideo.”

Amara released the breath she’d been holding. Thank God. Quint’s features relaxed, but only slightly.

The attendant bustled up and helped unbuckle Quint. Amara asked for a couple of stiff drinks, and the attendant, with approval in her eyes, rushed off to get them. Who cared if it might still be, technically, morning?

Amara reached up and feathered a touch down Quint’s smooth cheek. “It’s all over. We’re going to be fine.”

She almost jumped when he spoke.

“Of course we’ll be fine. We have to find Hampton before anything can happen to us.”

Amara couldn’t help but smile at him. “That’s almost exactly what I was thinking.”

“Then great minds think alike.”

He took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes, rolling his shoulders a few times to loosen up. Amara gently pulled his clenched hand from the arm rest.

He stared at his claw-like hand, relaxed it, and then looked at Amara. “I’m sorry. I … I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” Color was returning to his cheeks, and she realized some of it was the result of embarrassment.

She’d have none of it. “I was so wrapped up in my worries, I didn’t even think about how hard it must be for you to fly. I think you’re very brave to be doing this, Quint.”

He blew out a breath. “Not brave, no. You saw how I’m not brave. I feel … at times … like I’m not me anymore. Like part of me died in that crash with the others.”

The attendant arrived with the drinks, and Quint accepted his with many thanks before sending her away.

They sipped the smooth whiskey, Amara trying to think of something to say.

“I get it,” she said. “Part of me died when I knew Hampton was gone. I couldn’t face it again, relive that moment. But here you are, on this plane, risking what only a survivor of such a crash could truly understand he’s risking. You’re unbelievably brave, Quint. Trust me on that.”

A pleasurable shiver ran down her spine when she looked into his beautiful eyes and saw the tender strength there. She wanted to kiss him, but believed it to be an inappropriate urge, everything considered.

She sipped her drink and let the whiskey blaze a trail of fire down to her belly, distracting her from the unwanted attraction.

“Thank you,” Quint said simply, but with a depth of emotion that emphasized the sentiment.

They held hands and sat in silence for some time, each lost in their own thoughts.

The plane shuddered slightly, and she and Quint tensed up again.

Amara spoke rapidly and with purpose. “What are we going to do when we get to Montevideo, Quint? Just walk up to the Orlando house and tell them that we want our baby back? You know how family looks out for their own, and from what you’ve told me, the Orlandos are pretty tight knit and closed off. I always knew Frederik was high society, but he didn’t seem like a recluse.”

Quint gave a stiff nod. “Perhaps that’s why he was one of the few to leave the country once he was old enough to attend college in America.” He moved to place his arm over her shoulders again, and she was pleased to snuggle in closer to him.

“Maybe. Or maybe they ran him off because he’s a raving lunatic.”