Deep Control (Dark Dominance 2)

“You all seem pretty normal, for being so rich,” I said, forcing a smile.

Juliet snorted. “Fort and Dev aren’t normal. Trust me on this one.”

Her boyfriend grinned at her. “You’re not normal either, Sparkles.”

“Ignore them,” said Devin, touching my hand. “We’re just people. We go to work every day.”

I turned to him, wondering how he could look so big in the already-big first-class seat. “You’re working now, I guess. Escorting me to New York.”

“Someone has to do it. Might as well be me.” His deep, rough chuckle traveled down my body and ended up somewhere between my thighs. This close, he was powerfully attractive. My body remembered. I broke our eye contact, afraid of what he might uncover in my gaze.

Juliet and Fort returned to chatting with one another. Devin asked, “How are you feeling? You seem calmer.”

“I’m okay.” My main concern now was the landing, since, thus far, the fuselage of the plane had remained intact. “So, how long have you been a pilot?” I asked. “Since you joined the Air Force?”

“No.” He thought a moment. “I flew my first plane when I was eight.”

“What?”

He smiled. “I was with a flight instructor, and my parents. My father wanted me to be comfortable in the air. Now I can fly anywhere I want, anytime I want. Not that you’d enjoy that very much.”

Speaking of what I might enjoy triggered a fresh wave of embarrassment. He looked at me a little too long, and I was terrified he was going to bring it up, broach the subject of last night’s scene. Crazy, that we’d been at Via Sofferenza less than twenty-four hours ago. Would he bring it up? Please, don’t.

It seemed incredibly important to complete the rest of the journey without touching on enjoyment or pleasure, or the fact that we were both kinky freaks. The lights flickered and dimmed, drawing his attention away from my blush.

“You should try to sleep,” he said. “It makes the flight go faster. I’ll get you some blankets and pillows.”

I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep, but he was already moving, squeezing past me and walking up the aisle to tug open compartments filled with linens. He brought me a large, dark, fleece blanket that was light but warm, and two pillows.

“Are you going to go somewhere else?” I asked, as he moved past me to sit back down. “I mean, if I fall asleep?”

“Somewhere else?”

I could feel my blush deepening. There was something so reassuring in having him near, because he was a pilot. As soon as he left my side, I felt less safe. “Would you…please…” I bit my lip. “I think I could sleep, since I didn’t sleep much last night, but will you stay right here, in case…”

His gaze held mine, until my face was aflame. “If you want me here, I’ll stay here. Not that anything’s going to happen. Go on, close your eyes.”

I obeyed, because he had a rough, firm Dom voice that he used all the time. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel his presence beside me like a gravitational force. As I drifted, hurtling through the air at frightening speeds, I heard him take out his laptop. Fort and Juliet talked quietly from time to time, and the flight attendants chatted in the seats behind us. Everything was okay. I fell asleep to the sound of rushing air and Devin’s typing.

Minutes passed, or hours. I was jolted awake with a sense of disorientation as the cockpit door was flung open, hitting the wall. There were beeps and alarms sounding within, and the older captain’s hoarse voice shouting, “Kincaid! We need you. Now.”

Chapter Four: Devin

As soon as Ross yelled, Ella startled awake. She was instantly afraid. What the hell was he thinking?

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I told her. “One of them probably has to go to the bathroom. Too much Italian food. I’ll go see what they need.”

“Okay,” she said, clutching her blanket closer around her.

“I’ll be right back. Try to get some sleep.”

Fort glanced at me as I moved up the aisle. I tilted my head toward Ella in a silent request for him to help her if necessary.

I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

I entered the cockpit and scanned the instrument panel, finding a baffling barrage of issues. The oil pressure indicator blinked, the fuel imbalance alarm was chiming, and engine one was apparently almost out of fuel.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, tapping the fuel display. “This can’t be accurate. Computer error?”

“The computer systems are online and working, and the gauge is functioning, so we’re losing fuel,” said Captain Ross. “It’s happening somewhere in the balance system, and I haven’t been able to stop it.”

“Then don’t transfer any more fuel.”

“Roger that.” He exhaled sharply. “But according to the range indicator, we don’t have enough left to make it across the ocean. And I’m…” He rubbed his neck. A ring of flushed skin circled his collar.

“You’re what?” I studied the captain. Besides the flushed skin, he was unusually short of breath. The co-pilot, who we called Ayal since her last name was unpronounceable, was flipping through manuals, her tense features averted from the blinking controls. I turned back to Captain Ross.

“Do you feel okay, Mike?”

“I don’t feel great,” he said with his usual flair for understatement. “I could really use your help.”

“What can I do?”

His eyes flicked between the computer screen, the blinking lights, and the vast emptiness of sea and sky outside the window. “Communicate for us. I’m turning toward the Azores. Horta Airport. Ponta Delgada. Santa Maria. There

has to be somewhere we can land.”

“Why don’t you let me fly?” I said. “You take over ground control and coordinate our redirect.”

His face was rigid, without affect. He punched the flight monitor, a blunt thunk of knuckles. “Damn it. We’re still losing fuel.”

“I’ll employ fuel-saving maneuvers. Just find us a place to land, preferably not in the ocean.”

It wasn’t a joke, not a funny one, anyway. If our fuel depleted to the point of starvation, the engines would flame out and we’d be gliding, with no ability to power the airplane or accelerate. A plane this size, at a high enough altitude, could glide fifteen to twenty minutes before craft met firmament, but not much longer.

I checked the fuel gauge and did some math as Ross chanted our coordinates and mileage to an air-traffic controller in some faraway tower. Engine one began to sputter. Shrill engine-failure warnings overlapped the low-fuel dings.

“Silence those,” I requested, thinking of Ella back in the cabin. I’d promised her we’d be safe. “Where the hell’s the fuel going?”

Ayal looked up from her manuals. “It’s got to be a leak in the right wing fuel line. We transferred too much petrol before we realized we were losing it in the process…the indicator…we thought the oil alert…we didn’t realize it was related to the fuel system until it was too late.”

“It’s okay. Calm down.” I looked into her frantic, dark-rimmed eyes. She’d flown for five years with Gibraltar. She wasn’t a long-timer like Ross, but she was experienced enough to know that running out of fuel over the Atlantic was a pretty bad emergency. “It’s going to be all right,” I said. “The Azores are in range, and there are nine islands to choose from. We’ll make it.”

“Ever landed in the Azores?” Ross ground out.

“A few times.”

“Without instruments? What if we lose power?”

I shook my head. “Even if we lose engine two, the ram air turbine will power the sensors we need to steer the plane.”

Ayal paled. “What if the flaps and spoilers fail? In flight school, we learned about an engine flameout situation where hydraulic power was lost. If that happens—”