Underboss (With Me in Seattle Mafia 1)

“Close enough. And I have a very discreet staff.”

And with that, he walks out the door, pulling two of the suitcases behind him, a backpack slung over his broad shoulder.

It’s unfair that simply toting luggage is sexy on this man.

I grab my smaller bag, my handbag, and one last roller suitcase and let the door close behind me.

Our time in Denver is over. Now, we’re on to France.

Denver International Airport is quite far from the city, so I sit back, expecting at least a forty-five-minute drive, but the driver leaves the freeway sooner than expected and takes us to a smaller airfield closer to the city.

“This is easier,” Carmine says simply. He’s holding my hand, softly rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

Now that our attention has turned from finding a killer to just enjoying each other, he’s much more physically affectionate than he was. And that’s saying something because Carmine’s always been handsy.

Not that I’m complaining. A girl could do far worse than having Carmine Martinelli’s hands on her.

I’m not typically an affectionate woman, but with Carmine, the rules seem to fly out the window.

“This plane is bigger.” I glance at Carmine. “You have two private jets?”

“No.” He leans over and kisses my nose. “We have two private jets and a helicopter. Rocco flies the ‘copter. I usually prefer the smaller plane, but this one is more appropriate for trans-Atlantic travel.”

“Oh, right. Yes, it’s better for trans-Atlantic travel.” I press my lips together so I don’t laugh. I love teasing him. “You’re so fancy.”

“And you’ve just earned your first spanking.”

He doesn’t even look at me. Doesn’t smile. He just steps out of the car and offers me his hand.

I don’t bother sputtering a protest.

The ground crew is already loading our luggage onto the plane. We’re greeted at the top of the stairs by a man in his fifties, wearing a simple black suit and a red tie. His hair is silver, threaded through with just a few dark strands, and he has a bushy mustache over his top lip.

He looks like someone’s grandfather.

“Good evening, Mr. Martinelli. Ms. Tarenkov. It’s a pleasure to have you aboard tonight. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

“Thank you, Charles,” Carmine says with a nod. “Please let the pilot know that we’re ready whenever he’s given the okay to take off.”

“Of course, sir.”

I smile at the polite Charles and follow Carmine down a short hallway to a lounge area on the plane. There are cream-colored leather couches, a faux fireplace with a television hung above it, and a wet bar.

“We’ll spend most of the next nine hours or so in here, but there’s a bedroom back there.” He points and then leads me farther back on the plane to show me a small bedroom with a king-sized bed and little else. “In case you want to sleep. Or…other things.”

“I liked the couches,” I reply and turn on my heel to return to the lounge. I sit, fasten my seatbelt, and pull my iPad out of my bag.

Carmine sits across from me just as Charles returns with a tray in his hands.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Just water for me,” Carmine says.

“A Coke would be lovely.”

Charles nods regally and turns to the wet bar to fetch us our drinks. Carmine holds my gaze with his as Charles fills glasses, delivers them to us, and then walks back to the galley.

“I could have gotten this myself if I’d known it was right there.”

“Charles enjoys his job,” Carmine replies. “We have lots of food aboard, as well, and he’ll serve us dinner. And breakfast in the morning.”

“Just like first class.”

“Admit it. This is much better than first class.”

I smirk into my glass. “It’s a small step up.”

Carmine’s brown eyes are full of humor when Charles returns with menus so we can choose our entrées for dinner, and then the plane begins to move.

Within just a few minutes, we’re airborne.

Once we’ve reached cruising altitude, Carmine unclips his seatbelt and moves over next to me. But rather than kiss me, or hold me against him, he simply holds out his hand.

“Give me your foot.”

“Which one?”

“You choose.”

I raise my left foot, and he starts to knead my arch with his thumb. I moan and lean my head back, closing my eyes as I enjoy the best foot rub of my life.

“You’re good with your hands.”

“I’m good with a lot of things,” he reminds me. “I plan to spend the next nine hours reminding you.”

“I’m so glad I’m getting a refresher course.” I snort. “I think I’ve forgotten everything.”

“You’re extra sassy tonight.”

I don’t lift my head off the seat, but I turn to look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be difficult.”

“I’m not complaining. You were tense in Denver. Worried. And as soon as we got on this plane, it was as though a huge weight was lifted.”