Take Me (Take Me 1)

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Her inquisitive mind was going bat-shit crazy at the moment, as she experienced a tug-o-war of emotions. Part of her needed to know what the hell was going on—and what sort of danger she’d unwittingly found herself in. The other part of her wanted to drown in his deep-blue irises.

Seriously?

That was what she was thinking about at a time like this?

What is wrong with you?

Had he paid the flight attendant to slip something into her drink?

She shook the thought from her mind. Forced herself to get a grip.

From beside her, Damen Castillo very casually said, “You can’t get off the plane.”

“Watch me.”

He smirked, knowingly. The plane began to move. They were pushing back from the gate.

Son of a bitch!

The first class flight attendant appeared at Damen’s elbow to collect their glasses. She spied Nikki with her bag in her hand and said, “I’m so sorry. You’re going to have to replace your carry-on under the seat. And shut down your phone, of course. We’re taxying, and international travel rules state—”

Blah, blah, blah.

Oh, for the everlasting love of God!

The flight attendant moved on.

Nikki wanted to scream.

Perhaps she should scream.

What if this guy was a terrorist?

Oh. Shit!

Her eyes bulged.

Damen held up his hands, in surrender, as though he knew the direction in which her thoughts had just rampantly run.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m one of the good guys.”

“Anyone can say that,” she fiercely countered. And instantly shifted into trauma mode. She was trained to operate in stressful situations—and this one was ratcheting her pulse with every second that passed.

“The flight attendant knows who I am,” he told Nikki. “I had to be cleared, because I have a weapon. As do the two FBI agents onboard. One is sitting in the row behind us. The other is a couple rows ahead.”

“You’re FBI?” she demanded under her breath.

“No. But I am with the U.S. government. Special ops.”

Nikki’s head slowly shook. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t tell that to a complete stranger.”

“You’re not a complete stranger, Nikita Isabelle Balentine-Kane.”

She gaped. For all of two seconds. Then said, “This can’t be happening.”

“It wouldn’t be happening,” he told her with conviction in his hypnotic blue eyes and his deep, intimate tone, “if you hadn’t wandered into my hospital room. If I hadn’t heard your sultry voice as I was coming out of the coma. If you hadn’t asked every soul under that roof if they knew where I’d disappeared to—and gotten your friends involved.”

“Oh, my God.” She knew she’d instantly paled. “Kate and Jude!”