The Runaway Bride - A Captive Flame Book One (3 page)

You
can do this,
I told
myself firmly. I found the door into the main cabin of the jet and
listened at it for a long moment. I could hear the buzzing, humming
noises of the plane, but nothing on the other side of the door. For
just an instant, I considered backing down. If anyone knew for a
fact that there was a stowaway on board, I had to assume that they
would have found me. So I had to assume they didn’t know. Would it
be safer to just abandon the dress, or should I see if I could find
it, and sneak back into the luggage compartment and into my hiding
spot once more?

I summoned the
last of my courage and slipped through the door. The passenger
compartment was eerily quiet. I looked around quickly. There didn’t
seem to be anyone in the main cabin—maybe, I thought, they were
taking a nap just as I had been doing. I slipped through the little
hallway leading up from the luggage compartment, looking around me
all the while. I felt my skin crawling; I kept turning around on my
heel, thinking I felt someone watching me—but there was never
anyone there. I tried to calm myself down, to think about where the
bag could possibly be. I would be in and out in the space of just a
few minutes, I told myself firmly. No one was around; I would be
able to get away with this with no problem. In spite of the need to
look specifically for the bag I’d stuffed my wedding dress into, I
couldn’t help noticing that even among private jets, this plane was
impressive.

I looked at the
abandoned seats; I could smell the real leather, and when I reached
out to grab for a seat back, I could feel the buttery smoothness of
the upholstery under my fingertips. The carpeting was plush—and I
could see that there was a bar that had hardwood paneling on the
floor not too far from where I was standing, along with another
hallway that led into a more private area. I could smell fresh
coffee, rich and roasty on the air, and my stomach lurched once
more—a mixture of hunger and nausea making itself known. When I
glanced at the bar, I could see that it was thoughtfully stocked
with all the best liquors—some I recognized by brand, and others
that seemed incredibly rare and esoteric. I wondered if there was a
kitchen on this bird; it would stand to reason, and for a moment I
was possessed by sheer envy. It was a flying mansion, and I felt a
trickle of renewed fear at the thought of getting caught.

The kind of person
who could afford this level of luxury was not the kind of person
who would look the other way to a stowaway on their plane. The kind
of person who rented a private jet this sumptuous thought that poor
people were beneath them; they would almost certainly, if they
caught me, make sure that I was prosecuted to the fullest extent of
the law—they would take pleasure in it. My hands shook and I felt
the sweat beading up on the small of my back, on my forehead. I had
to find the stupid bag with my ridiculous dress in it, and I had to
find it fast—I had to get the hell out of there, and think of a way
to sneak out once the plane landed. Anything less would turn this
from an adventure into a nightmare.

Finally, I spotted it: the shopping bag was unmistakable,
sitting on a table near the bar area. I sighed with relief and
rushed over to it quickly, thinking that I’d just grab it, and flee
back into the luggage area and hide myself once more. The plane
shuddered, knocking me off balance, and I grabbed at the seat
again, steadying myself to make the last few feet to where the bag
was sitting. I was moments away from safety, every bit of my
attention on keeping myself upright and the bag in front of me,
when a heavy hand came down on my shoulder from
behind.

Chapter Three

~

I yelped in surprise,
jumping slightly in place before I turned around. The man behind me
was tall, with dark hair and eyes; he was more lean than muscular,
but the fine cut of his expensive-looking suit gave me no doubt
that he did, in fact, have plenty of muscle on his frame—a thought
that his strong grip on my shoulder didn’t belie. I swallowed
against the sudden dryness in my throat, my panicked mind trying to
come up with something to say. The man’s hair was long, tumbling in
loose almost-curls to his collar, barely missing his broad
shoulders. The expression on his face was curious and stern all at
once, and I couldn’t quite make myself speak for a long, terrifying
moment. “Who are you?” the man asked, and I shivered at the sound
of his voice—it was low, quiet, almost a caress against my ears.
There was the faintest of accents to his words that I couldn’t
quite identify—but that wasn’t important. What was important was
that I answer his question and dispel any possible suspicion.

“Oh! I’m a flight
attendant; did the pilot not tell you I was working this flight?” I
felt the color rising into my cheeks. The man looked me up and down
slowly, his gaze lingering at my tight skirt, his eyebrow rising in
faint distaste when he came to the almost neon blouse I was wearing
over it.

“There is no way that
you’re a flight attendant, my dear.” He smiled faintly. “No flight
attendant—commercial or private—would ever dress like this. This
outfit couldn’t have cost you more than thirty dollars altogether.
Hardly the sort of thing that a woman serving customers would wear…
well, most women, anyway.” My face flooded with blood and I
swallowed again, feeling my mouth go completely dry. It wasn’t just
the fact that I was discovered; it was something about the man’s
presence. There was something vaguely familiar about his face that
I couldn’t quite place—I more knew that I should know who he was
than actually did. I pressed my lips together and tried to come up
with something; anything at all.

My
heart pounded in my chest as the silence dragged out between us,
the man continuing to look at me speculatively, even as the plane
experienced mild turbulence once more.
Think, think!
The man in front of me hadn’t alerted any
security he might have—but it wouldn’t take more than an instant
for him to do it. I looked him up and down; his slim, lightly
muscled body was a major distraction, even covered up as it was by
tailored cloth. I met his gaze once more. “You know,” I said,
pitching my voice low. “These flights do tend to be rather boring
when you’re on them alone… I could keep you company.” The man
raised a dark eyebrow at the suggestion, the faintest hint of a
smile tugging at the corners of his lips and his dark eyes warming
with something like attraction. I thought to myself that I’d seen
that look often enough to know how to play it. If I could keep him
distracted, I’d be safe. Maybe I’d even be able to convince him to
just let me go free once we landed—wherever we were going to
land.

“They do indeed tend
to be boring and lonely,” he said slowly. His gaze traveled up and
down along the length of my body once more. “It’s odd—your hair
style and your makeup are very, very different in tone to your
outfit.” My hands were shaking, and I nearly dropped the bag on the
floor. The man glanced at it and then at my face, his dark gaze
curious, penetrating. Before I could collect my thoughts and think
of a way to continue the work that had started with my first
flirtatious comment, the man snatched the bag from me. “I assume
this is yours, since I definitely don’t recognize it—and since you
were so intent on retrieving it.” I nodded slowly, feeling almost
hypnotized by the man. I knew I had to know him from somewhere; the
illusion of familiarity in his face was just too strong for him to
simply look like someone I’d known in my past.

The man opened up the
shopping bag and withdrew the zipper bag that I had stuffed into
it. Glancing at me, he unzipped the bag and pulled out my wedding
dress. “This is interesting,” he commented, holding my gaze for a
long, uncomfortable moment. My heart was pounding in my chest
still, and my palms were clammy with sweat. I opened my mouth to
speak but nothing came out. “Put it on. Right now.” I stepped
backward, blood rushing into my face. I looked at the wedding dress
I had struggled to get into earlier in the day—the same one that I
had nearly ripped getting out of when I’d changed into my
bargain-basement club outfit—and shook my head. “My plane, my
rules. Put it on.” He held it out to me.

“Can I at least use
the restroom to change?” The man shook his head.

“Change right here.
There’s not enough room in the restroom for you to get the dress
on.” I took a deep breath, and somehow my courage finally caught up
to me. This was by far not the worst scrape I had ever gotten
myself into, I thought. I found the hem of the tacky blouse I was
wearing and pulled it up, yanking it over my head and letting it
fall to the floor. Fortunately I’d kept on my underthings
underneath the dress—it was fairly simple, so it hadn’t required
anything terribly involved, like a corset or petticoats. I
slithered out of the tight, short skirt I was in, and kicked the
boots off of my feet before I grabbed at the wedding dress.

“You know, there’s a
reason I have this wedding dress,” I started to say, hoping that I
could appeal to the man’s sensibilities. Maybe, I thought, if I
told him my story—about running away from my wedding, about walking
through the town, struck by inspiration at the sight of his
plane—he would go easy on me. I felt his intent gaze taking in
every inch of me, barely covered by my underwear as I stepped into
the dress, pulling it up from my feet along my legs.

“Some things should
remain a secret—I don’t need to know why you have it. Just put it
on.” Something about the still quietness of his voice sent a chill
through me, at the same time it heated up something deep down
between my hips, making me start to get wet. I managed to pull and
tug the dress into place, smoothing my bright red hair uncertainly
as I stood before him in it. The fabric still felt slightly damp
from the sweating I’d done, and I was fairly certain that it reeked
of whiskey—but it was on, and I knew it fit me like a glove. The
man stared at me for a long moment, so long that I started to
fidget in place, wondering what was going through the mind behind
those big, dark eyes. He was gorgeous—I couldn’t deny that to
myself. Even though my impulse to try and come onto him had been
motivated by self-preservation, I would be lying if I tried to say
it was purely motivated by wanting to keep him distracted.

The man reached out
and took me by the arm; his fingers pressed into my skin firmly,
and I cringed slightly, wondering if he knew how strong his grip
was—he probably did. He guided me to a chair and pushed me down
onto it, making the fabric rustle. The chair wasn’t like the
luxurious passenger seats—I hadn’t even noticed it before, but it
had been pulled up to the table, and it was attached to the floor
of the plane. Plain wood, without even any cushion on the seat, it
had a straight back and wide arms, four legs. It wouldn’t be out of
place in the dining room of a nice house on the ground. “I hope you
do realize that you’ve committed a very serious crime,” the man
said slowly, holding me pinned down with his gaze. “Stowing away on
a commercial liner is pretty serious on its own—you go to jail for
that. But sneaking onto a private jet? You’ve got criminal and
civil penalties both.” He shook his hand and reached around me to a
hidden compartment overhead. My heart was pounding as he rummaged
in the storage bin, my ears on high alert, trying to pick out just
what he was handling; I heard rustling, clinking, metallic
clattering, and the next moment he settled once more, withdrawing a
long coil of rope and a knife.

The sight of the
implements sent a jolt through me. I started up onto my feet, not
thinking—only reacting to the threat that I could feel palpably.
The stranger pushed me back down onto the seat and shook his head.
“A grave crime, indeed,” he told me again firmly, clucking his
tongue against his teeth. I felt the dry tightness in my throat
once more, felt tears of utter terror leaping up into my eyes as he
uncoiled the rope. Something about the man’s gaze, his presence,
made it impossible for me to make good on my initial plan of
escape—and the fact that he was so gorgeous, that I really did want
to sleep with him, if I could, also didn’t hurt. The stranger
wrapped lengths of the rope around my wrist, binding it tightly to
the arm of the chair; the rough rope cut into my skin and I pulled
against it instinctively, though I didn’t think to reach over with
my other hand to attempt to pull free. I was consumed with a
mixture of anxiety, arousal, and anticipation—curiosity burning
through me. What exactly did this stranger intend to do with
me?

He bound my other
wrist down onto the opposite arm of the chair, and turned the seat
around, wrapping lengths of the rope around my shoulders and
looping to the back of the chair. He came back around, and I was
fidgeting as much as the bindings would allow, pulling against the
tight rope at my wrists, squirming against the rope that cut into
my shoulders. He knelt in front of me and my sense of curiosity and
the strange sense of arousal that was building up inside of me had
conquered the fear I’d felt—especially since he didn’t seem
interested in murdering me, or even hurting me, as I originally
thought. The man considered the problem of my long skirt and
shrugged. He brought the knife along my skin slowly, and I shivered
and twitched, pressing my lips together against the whimpers of
renewed fear that welled up in my throat. Instead of cutting me,
however, I heard a sharp, tearing noise—fabric splitting—and
realized as cold air washed over my skin that he was cutting away
at the seam with the knife. He pulled and tugged at the material of
the dress as he hacked away at it, cutting it away to just above my
knees. He had turned my gown into a rough cocktail dress in a
matter of only a few moments; I trembled and stared at him,
watching as he picked up the coil of rope once more.