Okay, I couldn’t figure this girl the hell out.

Shouldn’t she have gone all hysterical back there after fleeing her home, where an unknown number of gunmen had been shooting up the place? Where were the tears? Where was the fearful shrieking? Shouldn’t she be scared for her life and pummeling me with questions about what the hell was going on in Moscow?

Because I’d sure as fuck like some answers.

Instead, Lexi was smiling about a trip to Croatia.

Well, she had been. Before I’d opened my mouth and smacked that blinding smile that could light up Times Square at Christmastime right off her face. Something burned in the middle of my chest when her entire face had fallen…but I told myself it was just acid reflux. I didn’t care whether she was happy or not.

This woman was nothing more than a business transaction to me.

Just like I was nothing more than a safe haven to her. A means to an end. A temporary escape until her father could handle his shit and come take her off my hands. We might have been legally tied together, but we weren’t lovers. We weren’t confidantes. We weren’t friends.

And we’d both be wise to keep those lines firmly drawn.

As I led her onto the plane and watched her take in her new surroundings, I put every ounce of my energy into ignoring how cool under pressure she’d seemed since the moment I met her. Being forced into a marriage she didn’t want, dodging bullets, and being squired away on a private plane with a man she barely knew would have been enough to send most people into a hyperventilating nervous breakdown.

I didn’t want to like that.

Didn’t want to like the fact that she was treating the entire situation as if she were just having a bad hair day. From the first angry words she’d spewed in my direction, she’d handled every scenario with an unexpected brand of steel and sass.

And I really didn’t want to like that.

After informing the pilot we were ready to take off, I fell into one of the buttercream leather seats and loosened my tie with a heavy exhale. My eyes drifted shut as exhaustion started working its way through my tired muscles. I’d wiped the blood from my mouth and knuckles in the car, barely even feeling those small scrapes. But that son of a bitch back at the compound had gotten in one solid punch to my ribs that twinged as I attempted to get comfortable. As I’d told Lexi before, I’d had much worse than a bruised rib or two. It was just going to be bothersome for the next few days.

I heard Lexi’s quiet footsteps shuffle over to the seat across from me and settle in. I didn’t open my eyes again until we’d gone through takeoff and reached our flying altitude.

But when I opened them, I was taken aback by what I saw.

Lexi sat in her seat, ankles crossed primly, fingers fidgeting in her lap, teeth worrying her bottom lip. She looked…nervous.

That’s a first.

She hadn’t even appeared nervous when the priest had been blessing our union. She’d been spitting mad then. Even when I’d found her in the hallway as gunfire exploded around her, she’d been more alert and confused, rather than nervous. Was the enormity of how drastically her life just changed finally sinking in with her? Coming down from an intense adrenaline rush could do that to a person. I knew better than anyone what that crash felt like.

So, why on earth did I feel the compulsion to put her nerves at ease?

I didn’t have an answer to that.

But I did have alcohol.

I walked over to the sidebar where various bottles that my company distributed sat waiting. I filled a lowball glass with one of my favorite brands of whiskey. Then I picked up the only bottle of vodka on this entire plane and poured it in a second glass. I walked back over and wordlessly offered it to Lexi.

It took her by surprise, I could tell. She jolted in her seat, brows slamming together, as she examined the glass. Her movements were cautious, almost wary, when she accepted it. “Thank you.”

I grunted in response as I reclaimed the seat across from her.

“I need to call my father,” she said, frowning down at her lap. “I need to know that he’s okay.”

“I’ll make contact with him once we’re out of Russia.”

He’d left me an emergency number, stating explicitly to only use it if Lexi’s life was in immediate danger. Otherwise, he was going to remain off the grid and radio silent until he’d handled all of his business.

But he hadn’t exactly planned for an invasion of his own home, now had he? I needed to at least make sure he was alive and that our deal was still on.

Her eyes flew up to mine. “Why not until we’re out of Russia?”

“You don’t find it an odd coincidence that your father’s compound was invaded the same day we got married? The same day I make a deal with him to buy his shares of the company?” I shook my head. “I don’t like the way any of that played out. So, I won’t be making any calls into Russia until I’m sure that neither of us was the target.”

She pinched her lips shut. “But what if they captured my father? What if he’s hurt?”

I rolled my neck on my shoulders. That damn knot in the center of my nape never seemed to go away. “I’m fairly certain he hadn’t returned from his business meeting, but I’ll verify his well-being as soon as I deem the line secure enough.”

She nodded without responding, looking dazed.

Over the rim of my glass, I watched her take her first sip of the vodka. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, as if impressed. She glanced back at the sidebar to get a glimpse of the bottle.

“I’ve never heard of this label,” she said, shifting around to face me again. “Who makes it?”

“One of the distilleries I own.” The only distillery of mine that produced craft vodka. “That’s the first batch we’ve made so far.”

She took another sip, a much slower one. My gaze lasered in on her throat as she savored the alcohol. She didn’t automatically take it down, like a shot. She held it on her tongue, swishing it around for moment, before finally swallowing it.

And then she grinned. In pleasure.

That might have been the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen.

A sinfully beautiful woman like her appreciating quality liquor the way it’s supposed to be appreciated. That was some seriously sexy shit. Even if vodka wasn’t really my style.

“It’s good,” she praised. “Really good, actually.”

I did not need to like the sound of her approval. Didn’t need my cock to stir at the fact that my label of her home country’s bread and butter pleased her. Didn’t need that at all.

I propped my elbow on the armrest, lifting my half empty glass to mouth level. “I don’t make bad alcohol, legs. If you’ve learned anything about me so far, it should be that I’ve got incomparable taste.”

I intentionally let my gaze travel over her figure, lingering on those ridiculously long legs that always seemed to squeeze together under my scrutiny.

What was that reaction? Was she affected by me?

You don’t care. It’s better if she hates you.

Sinking further down in her seat, she mimicked my position and propped her elbow on the armrest. “Sorry, I should have been more specific. For American vodka, it isn’t bad.”

She seemed more relaxed than before. The lines of her face had smoothed out. No more finger twitching. No rigid spine. Her focus had transferred from whatever stresses currently plagued her mind, to me.

A perverse sense of pride slithered through me.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what you meant,” I murmured wryly.

We both took sips at the same time, our gazes clashing over our glasses. Being alone in such close quarters for the first time, it was clear we were taking each other’s measure.

“How many distilleries do you own?”

I found it a little surreal that this was our first real conversation since we’d met. After the wedding, after the shooting. Up until this point, it had been backhanded insults and thinly-veiled innuendo.

I stretched my legs out in front of me. “Four.”

I caught her eyes briefly flick down to my lap before reverting to her glass.

I bit back a smug grin.

God knew I’d been checking her out since I first laid eyes on her, so the reciprocity was nice to see. Lucky for her, I’d gotten my erection under control before her attention had zoned in on it.

And that’s exactly where she’d been looking. I wasn’t blind.

“One in Scotland, one in England, one on the Bourbon Trail, and one I’m about to open in Brooklyn.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Bourbon Trail?”

“Kentucky, legs. Where the best bourbon whiskey in the world is made.”

“Oh. And now you’re trying to break into vodka? That’s what the business with my father was all about, right?”

“I’ve got my hands in nearly every pie of the booze business. I own five breweries, too, as well as a distribution center in the States. It’s the second largest in the country.”

She frowned. “And you run all of them from Brooklyn?”

I tapped my finger against my glass, trying to figure out what that change in her tone meant. “I travel extensively.”

She slowly nodded and took another sip. “And what about this trip to Istria?”

“There’s a winery there I’m considering buying. Wine is my newest venture, and let’s just say it’s in a completely different wheelhouse than my other acquisitions.”

“How so?”

She was actually interested?

The only women I ever discussed business with were usually the ones directly involved in the business itself. The one and only time I brought up my work to a woman I’d taken to bed, she’d gotten a glazed look in her eye, one clearly of boredom. Pretty sure the only reason she’d given me a blowjob after that was to get me to shut up.

“For one thing, vineyards require land with the right kind of soil,” I explained. “Climate and average temperatures are huge factors in location. The storage and aging processes are different for wine than for liquor. Materials, supplies, ingredients… It’s a vastly different industry than distilleries and breweries.”

“Then why pursue it if it’s more trouble?”

I shrugged. “To say that I did.”

She tucked her tongue in her cheek, her expression turning skeptical. “That’s it? You’re just a megalomaniac? The end?”

I winked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re really just in it for the money? You’re not chasing some sort of dream or trying to accomplish certain goals?”

Maybe.

Only, it was starting to feel like my particular goals would forever be out of my reach.

“Is that your rainbows and unicorns take on life?” My voice reeked of condescension. “You set goals, you achieve them, and everything just magically fits into place?” I clucked my tongue. “Sorry, rich girl. People like me, who’ve had to carve out their success in the real world, don’t have time for fluffy dreams.”

“What a sad, lonely life you must lead. No wonder you went into the booze business. For someone who’s destined to drink alone for the rest of his life, it’s a perfect fit.”

The moment her expression turned pitying, something ugly took hold of my tongue and wouldn’t let it go. I knew I was about to hate myself a little more, but that wasn’t enough to stop me. It was all for the best anyway. This small talk had been flowing much too easily. And feeling much too comfortable.

“At least I work for a living. And I keep hundreds of people employed. What have you ever done, except put on a few outfits and flash your cleavage at the cameras?”

Her face dropped. It felt like she took my stomach along with it, but that was probably because I was drinking on an empty stomach.

“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” Her expression turned stone cold.

“Almost. I mean, what more is there to figure out except what you were hiding underneath all those skimpy bikinis?”

Too far.

My laughter came out flat and hollow. “I guess if I have to have a fake wife, at least she’s not painful to look at.”

Too far!

Something twisted in my chest when her face contorted in disgust. Like someone had taken a wrench to my sternum and cranked it as far as it would go.

Probably gallstones.

I needed to make a doctor’s appointment for all these health issues I was suddenly suffering from.

“You are a despicable bastard.”

I blew her a kiss. “Not the first time a woman’s called me that.”

She shoved to her feet. “And it won’t be the last. Count on it.”

After draining the rest of her drink, she slammed the glass down on the sidebar on her way to the separate sleeping area in the back. Sliding the divider shut, she effectively closed herself off from the rest of the plane.

It was better this way.

She needed to hate me.

Because if she even sort of liked me, I would eventually disappoint her somewhere down the road. It was a pattern in my life. I was a commitment-phobe of the highest variety. I never liked to be in one place too long, or get into any kind of routine, especially one of a domestic nature. I was an on-the-go type of person and never wanted to be tied down. Or caged.

Frankly, it was the same with women.

I knew I was incapable of keeping one woman happy for the rest of her life. It wasn’t in the cards for me, and I’d accepted that a long time ago. I was much better at satisfying a woman’s physical, rather than emotional, needs anyway. That was what I excelled at, and the women who came to me, knowing what I was about, appreciated that. They knew the score because I told them outright. Told them what not to expect. So, at the end of the evening, there would be no hurt feelings, no longing stares, no frustrated glares.

I left them happy, satiated, and well-tended.

Not broken and miserable.

And thanks to my years of sluttery, I’d become quite adept at sex. I hadn’t been lying to Lexi about that. Since I’d learned long ago that I couldn’t give most women what they needed long-term, I focused instead of fulfilling their short-term needs. Namely, in the form of sexual release and ultimate abandonment of their inhibitions. I’d fine-tuned my skill set, acquired a cash hoard of tricks between the sheets, and become somewhat of a connoisseur of gratification.

A virtuoso of vaginas.

A pro at pussy.

An authority on getting ass.

“I’m a dick even inside my own head,” I muttered before pouring the rest of the whiskey down my throat.

Unable to be left alone with my asinine thoughts any longer, I pulled out my phone and dialed Cris. He was the one I usually called before anyone else when shit went down, even before Dad.

He answered on the third ring. “Has the honeymoon ended yet? Or did it ever start?”

I rolled my eyes while he chuckled at his own lame ass joke. “Don’t hold your breath. You won’t fucking believe how my wedding day ended, though.”

He hesitated. “I take it not with cake and dancing?”

I snorted. “We didn’t get that far. Some assholes with guns crashed the reception.”