Page 74 of These Tears

‘Come on,’ he mutters, taking my hand.

This time it’s not the bruising grip from before. It’s firm, but warmer. As if to make me believe I’m no longer a prisoner – just a possession being handled with care.

He leads us to the seating area, where we find only one seat free.

An elderly gentleman starts to rise for me, but Elias says something in Norwegian and the man sits back down.

He wheels my cabin bag to the side and takes the seat—

Then pulls me straight onto his lap.

The instinct to recoil is instant, and the moment he feels it, his hand snakes to the back of my neck. A shiver runs through me as his thumb and fingers press lightly into either side.

There aren’t enough passengers for me to disappear among, and that alone puts me on edge.

A woman in a navy airport jacket stands near the desk. Twenty paces, maybe less. My gaze sticks to her for half a second before Elias’ thumb shifts against my skin.

Twenty paces might as well be twenty miles. By the time anyone understood what was happening, he could already have made me regret trying.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I’ll make it easy on him.

Moving backwards, trying to make myself as comfortable as I can while seated atop a giant, I deliberately press harder into his body.

A sharp grunt breaks out of him.

And then… I feel the unmistakable pressure of him beneath me.

I glance over my shoulder. A dark warning gathers in his stare.

Almost… worthy of memorising.

My fingers twitch atop my camera bag.

His grip at my neck tightens just slightly. He’s grinding his teeth, jaw set tight as his other hand slides forward and lands firmly atop my thigh.

‘Keep pushing me, Leah,’ he murmurs into the shell of my ear.

But I see it nonetheless – that rosy shade across the line of his cheekbones. I take it as a small win.

Challenge momentarily forgotten, he rests his chin on my shoulder, his beard rasping through my jumper like wire against wool. His scent crowds my lungs until what little rational thought I have left begins to fray.

The man beside us suddenly asks something.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ I give an apologetic little smile. ‘I don’t speak the language.’

His face brightens rather than falls. ‘Apologies,’ he says in English, glancing at Elias before returning to me. ‘You reminded me of my late wife just then.’ His smile turns softer. ‘Where did you meet?’

‘Between the pages of a book,’ Elias says smoothly, wearing a smile of his own that could convince anyone of anything. Including me.

I remain perched stiffly on his lap.

The gentleman laughs. ‘Now that’s a line that would get you far with a woman.’ He looks at me. ‘Am I right?’

‘Far,’ I agree, then add beneath my breath, ‘All the way north, in fact.’

A small shift of my weight – just enough to reinforce the point.

Elias’ fingers close around my thigh in a warning pinch.