"We need to go to London," Marcus said the next morning.
"London?" Aria asked, confused.
"Yes, we are going for art acquisition. A Vermeer is coming up for private sale." He refilled her cup. "I want you there for the authentication."
Her stomach tightened. London. Where her family had been killed and everything had ended for her.
"When?"
"Today. We will leave in two hours." He looked up at her. "Is there a problem?"
The only thing on her mind is to say fuck! Yes, there is a problem, and make an excuse or something. But Vera would want her to go and to stay close to Marcus and keep building the connection.
"No problem. I just need to pack."
"Don't worry, it's already handled. My assistant pulled your sizes from HR." He smiled slightly. "Everything you need will be on the plane."
Of course it would be. Marcus Thorne didn't do anything halfway.
Two hours later, she was climbing the stairs to his private jet. This was designed for comfort and privacy. Very private.
Marcus settled into the seat across from her as they took off. "Eight hours to London. What do you want to do?"
The way he looked at her made it clear he had ideas.
"We could go over the Vermeer documentation," she replied.
"We could." His eyes moved over her. "Or we could find more interesting ways to pass the time."
Heat pooled low in her stomach. "Marcus, we're on a plane."
"My plane. With a very discreet crew who knows not to disturb me." He stood and held out his hand. "Come here, Elena."
She wanted to resist and maintain some distance. But her hand was already reaching for his.
He pulled her to her feet and led her to the back of the cabin, where a door opened onto a private bedroom. The bed was smaller than his at home, but still bigger than it needed to be.
"I've been thinking about you all morning." His hands found her waist.
"We just left your apartment two hours ago, Marcus."
"Two hours too long." His mouth found her neck. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
His hands slid under her blouse, warm against her skin. Aria's breath quickened.
"Marcus, we can't…"
"We can do whatever we want." He walked her backward toward the bed. "That's the advantage of having your own plane."
Her legs hit the mattress. Marcus's hands moved to her shirt buttons, undoing them one by one. When the blouse fell open, his eyes darkened.
"No bra. Did you do that on purpose? Did you plan to seduce me, Elena?"
She had. Some part of her had wanted this; she had anticipated it. "Maybe."
"Good girl." His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. "I like knowing you're thinking about me and what I'm going to do to you."
He pushed her blouse off completely, then worked on her pants. Within moments, she was naked on his bed while he was still fully dressed.
"You are still dressed; that's not fair," she said.
"Life's not fair." He pushed her back onto the bed, his hands spreading her thighs. "But I'll make it up to you."
His mouth was on her before she could respond. He was relentlessly using his tongue to drive her higher and higher.
"Marcus." His name came out breathless.
He lifted his head. "What do you need?"
"You. I want you inside me."
"Not yet." He slid two fingers inside her instead, curling them. "I want to see how many times I can make you come before we land in London."
"That's eight hours."
"I know." His thumb found her clit. "Better pace yourself."
The first orgasm hit fast and hard. Aria cried out, her body clenching around his fingers. He didn't give her time to recover; he just kept going, building her up again.
"Marcus, I can't…"
"Why not? Of course you can." His mouth replaced his thumb, and she shattered again.
By the third orgasm, she was begging. "Please. I need you inside me."
"Not yet." But he finally started undressing, taking his time while she lay there trembling.
When he finally pushed inside her, Aria thought she might die from the relief of it. He felt perfect, filling her, hitting spots that made her vision blur.
"You feel so good." His voice was strained. "So perfect for me."
He started moving, long, deep strokes that built the tension again. Aria wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Harder."
He obliged, his pace increasing, each thrust driving her higher.
"Come for me, Elena." His hand slid between them. "Let me feel you."
The orgasm rolled through her, intense and endless. Marcus followed seconds later, her name on his lips.
They lay tangled together, breathing hard.
"How long until we land?" she asked.
Marcus checked his watch. "Seven hours."
"Seven hours?"
He grinned. "I told you to pace yourself."
He wasn't kidding. Over the next several hours, he took her apart in every way he could think of. Against the wall. On the small couch. Back on the bed with her face pressed into the pillow while he took her from behind.
By the time the pilot announced their descent into London, Aria could barely walk. Her body was worn out and marked in places that would show for days. There were hickies all over her body.
Marcus helped her dress. "Are you okay?"
"I can't feel my legs," she said.
He laughed. "Good. That was the plan."
She struck him with her elbow but couldn't help smiling. This was supposed to be a mission. A job. But she felt happy, satisfied, and almost content.
The plane touched down, and reality came rushing back. London, the city where her family had died. Dmitri had taken three bullets trying to save them.
Marcus must have noticed the change in her expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just tired," she replied.
He didn't look convinced but didn't push. "The hotel's not far. You can rest before the viewing tomorrow."
The hotel was actually a penthouse suite at Claridge's, all Art Deco elegance and expensive taste. Aria stood at the window looking out at the city while Marcus made calls in the other room.
Her phone buzzed. Vera: You're in London. Good. Time to push harder.
Aria stared at the message. Push harder. What did that even mean at this point? She'd slept with him. Multiple times. He'd just spent eight hours proving he was completely obsessed with her.
She typed back: Mission progressing as planned.
Vera: Good. Remember why you're there. Remember what he took from you.
Aria looked out of the window. Somewhere out there was the building where her family had been killed. Where she'd hidden in a closet and listened to them die.
Marcus's arms wrapped around her from behind. "Come to bed."
"I should check in with…" she started saying.
"It can wait." He turned her to face him. "You're exhausted. Come to bed."
She let him lead her to the bedroom, undressed her again, and pulled her close. His body was warm against hers, his heartbeat steady.
"Elena?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for coming with me."
The simple gratitude in his voice did something to her chest. It made it hard to breathe.
"You're welcome."
He kissed the top of her head. "Get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow."
But Aria lay awake long after he fell asleep. London. The city where everything had happened, where her life had been destroyed by the man currently holding her like she was something precious.
Except that every day she spent with him, that story made less sense. The evidence was there. The photos, the financial records, the witnesses. But the man holding her didn't match the monster Vera had described.
She pushed the thought away. Five years of training. Five years of preparation. She couldn't start doubting now.
But as she finally drifted off to sleep in Marcus Thorne's arms, in the city where her family had been murdered, Aria couldn't shake the feeling that something about this entire situation was wrong.
And she was too far in to figure out what.