‘I think something stronger.’
‘Do I need something stronger?’
Not yet she didn’t.
‘No, but a drink will help you relax, ma douce.’
Her throat moved, the generous lips pulling together. Then she loosened her tight shoulders and nodded.
Benjamin summoned a member of his cabin crew. ‘Get Mademoiselle Clements a drink, whatever she wants. I will have a glass of port.’
Soon their drinks had been served and Freya sipped at her gin and tonic. Her forehead was pressed to the window, her gaze fixed on the dark night sky. She covered her mouth and stifled a yawn.
‘You are tired?’ he asked politely.
A quick, soft shake of her head that turned into a nod that morphed into another yawn. When she met his gaze there was sheepish amusement in her eyes. ‘Flying makes me sleepy. I’m the same in cars. Are you sure Javier is okay?’
‘Very sure. Your seat reclines into a bed. Sleep if you need to.’
‘I’ll be fine, thank you.’ Another yawn. Another sip of her drink.
He observed her fight to keep her eyes open, the lids becoming heavier followed by a round of rapid blinking, then heavying again.
A few minutes later her eyes stayed closed, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
He leaned forward and carefully removed the glass from her slackening fingers.
Her eyes opened and stared straight into his.
A shot of something plunged into his heart and twisted.
Her lips curved in the tiniest of smiles before her eyes fluttered back shut.
Benjamin closed his eyes and took a long breath.
There was something about this woman he reacted to in a way he could not comprehend. It unnerved him.
Through all the legal battles he’d been going through these past two months and as the full extent of the Casillas brothers’ treachery had become sickeningly clearer, Freya’s face had kept hovering into his thoughts.
He stared at it now, watching her sleep through the dimmed cabin lights, absorbing the features that had played in his mind like a picture implanted into his brain.
It was fortuitous that she should sleep. It would make the difficult conversation they must have easier if they weren’t thirty-five thousand feet in the air.
Let her have a little longer of oblivion before she learned she had been effectively kidnapped.
A BUSTLE OF movement in the cabin woke Freya from her light slumber to find Benjamin’s gaze still on her.
A warm flush crept through her veins.
For the first time since infancy, full sleep hadn’t taken her into its clutches.
He gave a tight smile. ‘I was about to wake you. We will be landing shortly.’
‘Sorry.’ She smothered a yawn and stretched her legs, flexing her feet before noticing her shoes had slipped off. ‘Travel has always had a sedative effect on me.’
It had been the case since she’d been a baby and her parents had taken turns walking her in the pram to get her to sleep. Once she had outgrown the pram the walks had continued with Freya in a buggy, sleeping happily along the same daily walk, which had taken them past a local ballet school. She had always woken up then. Her first concrete memory was pointing at the little girls in their pink tutus and squealing, ‘Freya dance too!’
Those early walks had given birth to two things: her love of dance and her unfailing ability to fall asleep in any mode of transport.
Planes, trains, cars, prams, they were all the same; within ten minutes of being in one she would be asleep regardless of any excitement for the destination.
That she had managed almost half an hour before the first signs of sleep grabbed her on Benjamin’s jet had more to do with him and the terrifying way her heart beat when she was in his presence than it had about any fears she might have for her fiancé.
She’d had to keep her gaze fixed out of the window to stop herself from staring at him as her eyes so longed to do. When her brain had started to shut down into sleep it was images of this man flickering behind her eyes that had stopped her brain switching off completely.
Her fingers still tingled from being held in his hand, her heart still to find a normal rhythm.
Rationally, she knew there couldn’t be anything too seriously wrong with Javier. Benjamin had told her Javier was unhurt and that there was nothing for her to worry about...
But there was a tension in the Frenchman now that hadn’t been there before.
A prickle of unease crawled up her spine and she looked back out of the window.
When she’d last looked out of the window they had been high above the clouds. Now the earth beckoned closer, dark shadows forming shapes that made her think of mountains and thick forests, beyond them twinkling lights, towns and cities bustling with late-evening life.
None of it looked familiar.
The unease deepened the closer to earth they flew and she kept her eyes peeled, searching for a familiar landmark, anything to counteract the tightening of her stomach and the coldness crawling over her skin.
She hardly noticed the smoothness of the landing, too busy straining through the darkness to find something familiar in the airfield they had landed in.
As she whispered words of thanks to the cabin crew and climbed down the metal stairs to the concrete ground, she inhaled deeply. Then she inhaled again.
She had been in Florence as part of her ballet company’s European tour only the week before. Florence did not smell like this. Florence did not smell of lavender.
Benjamin had reached the ground before her and stood at a waiting sleek black car, the back passenger door open.
‘Where are we?’ she asked hesitantly, not at all liking the train of her thoughts.
‘Provence.’
It took a beat for that to sink in. ‘Provence as in France?’
‘Oui.’
‘Did I misunderstand something? I thought you said Javier was still in Florence.’ Freya knew she hadn’t misheard him but told herself her ears were unused to Benjamin’s thick accent and therefore she must have misunderstood him.
Slowly, he shook his head. ‘You heard correctly.’
Through
