As they braked hard, she felt queasy again, but over the last several hours, she had put out an extraordinary amount of energy. She was sore, achy and tired, and she’d only drunk a cup of coffee for breakfast.
It was far too soon to feel any effects from possibly getting pregnant. The queasiness had to be a touch of motion sickness on an empty stomach.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from placing a hand low on her flat stomach and turning her focus inward to search for a tiny, new precious spark of life.
There was none.
She knew that. She knew better, but still a leaden disappointment pulled her down.
Dragos’s massive, powerful hand came over hers, warming her. He pressed gently. She opened her eyes. She didn’t know what her face revealed, but his expression gentled. He put an arm around her, and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as the plane taxied to a stop.
The cabin door opened. Dragos’s gentle expression faded as both pilots stepped out, but they kept their faces polite and indifferent, and exercised terrific discretion. As his mate pulled pieces of luggage from the bins, Andrew said cheerfully, “Welcome to D.C. I hope you have a great stay.”
“Good flight,” said Dragos. “For a plane.”
“Thanks,” Andrew said, with a quick, understanding grin.
When Dragos stood, Pia did too.
Her slight queasiness took a sharp turn for the worst.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, bolting for the back of the plane and the bathroom, and slamming the door shut.
She barely made it to the toilet before she vomited violently. Clutching the rim, her eyes streamed as her body heaved.
What. The. Hell.
“Pia.” Dragos’s sharp voice sounded just outside. The door rattled. “You locked the door. What’s wrong?”
He hated locked doors between them. But this time he was going to have to suck it up. There were times when you just needed a moment or two by yourself, damn it.
“Nothing,” she gritted out. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
She grabbed a tissue and mopped her damp face while she waited to see if she was done.
After an uncertain lurch, her stomach seemed to let go of its hissy fit and settled. She climbed to her feet on shaky legs, flushed and compulsively checked again for a life spark.
Nothing. Of course, nothing. Looking grimly at her reflection in the mirror, she shook her head at her own foolishness.
The door rattled again. Dragos said telepathically, If you don’t open this door in the next sixty seconds, I’ll come through it.
She disappeared for TWO SECONDS, and suddenly he was completely determined to break the plane. She rolled her eyes.
No reason to break down the door, she said testily. I had a touch of tummy trouble and had to use the toilet. I’m just washing up now.
All of that was true, if a bit ambiguous. She washed her hands and face, and opened a travel packet of mouthwash to rinse out her mouth.
The door rattling stopped.
“Okay,” said Dragos. “Do you want your purse?”
Now that she had given him some reassurance, he sounded perfectly mild and sane. Ha. She had gotten to know him all too well, and that perfectly mild and sane voice of his wasn’t going to fool her ever again.
She told him, “Yes, please.”
Now that the plane was on the tarmac and no longer moving—and her stomach was completely empty—she actually did feel better.
She squared her shoulders and opened the bathroom door. Dragos leaned against one of the seats, waiting for her. He handed the purse to her, while his sharp gaze ran down her body.
She sighed. “It’s not a big deal. The only thing I’ve put in my stomach since lunch yesterday was coffee.”
“We’ll rectify that as soon as we get to the Wyr residence.” Straightening, he nodded to the two pilots waiting near the head of the plane. “Have a good week. I’ll be in touch when we finalize a time for our departure.”
“Very good, sir,” said Andrew.
Putting that rather ignominious arrival firmly behind her, she followed Dragos as he strolled down the aisle, and they deplaned into the sunny day.
*