Spotless by Camilla Monk

wondered if things were so easy for him. “Say . . . hypothetically, don’t you risk getting in trouble if you let me go? Like you’re betraying the family?”
    He ducked his head, as if to conceal his eyes. Was I onto something? “Island, I’m not tied to any family. I sometimes work for the Board, and when I do, I only answer to its head, the Queen. As long as the Queen is satisfied with my services, anyone else’s opinion is irrelevant.”
    I thought it sounded great on paper, but I wondered if his employer saw it that way too. “If you say so. But don’t come complaining if you end up inside an industrial meat grinder.”
    He let out a warm, throaty laugh. Damn, I really liked his laugh. Too bad he was nothing more than a callous hit man with some manners. “Don’t worry. I enjoy a reputation that allows me some leeway.”
    I wasn’t sure why, but his carelessness made me a little sad. “You’re an arrogant asshat, and it’s going to get you killed someday.”
    His gaze turned pensive. “Your concern is very touching. It’s rather unusual coming from a client.”
    I felt my ears heat up again at this oddly turned compliment. My own fate should have been my priority right now, not the way he did his job. My reply was halfway between an embarrassed mumble and a yawn. “I don’t care about you, March. All I want is to survive this mess.”
    “Understood.”
    His calm words are the last thing I remember. I was struggling more and more to keep my eyes open and eventually lost the fight.

    I woke up in France. Well, in the French sky anyway. As I opened my eyes, bleak weather could be seen through the plane’s windows, and Nick made a captain’s announcement that it was past ten a.m. local timeand we would be landing in half an hour or so. My seat was in sleep position. I was wrapped in some blue cover . . . and March was gone.
    My eyes searched the cabin, and I noticed that the lavatory door was wide open. Alerted by the sound of water running, I decided to get up and make sure he wasn’t getting ready to waterboard me like they do in Guantanamo. I was stopped by a sharp pain in my right wrist and the impossibility of moving my arm any further.
Someone
had handcuffed me again—perhaps worried that I might try to strangle him in his sleep. I sighed in frustration as my eyes scanned the long black chain. The other end of the cuff had been locked under the seat, leaving no means of escape.
    Undeterred, I bent to my right side as far as I could in a poorly designed maneuver meant to get a glimpse of what was going on inside that damn lavatory. It was a complete disaster. I ended up falling from the seat and hitting my head on the floor in the process. My arm still tied to the seat but now painfully twisted, I groaned in mild annoyance as I raised my eyes to the lavatory’s entrance. March was indeed there, shirtless and getting ready to shave. His jaw and chin covered in shaving foam, an old-fashioned safety razor still in hand, he took in my undignified position and arched a questioning eyebrow.
    I swallowed whatever was left of my pride. “Could you do something about the cuff?”
    He looked down on me—literally—and merely resumed his activities. “No, Island. I won’t help you, because, if I do, you won’t learn anything.”
    It was almost surreal, the way he was able to perform his morning routine undistracted as I lay sprawled on the aisle’s gray carpet with pleading eyes, only a few feet away from him. I gave up with a dejected sigh, resigning myself to wait until he was done. Surely he wouldn’t step over me to get his coffee, right? Glancing up at him again, I inhaled sharply and felt my cheeks heat up a little. He had shifted his positionto get a better view of himself in the small mirror as he shaved and, in turn, was giving me a much better view of his bare torso.
    I wasn’t sure I liked what I saw at first. March had a body that fit his choice of career, and there was nothing