Mikalo's Fate (The Mikalo Chronicles) Read Online Free PDF Page A

this butterfly in my stomach."
     
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
     
    He was asleep. Finally.
    And now here, as we raced toward Greece, the slender private jet slicing its way through the night sky, I watched him.
    What I really wanted to do was cuddle up to him. Press my nose into his neck, or even his chest. Snuggle into those spots where I knew it was warm and smelled wonderful and reminded me how lucky I was and how much I loved him and how fantastic it was to feel him next to me. Place my hand on his chest, perhaps, and feel his heart beat.
    But no. I resisted, afraid of interrupting his dreams. Of shattering that tender space where he was finding true rest.
    He stirred, shifting slightly. His brow knitted, his lips parted as he exhaled loudly, and then he stretched, a small movement, his legs flexing, his back arching, his arms pushing away from his sides before everything returned to normal, my love falling back to sleep with yet another deep breath, his muscled chest rising and then falling.
    I suspect this had been alluding him lately, sleep. In fact, watching him now, I was sure of it.
    Did he have his own worries? His own fears? Was there something going on I wasn't sure of? Something that was keeping him up at night, his eyes staring at the shadows on the ceiling as he listened to me breathe and snore and sigh and dream?
    I didn't know.
    But I knew I could ask. And, more often than not, there'd be an answer. If he had one, that is. Sometimes he didn't, whatever worries working through his head still finding themselves, still sorting themselves into clear thoughts and then words. Words he'd then share with me.
    "Would you like a blanket, Miss?"
    I looked up to find one of the three stewardesses standing near. A professionally pretty woman, one of three on this flight, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, impeccably dressed, a jaunty silk scarf tied 'round her throat, dainty pearls at her ears.
    A gentle smile as she waited.
    "No," I finally said, "I'm fine. Thank you."
    A small nod, another quiet grin, and she was gone, her low heels soundless on the plush carpet as she made her way to the front of the cabin.
    I was not expecting this, I thought as I looked around again.
    Arriving on the tarmac hours ago, I had been shocked when the car pulled up to a sleek Gulfstream jet.
    Not yet comprehending that this is how we were traveling, that this was, in fact, our flight, I had remained seated when the car door opened.
    Mikalo had stood, his bag over his shoulder, his hand out, reaching for me.
    "Grace?" he had asked.
    His hand in mine, I had finally gotten out, suddenly shy, suddenly self-conscious, worried my casual travel clothes -- jeans, v-necked t-shirt, soft leather jacket, low-heeled slip-ons -- looked inappropriate and cheap to the crew who waited on either side of the small stairs leading to the plane door.
    The pilot, looking like a silver-haired version of James Bond, effortlessly elegant and suave, exuding an air of accomplished authority. His co-pilot, a young man with the chiseled looks of one of those heroes in romance novels, his brown hair thick, the bangs landing perfectly across his forehead, stood silently, his teeth almost blindingly white as he smiled and nodded.
    And the stewardess. Pretty, of course, but not inappropriately so. An older stewardess walking forward to greet Mikalo with a warm handshake followed by a quick hug as we approached, her hand at once grabbing mine, the grip warm and welcoming.
    "We are so pleased to meet you, Miss Grace," the pilot was saying behind me, his deep voice cool and calm and comforting. The kind of crisp baritone I could imagine calming me even during the worst of calamities.
    "And you," I could hear myself saying.
    But I was in shock.
    I had not expected this. I had anticipated standing in line to get our tickets, standing in line at security, waiting in the First Class Lounge listening for our flight to be called. I had anticipated sharing my space with