Free His Passion by Ava Claire Page A

The bottle will do just fine.”
    Leila knew me too well because she leaned forward and gripped my knee just as I was about to tell him that he had no right to speak, and certainly no right to bark orders at anyone. He could die of thirst as far as I was concerned.
    “Be nice,” she mouthed, stroking my knee softly.
    I frowned at them both. It was the best I could do.
    I sighed and turned my attention to the window, hoping the clouds would snuff out the rage that crept into my veins with little warning these days. I needed something warm and fuzzy to combat the consuming need to grab my brother by the collar, kick open the emergency hatch, and hurl him from the plane. It brought me a sick pleasure to imagine him plummeting through the air, death rushing up to meet him. My mind turned the delicate, feather soft masses that floated by into fluffy pillows. My fingers ached to grip said pillows, thrust them over Cole's face and-
    “Jacob.”
    Leila's voice lured me from my homicidal fantasies, but my conscience forbade me from looking her in the eye. Two hours ago, I'd been in a good place, the best place I'd been in since this whole situation screeched into existence.
    Before she was taken.
    Don't get me wrong—learning that my brother had helped my wife did not mean all was forgiven. I doubted that gift would ever have Cole's name on it. But I had been ready to swallow the animosity that helped me rationalize my brother's bloody end, at my hands. Yet all of it seemed so fragile if I was sitting here, daydreaming about throwing him from the nearest exit, and praying he couldn't fly. Was there any hope for me if it was as easy as drawing my next breath to fall back into hating my brother?
    A gentle click pulled my eyes back to my wife. She reached for her seatbelt and disengaged it, rising to her feet. Before I could ask any questions she held out her hand, her head pointing toward the sleeping chambers.
    I followed her, catching the attendant’s eye as she advanced towards us, balancing a tray filled with hot water, teabags, Evian, and Cole's bottle of booze. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed with slight annoyance before she averted them and focused her breasts on my brother.
    I ducked into the bedroom with Leila, pulling the divider shut behind me. I prepared my apology for the heated silence I'd been subjecting everyone to, her included.
    “Leila, let me explain-”
    “You don't have anything to explain,” she interrupted softly. She reached for her hair tie and pulled her bun loose. Curls shook and trembled from their bonds, spilling down her back. “I know the only reason you said yes was because of me. I know you wanted to tell him to go to hell.” She eased her shirt up and off in a breathless instant, giving me no time to catch my breath before her pants followed suit. “Just because something is the right thing to do doesn't always mean it’s any easier.” Her lips pulled into a playful smirk that I wanted to trace with my tongue. “I bet you've been fantasizing about drop kicking him from the emergency exit for the past thirty minutes.” She reached around and unsnapped her bra, not waiting for an answer.
    Talking, answering, anything other than drinking her in was irrelevant.
    My rock hard need punched against the fly of my slacks when her breasts sprung free. Lush. Round. Nipples already swollen with want.
    The room immediately shrunk to her body and my body as she pressed against me. Every curve, every contour of her, connected with every muscle and line of me.
    Her face was upturned, her eyes bright and filled with emotion as her fingers drew up my chest, kissed my neck, and rested on the sides of my face. Only Leila could turn a soft, romantic gesture into something as visceral as tearing open my fly and reaching her hand inside. Only Leila could force all the blood in my body to my groin, engorging me with that look. The look that said 'take me—and make the rest of the world go away'.
    She