Dragos Goes to Washington (Elder Races #8.5)(11)

That would mean they would be sitting in the cockpit, knowing full well what she and Dragos had been doing in the cabin.

But who was she trying to fool? Their sex scent drenched the cabin air. Even if she rushed, as soon as the pilots stepped out, they would know what had happened.

She rubbed her face. Her skin felt abraded by his whiskers. “Fine,” she muttered. “I get to shower first.” If they were anywhere but on the plane, she would suggest that they shower together, but the shower, while luxurious for a jet, was too small to accommodate both of them at once.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure about that? You don’t look capable of moving.”

He sounded immensely satisfied with that fact. Bah, men. She tried to scowl at him. “Yes, I’m sure. You’re faster in the shower than I am. I have more hair to get clean than you do. Besides, if we’re not done by the time we land, I would rather they scented you, not me.”

His satisfied expression disappeared, and he scowled back. Clearly he didn’t like that thought either, even though their pilots were a mated pair of male Wyr ravens and wouldn’t be interested in Pia anyway. The dragon was an exceedingly jealous creature.

Standing, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the back, into the luxurious bathroom. Then he set her on her feet again. He told her, “I’ll get your clothes. Hurry up.”

She chuckled and stepped into the cubicle for her second shower of the day. Hot water ran soothingly over tired, abused muscles, and while she wanted to stand there and soak it in, she forced herself to lather and rinse quickly, so Dragos could have the shower while she dressed.

The jet’s descent steepened as she inspected her clothes. It was her panties that had torn. She didn’t have time to dig out a new pair, so she stuffed them in the trash bin and dressed without them, then dug out a travel hairbrush from the stock of toiletries in the bathroom and yanked it through her wet, unruly hair. That was going to have to do. The pilots would still know what happened, of course, but it wouldn’t feel as exposing as having them scent it on her skin.

As she sat on the toilet to slip on her sandals, Dragos sluiced off within two minutes, dressed with quick economy and ran long fingers through his wet hair. Then together, they stepped back into the cabin and took their seats just moments before the plane touched ground.

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?”