Chapter 110: Captive Altitude

Chapter 110: Captive Altitude
Valerie didn't know what woke her.
One second she was under, and the next she was sitting up with her heart going fast and a sound dying in her throat, and a man was sitting in the chair across the room, watching her in the dark.
She let out a startled cry before her brain caught up and told her who it was.
“Dammit!” she said. “How long have you been sitting there?"
"A while," Max said.
The room was dark except for the city coming through the glass. She could make out his face, his posture—relaxed, one ankle resting on his knee, arms loose.
She pushed her hair out of her face and looked around the room, and she registered, piece by piece, the state of it.
The lamp on the side table was on its side. The desk chair was tipped over. One of the cushions from the small sofa was across the room near the bathroom door, and the courtesy tray that had been on the dresser was now on the floor, with a small dent in the wall behind it.
Max followed her gaze around the room without comment.
"The tray was an accident," she said. "I was aiming for the window."
"I know," he said. "It's reinforced. Although I thought the eleven floors might be enough."
"You have to let me go, Max," she said.
"We've had this conversation."
"We're going to keep having it." 
She crossed her arms and looked at him from across the room. He looked back at her with that stillness. It made her want to throw the lamp again.
"So what happens now?" she said. "You keep me here while Damon has Lindsay? That's the plan?"
He leaned forward and reached down to the floor beside the chair, picked up a shopping bag, and held it out toward her.
She looked at it and didn't move.
"There are clothes in it. For tomorrow. Get some sleep," he said, standing. "We have a long day." He closed the door behind him.
Valerie was the last one down to the car the next morning, and she made sure of it.
The clothes in the bag were good — a pale grey blouse and straight dark trousers, which she resented only because they fit her correctly, which meant he'd paid attention to her size at some point, and that thought sat badly with her.
She wore them anyway because her alternative was the clothes from last night, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of watching her be childish about it.
The car took them to a private terminal on the outer edge of the airport.
She saw the plane, and it was not the kind of aircraft that came with a commercial booking. It was large and white and unmarked except for a small logo near the tail that she didn't recognize, and on the tarmac around it were men in dark suits.
Valerie walked behind Max with two of those men flanking her at a distance.
The inside of the jet was not decorated in the way she expected—not flashy. It was expensive in a way that was even more telling, because it said the money wasn't the point.
Valerie took a seat as far from Max as the aircraft allowed.
He let her and settled at the front with a laptop and didn't look over at her more than he needed to.
"How long is this flight?" she said.
Max looked up from the laptop. "Fourteen hours."
"Fourteen."
"Give or take."
She stared at him. "And where exactly are we going?"
"Home," he said.
"So what’s your plan? Use me further to get to Damon?”
"That was the plan."
"Was." She caught the word. "Past tense. So what is it now?"
He looked at her for a moment. He set the laptop to the side. He was doing that thing he did sometimes, where he looked at her like he was deciding how much of the truth to tell.
"I don't know yet," he said.
She stood up because sitting still was no longer possible, and she walked toward him because the alternative was pacing at the back of the jet like an animal. She stopped in front of him and looked down at him. 
"You slept with me while lying to me about everything. About who you were. You let me trust you and the whole time—"
"The whole time it was still me," he said. He wasn't raising his voice. "I've said this to you."
"You're unbelievable," she said. "You're actually—"
Max stood up abruptly, towering over her. And the words went out of her for a half second, which was apparently enough, because he closed the remaining distance.
And crashed his mouth down on hers—hard, demanding, and without warning. There was nothing gentle about it.
Valerie froze for a single stunned heartbeat… then kissed him back just as fiercely, her hands flying up to grip his shirt. For three reckless seconds, heat exploded between them—tongues clashing, breath mingling
Then reality slammed into her.
She tore her mouth away with a gasp, eyes wide.
Max’s gaze burned into hers, his breathing just as ragged as hers. The silence lasted less than a second.
Valerie surged forward, kissing him harder this time, pouring her anger and unwanted desire into it.
Max growled low in his throat and cupped her jaw with one hand, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. His other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. She fisted the front of his shirt tightly, as if she both wanted to push him away and drag him closer.
The kiss turned hungry, almost violent in its intensity.
Then something snapped back into place inside her.
Valerie shoved Max back with all her strength, stumbling hard until the back of her legs hit the edge of the leather seat. She caught herself, chest heaving, lips swollen and tingling.
Then they stared at each other.
"Don't," she said. Her voice was not quite steady. Her face was hot. She was furious about her face being hot.
Max almost smiled.
"You think this is funny?" she said.
"I think it is," he said.
She slapped him.
Not with her full strength. His face turned slightly with it, and he let it, and when he looked back at her, his expression had gone still.
She stood there breathing hard and waiting.
He said nothing. He sat back down, picked up the laptop, and opened it.
She went back to her seat. She sat down. She looked out the window.
The silence between them now was not the same silence as before, and they both knew it, and neither of them said so.