It’s going to be a long flight.

“Wake up, baby.” Warm lips brush against my forehead as my seatbelt is unbuckled. “We’re here.”

I open my eyes, blinking slowly. “What?”

Julian smiles at me, his blue gaze filled with amusement as he stands in front of me. “You slept the entire way. You must’ve been exhausted.”

I had been a bit tired—the aftermath of all the studying and packing—but an eight-hour nap is a new record for me. Must be those pregnancy hormones again.

Covering a yawn with my hand, I get up and see Rosa already standing by the exit, holding her backpack. “We landed,” she says brightly. “I barely felt the plane touch down. Lucas must be an amazing pilot.”

“He is good,” Julian agrees, wrapping a cashmere shawl around my shoulders. When I give him a questioning look, he explains, “It’s only sixty-eight degrees outside. I don’t want you to get cold.”

I suppress the urge to snicker. Only someone from the tropics would consider sixty-eight degrees “cold”—though, to be fair, it probably is a bit chilly for the short-sleeved dress I’m wearing. Chicago weather in late May is unpredictable, with cool spring days interspersed with summer-like heat. Julian himself is dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, button-up shirt.

“Thank you,” I say, looking at him. On some level, I do find his concern touching, even if he takes it too far these days. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the feel of his large hands on my shoulders makes me want to melt against him, even with Rosa standing only a few feet away.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he says huskily, holding my gaze, and I know he feels it too—this deep, inexplicable pull we have toward one another. I don’t know if it’s chemistry or something else, but it ties us together more securely than any rope.

The clanging of the plane door opening snaps me out of whatever spell I was under. Startled, I step back, grabbing the shawl so it doesn’t fall. Julian gives me a look that promises a continuation of what we started, and a shiver of anticipation runs through me.

“Is it okay for me to go down?” Rosa asks, and I turn to see her waiting impatiently by the open door.

“Sure,” Julian says. “Go ahead, Rosa. We’ll be right there.”

She disappears through the exit, and Julian steps closer to me, making my breath catch in my throat. “Are you ready?” he asks softly, and I nod, mesmerized by the warm look in his eyes.

“In that case, let’s go,” he murmurs, taking my hand. His big, masculine palm engulfs my fingers completely. “Your parents await.”

The car that takes us from the airport to my parents’ house is a long, modern-looking limo with unusually thick glass.

“Bulletproof?” I ask when we get in, and Julian nods, confirming my guess. He’s sitting in the back with me and Rosa, while Lucas is driving, as usual.

I wonder if the blond man resents this trip for taking him away from his Russian toy. The last I heard, the interpreter was still alive—and still held prisoner in Lucas’s quarters. Julian told me that Lucas assigned two guards to watch over her in his absence and make sure she’s all right. Apparently, he doesn’t want anyone else to have the privilege of torturing the girl.