Chapter Twenty-Three
Elizabeth
A pink Lady Dior purse hanging from my arm, I walk into the small terminal reserved for private jets. Although I’m tired from having stayed up the night before, I keep my step jaunty, my sky-high gold stilettos hitting the linoleum floor with the steady click-click I practiced under Grandma Shirley’s watchful eye.
Not too fast. Not too slow. Just right, so you look fresh, youthful and energetic without sacrificing elegance or dignity.
I took a great pains this morning to look the part of a carefree yet compassionate heiress, and it’s paid off.
Dominic is reading something on his phone, his brow furrowed. A black jacket fits his wide shoulders and lean, muscular torso perfectly, and the white dress shirt with two buttons undone makes him look slightly more casual…and approachable. Black pants hint at the powerful legs underneath. He doesn’t have to get undressed for me to know he’s maintained his superb physique. He isn’t the type to let things slide.
The sunlight streaming in through the glass walls hits his black hair, giving it hints of reddish-brown highlights. My fingers twitch with the need to brush it back, just to feel its silken texture. But regret, resentment and longing lance through my heart. How different things could’ve been…if only…
Dad’s words ring in my head: You shouldn’t have bothered, Elizabeth. People talk as though love is absolute, but you see how easily it crumbles… Now you owe me a favor and have nothing to show for it.
Then he shrugged—shrugged—while I barely managed to stay on my feet, my heart shattering so completely it could never be put back together.
Dominic lifts his head and looks at me, his blue eyes unreadable, and I get yanked back to the present. Adjusting my sunglasses, I widen my smile, arranging my expression into one of warmth and sweetness. “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”
“I just got here.” His gaze falls on my carry-on. “That’s all?”
“Your staff took my other bags.”
We walk out onto the tarmac together. A cream-colored plane gleams under the bright California sun. A uniformed ground crew member comes out to grab my carry-on, and I go up the steps with Dominic following. A smartly dressed cabin attendant smiles in welcome and takes my coat.
I study the luxurious décor—wood, gold and leather. The basic color scheme is earth tones with burgundy accents. There’s an ergonomic workstation big enough to accommodate two, plus a lounge with a low table and two couches further back. The cabin ends with a door that probably opens to a bedroom suite. It’s a must for busy executives who want to sleep while flying.
One of the armchairs probably cost more than all the furnishing in his old duplex ten years ago. Admiration and pride fill my chest until I’m afraid it’s near bursting. I know he’s become a huge success. Newspapers and magazines publish feature articles about him—the financial and business periodicals focusing on his entrepreneurial achievements, and the gossipy ones focusing on his bachelorhood, youth and good looks. But seeing what he’s accomplished in person… It’s something else.
“This is a lovely plane,” I tell Dominic after we’re seated and buckled in side by side on one of the sofas. The cabin attendant’s already served us a preflight drink of Veuve Clicquot.
His piercing eyes study me for a moment, then a genuine smile pops on his face. It’s so unexpected that air sticks in my throat for a second.
“Thank you.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I’m sure yours is just as nice.”
I blink. Didn’t he dig into my background? “I don’t actually have a plane. That’s for my brothers and cousins.”
He looks surprised. “Interesting.”
“Not all heiresses have expensive flying toys.”
“So what’s in Hawaii?” he asks.
Drinking my champagne, I give him a sidelong glance. I haven’t told him exactly which doors I plan to open for him yet.
“A huge birthday bash,” I say. “A close friend of mine is turning twenty-seven today.”
He frowns. “And your friend’s birthday has exactly what bearing on my business projects…?”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
* * *
Dominic
Elizabeth falls asleep as soon as the plane reaches cruising altitude. She doesn’t stir even when the cabin attendant walks about, or when the plane shakes a bit during turbulence.
Although she’s put on makeup and managed a lively mien, it’s obvious she’s exhausted. She lost a track of the conversation a couple of times, which she covered up with a self-deprecating smile. And when she thought I wasn’t looking, she swallowed a yawn, her gaze going unfocused.
She slowly slumps toward me until her head rests on my shoulder. Her lips part, and her breathing stays even and deep.
I should push her away, but I can’t bring myself to move, lest I wake her up. That would be petty.
Besides, Elizabeth is hardly heavy. She’s lost weight since our dinner at La Mer, not that she had much to spare in the first place. And she smells nice—vanilla and lavender. I have no real reason to move her…except for the familiar stirring her scent incites in me, or the bittersweet taste in my mouth.
If only she’d come clean from the beginning… If she hadn’t caved into Dorothy’s demands…
Still… I can be the bigger person.
The cabin attendant asks me if I want anything to eat, and I ask for a roast beef sandwich, something the crew prepares every time I fly.
“What about your guest?”
I hesitate. Food or sleep? “How long before we land?”
“Four more hours, sir.”
“Then let’s wait until an hour before landing.”
I read a few business documents that require review and decisions before tomorrow. The deals in China are becoming a major pain. Some regulatory issues, which really translate to: I don’t know the right people in the government to grease. My Chinese partners also seem unable to reach the necessary officials.
They’re highly profitable deals, and I want them done. But if I can’t do them in the next four weeks, I’ll have to accept they’re a lost cause and move on. There are other projects demanding my attention.
The jet engines hum, bringing us closer to Kauai.
The smell of Elizabeth is distracting. It keeps dragging me back to the past, when I thought we had something genuine. My mind brings up an evening on a beach, where we cuddled under a blanket, while I brought her to orgasm with my hands, her teeth clenched so she didn’t cry out under the clear night sky as she rocked against my fingers.
I taste the salt, the gritty texture of sand against my back, her hot, slick juices on my hands. My cock swells, pushing against the front of my pants, and I shift in my seat, furious at this current reaction to an old memory.
I swivel my head, placing a hand on her cheek to move her because she needs to cut this shit out. It isn’t going to work. But she places a hand over mine, her eyelashes fluttering, and nuzzles my palm.
The old gesture punches me in the chest, leaving a hitch right under my breastbone.
Fuck.
I carefully pull my hand back, causing her to whimper softly. My jaw clenched, I turn away, forcing myself to breathe evenly. Her reaction means nothing. Her making me horny is natural. She’s a stunning woman, and I haven’t had a decent fuck in a while.
But that doesn’t mean I should stoop to being petty. I take a calming breath and leave her head on my shoulder.
Like I said, I can be the bigger person.
I’m not like her.