by Dani Wyatt
I draw a deep breath. “It’s not just them,” I say, trying to convince myself as much as her. “I always said it’s what I wanted. It was my dream too. I think Melany just wants me out of the way, and my dad? I think he’s just lost, and Melany somehow has him under her spell. I don’t know, I just know I have to go. I’ll be fine. When I get there, maybe everything will be okay. Maybe it will be what I’ve wanted and I’m just so confused.”
“Confused, my ass.” She snaps, and then she sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make this harder. It’s your decision. I just think you are painted into a corner and I hate it.”
“I can’t bail at the last second. Not after all these years of preparing and saying it’s what I wanted. I have to follow through. It’s just a year. Then I’ll know for sure, right? I’ll know if it’s what I truly want to do or not. I need to just do it and see. Then things will be okay.”
My words are tired, like I’m trying to convince someone of some thinly veiled alibi in a b-movie crime drama. The butterflies in my stomach don’t stop fluttering every time I think of Damon’s kiss, or the way his hands felt so perfect on me. The way he fed me, showed such concern for me... I can’t have spent more than thirty minutes with him, but it’s like he’s with me all the time.
“Well, I’m a phone call away. I’ve got money. And don’t forget you do too. We could get a lawyer, fight for you to regain control of the trust fund your mother left. You’re the billionaire, not your dad, and certainly not Melany.”
“I get an allowance,” I mutter, but I know deep down she’s right. My father was always an amazing businessman, but the real money in our family belonged to my mother. Money she inherited from her family, and more she made in her own modeling career. She left the bulk of it in a trust fund for me, but I no longer have any access to it. The court case for my father to gain full conservatorship over me, and therefore the fund, barely even lasted a day. At the time, Melany had me on so many medications that I couldn’t tell you what day it was, let alone make competent decisions about how to use my money. Her professional opinion was considered ‘expert’ by the court, and when they did my interview I was half out of my mind.
And just like that, I was trapped. Through my father, Melany controlled everything. My money, my freedom, even my dogs once she realized how much I wanted them. She threw me a carrot, letting me have them in the first place, then threatened me with the stick of making them disappear if I didn’t toe the line. My meds, a year in Europe...then traveling the world as a model. Every girl’s dream.
Except, that’s not where Damon is...
“Fuck that. An allowance of your own money. No. Sorry, that’s not how that works.”
I know January is trying to help, but she’s just making me feel worse.
“Please don’t,” I beg. “Just be my friend and be there for me through this, okay? A year. I can do a year. Telling me all the shitty things they are doing doesn’t help. I’m living it, I know already.”
Her voice softens. “I’m sorry. They just piss me off.”
Just then, the limo sputters and the car slows. We are on the freeway and I press the button, lowering the privacy screen between the back and the driver, and I see smoke or steam billowing out of the hood.
“I have to go. I’ll call you when I get settled.”
“Okay, you better or I’m going to blow up your phone until you answer.”
We say a quick goodbye as the driver eases the car onto the shoulder of the freeway.
“What’s going on?”
He turns. “Not sure, ma’am. Just sit tight.” He puts the car in park and I watch as he looks back toward the traffic, waiting for a clear moment before he climbs out of the car, lifts the hood, and I hear him talking on his phone.
A few minutes later, he trudges back and I wind my window down to see the exasperated look on his face. “I’m sorry. Looks like the radiator went. I called the agency, they said they are sending someone right away. We’ll try to get you to your flight on time, but we’re already running late...”
My stomach drops.
Is this a sign?
Chapter Five
Damon
THE ACHE IN MY CHEST throbs as I let my head fall back into the headrest and feel my Bentley idling beneath me.
My assistant, Margaret, speaks through the speakers on the car, coordinating what will be my upcoming absence. “I’ve got the Falcon Industries CEO settled down. The Morgan brothers have accepted the contract you sent over and James Riley will forward the paperwork to your apartment in Paris.”
“Fine.” I reply, running a distracted hand through my hair then down the back to grip the base of my neck, the muscles so tense they are like steel cables.
Snow is beginning to fall and gray clouds are masking the morning sun as I watch the clock on the dash, counting the minutes until I’ll pull onto the freeway. She’s right there, sitting in the back of a limousine, thinking I’ve forgotten all about her.
The very idea is laughable. How could I forget my heart?
Margaret continues. “The delivery acknowledgement for the flowers and the necklace to Laney Wainwright came through as well. I worded the card as you asked. Nice way to let her down easy with a consolation prize.” There’s a hint of disappointment in her voice. “You know, I just want you to be happy, Damon.”
“What makes you think I’m not happy, Margaret?” We’ve had this same conversation more times than I can count, but the difference this time is I finally understand what she’s been harping about all these years. With Doralee, I feel that happiness.
I feel fucking joy.
“Work is not everything. Money is not everything. Being the big, mega-mind Damon Lassiter is not what will make you happy.”
“Margaret.” I cut her off. “Do you trust me?”
She answers instantly: “Yes, of course I do.”
“Then trust me when I say, Laney Wainwright was not what would make me happy. But I’ll tell you a secret. I’m working on something that will. So just do what you do best. Keep the ship sailing while I’m away. Keep the wolves at bay until I get a few things straight. Can you do that?”
“Of course I can.” Her voice is sharp and professional and I know she’s with me. She’s as smart as me, and probably could run the company better than I can. “Are you sure you don’t want your usual security detail with you? Whatever this is you’re doing...”
She’s fishing but I don’t budge. I need privacy. I need to get Doralee attached to me completely before I bring the outside world back in.
“No. No security. I’ll be in touch. Unless it is an absolute fucking emergency, I’m not available to anyone until you hear from me, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she answers. “It’s holiday time, so that helps.”
We cover a few more tidbits then sign off, my heart slamming around in my chest, thinking of the plans I have in place.
It’s been agony being away from Doralee, but I had things to organize. I’ve drowned myself in work, trying to keep myself steady until I can make her completely mine. There was a lot of business to settle, here and out of town, because once I put my plans into place everything will be on hold.
I’ve done illegal things too, to access any and all information about Doralee Hinson and her family. And the more I found out, the more I knew what needed to be done.
My dick hasn’t given me a moment’s rest since that night with her in the ballroom, but I’ve held off. Not touched myself, even when I thought I would lose my mind thinking about her.
Because I want my balls heavy, full of what now belongs to her, to spread over her tits, spray down her throat and drench her womb when the time comes.
I rev the engine, watching the last few minutes tick down, anxious to put my plan into place. The agency driver happily took the twenty grand I offered to play along and let my mechanic monkey with the radiator so it would blow at just the right time on the ride to the airport. I’m a son-of-a-bitch, doing things this way, but
I don’t care.
She needs to be away from all of this. The thought of her on a runway with all those eyes on her makes me crazed, let alone the thought she’s going away with those fuckers, Andre and Michael, to be peddled like a cheap concubine to the highest bidder.
I paid off anyone and everyone to get to know everything there is to know about her, and what I found out made me want to commit murder.
No idea why her father would allow his most precious prize to be treated the way Doralee has, but I’m too impatient and selfish to try to play nice and ease her away from him and that bitch of a girlfriend/psychiatrist.
The private investigators I hired followed all of them since the night of the party, while I got my life organized and ready for what comes next. I made sure I knew where Doralee was, who she was with and even paid off their domestic staff to report back to me anyone that came to see her, or anything unusual that went on when she was at home.
See, in order to have a loyal staff, you need to be loyal in return. And decent. From what I can find out, Doralee’s father used to have both those areas covered, until his wife passed away four years ago. The few members of his household staff that worked for them back then refused every offer that was made. But the way he lets his girlfriend run roughshod over everyone, well...
The newer staff members were easy pickings when it came to intel.
I’ve invaded her privacy, yes. But it’s for her own good, and one way or another she will be mine. When I want something, I get it, and I’ve never wanted anything like I want Doralee, so all bets are off. No laws or ethics will stand in the way of me making sure she’s safe and in my arms, from this day on.
My thoughts flash to my dark, innocent beauty, and the fact she’s sitting alone in the backseat of a limo, thinking she’s heading to Paris to start her new life, unaware of what that new life really will be.
It’s not runways. It’s not skimpy clothes and assholes that want to use her for her outward beauty.
My phone buzzes and I snap my eyes to the screen.
It’s the driver. When I pick up, he recites the lines I told him to memorize just in case Doralee can hear him. Nothing suspicious, it will just sound like he’s called the agency for assistance—not the crazed stalker that’s paid him 20k to sabotage her trip to the airport then sit tight for just long enough that there’s no way she will make her flight.
“Good man. Sit tight like we planned.” I reply. “Ten minutes, I’ll pull up. Remember, I work with the agency, they sent me, all above board. I’m doing them a favor because I have a private plane. Back up my story and you’ll get another ten thousand. I have a courier waiting to come drop it to you as soon as I pull away with her.”
“Yes, sir.” He answers and we click off. My heart is nearly pounding through my chest, knowing what I’m doing is fucking awful. But it’s right, and in the end I’ll make her understand somehow that this is what had to happen.
I note the time and start the final countdown to when I will pull onto the freeway.
My cock throbs harder with each minute, and by the time I floor the accelerator on the on-ramp, I think my dick must weigh ten pounds at the thought I’m about to see her.
By the time I’m parked behind the limo on the shoulder of the freeway, cum is already seeping from my cock. I get out of the car and make my way to the back door and tap on the window. A moment later, the window lowers as the chauffer steps up beside me.
“You?” Doralee’s wearing a short red dress, her tiny hands in her lap as one hand pulls on the fingers of the other. “What are you doing here?”
I step back as the chauffer opens the door, trying not to rip his lungs out for looking her way. But that would hardly help sell my story.
“The agency called, asked me to help out. They know I have a private plane and I was flying out today anyway, so I’m doing them a favor. You need to get to Paris and I’m on my way there. Kismet, I guess you’d say.”
Her eyes dance from the driver to me, then back, but he has my back.
“It’s all set up, ma’am.” He reaches in and takes her carry-on from the back seat. “I’ll get your other bags from the trunk. Mr. Lassiter will chaperone the remainder of your trip in style.”
I reach in, offering my hand, and her lips are tight as my eyes trace down from her neck to her tits then lower to the pale skin of her legs, thinking of how they will feel laying on my shoulders as my tongue laps at her silky wet pussy.
My body goes rigid at the thought, and when she takes my hand, the feel of her soft skin once again has me fighting back a groan.
Chapter Six
Doralee
I HAVE NO IDEA WHOSE body I am in.
My skin tingles. My nipples are so hard they show through my bra and the red satin fabric of my dress.
My panties are soaked, and the low throb from between my legs is matched by the rushing of blood in my ears.
I feel for the first time like I’m going to just live for the now. Damon said it’s kismet, and I surely never believed in such a thing before now, but I’m willing to try.
“That’s your plane?” I stare out the windshield as we pull onto the tarmac of the private airport.
It was only a short ten-minute drive from where the limo broke down, but the whole time Damon gripped the steering wheel like he was about to pull it off the console.
His jaw was set so hard, when I did try to ask him some questions it seemed as though every word of reply physically hurt him.
“Yes.” He answers, putting the car in park as a man approaches wearing a near black suit, and opens his door, holding an umbrella against the falling snow.
“Sir.” He greets, glancing at me with a wry smile.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Damon answers, nearly knocking him over as he gets out of the car. “Don’t fucking look at her.”
The man stumbles back. “I’m sorry sir, I just—”
“You just nothing.” Damon snatches the umbrella as he stomps around the front of the car to open my door, and I wonder why he’s so mad.
Maybe he had some other plans for his flight. Taking me on has upended things for him, I’m sure. From what I learned about him by searching the internet, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in the U.S.—if not in the world—and whatever happened the other night in the ballroom was probably just a game for him.
From what I can tell, he barely remembers me and all the dreams and thoughts I’ve had about him since that night evaporate as he ushers me out of the car without a word, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the plane.
He turns to the man still standing next to the car and barks at him to get our bags as he eases me up the stairs to the open door on the sleek white jet.
Clearly, I have misread the signs of what happened the other night. It’s no surprise, since my real-life experience with men is zero, having always been under the watchful eye and thumb of my father then in more recent years Melany.
It doesn’t matter. I’m going to Paris anyway and my life is there now.
I’m not sure beauty is a gift. All my looks have ever made me feel is like a toy or a possession. No one seems to have any interest in who I am. What I think, feel, dream...it’s as though if you look a certain way, that is the entirety of you. You are defined by that beauty. You’re a pawn in whatever push and pull is happening at the time, with you in the middle.
My thoughts spin as we board, and my awe multiplies threefold as we move into the interior of the plane.
“Wow.” Is all I manage.
It’s more like a Las Vegas hotel suite than an airplane. I grew up in luxury, sure, but this is next level stuff that makes my previous life look blue collar at best.
“Pick your seat. We will be wheels up in five minutes.” Damon motions with his hand for me to choose my spot. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” I answer as he turns on his heel and disappears back out the door of the plane.
His manner is so different t
han the other night and my poor heart is already breaking. In the car he told me he works with the agency, he’s a partner or majority owner or something, so I’m sure he’s just protecting a company investment. Making sure the product is delivered on time.
When he re-enters the plane, the same man that came to the car is following him, carrying my purse and carry-on. Damon directs him to stow them in the overhead bin above the little sofa where I’ve taken my seat.
A chill runs down my arms as Damon takes the seat right next to me, then reaches over and buckles me in, the brush of his hands re-igniting the tension down low in my belly.
Even his slight touch reminds me how rarely I get physical contact with another human. My mom was a hugger, a toucher, and so was my father when she was alive. But it’s like when she died, he did too, and I don’t remember the last time anyone hugged or touched me with any affection.
Except for Damon.
As he sits next to me he lets out a long, slow breath, one of his huge hands squeezing his brow hard before releasing as he stares straight ahead.
“I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you. I’m sure I could have just gotten another car and a later flight.” I try to clear the tension, my voice hinted with annoyance at how his manner has changed, unwilling to allow him to know the effect he’s had on me in such a short time.
He opens his mouth to answer when the pilot comes out of the cockpit and steps toward us.
“We’re cleared for our take off, Mr. Lassiter. It’s eight hours to Paris.” He clears his throat, looking down at me for a moment longer than is comfortable, and I hear Damon growl.
“Then fucking take off. You have a problem with your eyes?”
The pilot snaps back to Damon. “No sir. No problem. Just wanted to let you know, the attendants have everything you requested ready and in place.”
“Good, they should. That’s what they are paid for, and paid well. Now, keep your eyes where they belong and get this plane in the air.” He sniffs and reaches down to take my hand from my lap, putting it into his own.