Claire tilted her head, surprised as Simeon pulled her toward the front door. She followed behind him, curious as to where they were going. But as they got on the elevator she stayed silent, enjoying the feel of his strong hand against hers and the way he stared down at her, intense as always but softer somehow.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, Simeon pulled her out of it and headed toward the Mustang that was parking at an angle, idling.
She glanced over at him curiously, and she could feel the smile lifting her lips. “So you bought it?” she asked.
Simeon looked almost sheepish as he pulled the door open and then held her hand as she sat down. Then he circled the car, hopped in, and pulled off. Strong hands gripping the wheel, he kept his eyes centered on the road, and Claire couldn’t help the thought that this seemed more like the Simeon she had known before. Grown-up now, matured, but still Simeon.
“Yeah. I did,” he said a moment later, and it took Claire a few seconds to remember her earlier question.
He always been an admirer of classic American muscle cars, so Claire wasn’t surprised he had gotten one. Still, it didn’t fit with the image he projected now, the distant, powerful, suited billionaire. But dressed as he was now, his hair mussed and his jaw stubbled, Claire couldn’t imagine a vehicle that would fit him better.
“It suits you,” she said.
He shrugged, dropped a hand to shift the gears before lifting it back to the wheel.
“Maybe. It’s usually in the garage, sitting there rusting. I rarely have time to drive it, and I don’t let anyone else drive it.”
“Anyone else like who?” Claire asked, wondering who else was in his life.
Simeon glanced over and smirked before he turned his eyes back to the road. “My drivers. When they aren’t driving me, a part of their duties is to make sure my other vehicles are in working order, and that includes driving them on occasion.”
“Nice perk, I guess,” she said, somewhat embarrassed that Simeon had so quickly guessed the motive behind her question.
He shrugged again. “They seem to like it.”
“So why can’t they drive the Mustang?” she asked.
“No reason, but it’s…special to me, and I want to take care of it myself,” he replied.
Claire heard what he wasn’t saying. Simeon had rarely shared this side of himself, but she knew what this car meant to him. He’d always been completely dedicated to “making something of himself” as he’d always said, and she knew this car was probably something he’d bought when he thought he’d made it.
He didn’t seem happy, though.
“You push yourself too hard,” she said quietly.
She saw the tic in his jaw and knew she had hit a sore spot. She didn’t care.
“Some of us have to work for a living, rich girl,” he said.
Classic Simeon. She’d gone outside of his lines and he was pushing her away. But she wouldn’t be deterred.
“I certainly do,” she said. “But I think you’re far beyond the point of making a living.”
“If you say so,” he said.
“I say so. You’re a billionaire now, right?” she asked, trying to pretend she had some disinterest and that she hadn’t read pretty much everything about him, particularly the article a few years back about billionaires under thirty.
“Yeah,” he said finally, like he was discussing something too insignificant to get excited about and not his own vast wealth, wealth that he had created from nothing.
“Is it enough?” she asked.
He glanced at her then, his eyes shadowed by the darkness, though she didn’t miss the emotion in them.
Simeon didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to.
“Will it ever be?” she whispered.
“You tell me, Claire,” he said.
Then he looked back at the road, and Claire went silent then, her mind turning over what he meant by those words. Simeon’s ambition had been ferocious and unstoppable long before she had met him. But what he’d just said sounded like something else. To Claire, it almost seemed like he was saying he’d done all this, gathered his wealth because of her.
She didn’t understand that, though. She’d never cared for things or money; all she’d ever cared about was him. What could she have done to make him think anything else?
No answer came to her mind, and she stayed silent, turning the question over in her mind. She used to tell him how it would be. They’d rent a small apartment, decorate it with reclaimed furniture, and make their own cozy little world. As she thought back now, she knew she’d sounded painfully naive, and she could see the ways Simeon had tried to tell her so. She’d say they’d maybe get a dog, and Simeon would ask how they’d feed it. She’d suggest he start a business, and he’d ask how he’d get money to do it.
Fairy tales versus cold reality.
She could see that now and cursed herself for being so stupid then. Simeon had probably heard all of her silly ideas and been reminded of the ways he’d never be able to make them happy. She’d be off chatting about some idea she read in a magazine, and he’d feel pressure to make it happen, something he couldn’t do while working two part-time jobs on top of his full-time construction job. Claire had even talked to him about going to college once. That had been a short conversation, and Simeon had quickly changed the subject. She’d thought nothing of it then, but now she could see how that must have felt to him.
So stupid, Claire, she thought.
She looked over at Simeon again, wanting to say something, needing to, but not having the words to speak. It wasn’t like the words would fix anything anyway, so she stayed silent and reached across the seat to rest her hand on his strong thigh. He glanced over at her quickly, and she smiled, hoping the expression gave him some idea of how sorry she was, of how she’d never intended any of what he must have felt back then. How she’d never wanted to make him think she thought less of him or wanted more from him.
He placed his hand over hers, let it linger for a moment, and then he returned it to the wheel. But the touch was enough to make her feel better. The silence that had verged on tense calmed, and Claire stared out of the windows, suddenly realizing where they were.
“An airport?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said as he pulled into an open hangar. “I keep my jet here.”
She glanced over at him and laughed at his cocky expression. “That’s a heck of a pickup line, Simeon,” she said.
“It does okay,” he said. Then he got out and rounded the car and opened the door. “Come on.”
Claire got out, and Simeon settled his hand at the center of her back and led her toward the large plane.
A man dressed in a captain’s uniform came down the steps and greeted them. “Mr. Hayes. Ma’am,” he said.
“Jack,” Simeon called, shaking the man’s hand.
“We’re set for takeoff whenever you’re ready. We should arrive at our destination in about ten hours.”
“Good. We’ll get seated and then we can go.”
Simeon ushered her up the stairs and Claire watched as he pulled the door closed and then locked it.
“Where are we going?” she asked, wondering why the question hadn’t come to her before.
“It’s a surprise,” Simeon said mysteriously. “But I think you’ll like it.”
20
Simeon reclined against the soft leather seat. He was far too wired to sleep, not that he could with the view. Claire had curled up in one of the seats and fallen asleep, and he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He was glad she wasn’t within arm’s reach, and as much as he craved her, she needed the sleep and he needed the space.
The day had been a roller coaster, and Simeon had gone from the depths of anger to the height of passion, all caused by Claire.
Years of study and planning, but he wasn’t any closer to understanding the woman than he had been before. She seemed to make a hobby of upending his expectations, and today had been no differ
ent. She’d challenged him, pushed him, made him feel in a way that only she ever had.
Not at all what he had wanted, and if he were smart, he’d have ended this and sent her away. But instead of being smart, he’d decided to take her on a trip. He’d made the decision instantly, and as he’d thrown together the arrangements, he’d told himself it was a good idea because he seldom got away. He had houses he’d never slept in, and what was the point of having everything he desired at his fingertips if he wasn’t going to take advantage of it?
But the little voice, the one that alternately mocked him and made it impossible for him to get her out of his system, whispered the truth. He could pretend he didn’t know what had possessed him to plan the trip, but the voice told the truth. Told him that he’d decided on this trip because he wanted Claire to be happy, and the penthouse didn’t seem to be making her happy. That he cared about her happiness at all made him angry, but not angry enough to send her away.
So here he was, on the jet that impressed everyone but Claire, it seemed. She had teased him when he’d mentioned his jet, something he was definitely no longer accustomed to. And even more, she didn’t seem overly impressed, or even marginally impressed when he’d parked in the hangar.
When they’d stepped inside the plane, she looked at the wood-grained walls, the soft lambskin seats, all of it the finest that money could buy, and then she simply sat down and buckled her seat belt, no different than he suspected she would’ve been if she were flying coach.
Not that Claire had often flown in coach. There hadn’t been a chance for travel back then, but Simeon knew the Winsomes wouldn’t allow their girl to suffer alongside the commoners in economy. Still, her reactions didn’t fit. She’d looked at his car, his several-hundred-thousand-dollar car that he had spared no expense to have rebuilt by hand to his exact specifications. And all she’d said was that she remembered he had wanted one like it; she’d made no mention of how expensive it was.
She’d done the same with his jet and treated it as if it were nothing. None of that was consistent with the type of woman she was, the kind who put status and name above the love and affection that they had shared, or rather, that he had believed they’d shared. She had toyed with him, and he was doing the same to her, but she still seemed the girl he had known those years ago. Grown-up now. More fully comfortable with herself, but still fundamentally the same.
What a fucking mess. One that he wouldn’t be able to untangle while he was inside this plane, if ever. So he did the second thing that came to mind.
He scooped Claire up, his heart starting to pound when he saw the lazy smile on her face as she opened her eyes.
“We’re thirty thousand feet in the air. And completely alone,” he said.
Her lazy smile deepened. “What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means we should make the best of it,” Simeon replied.
“And how would you suggest we do that?” she asked, sitting up to face him.
Simeon shrugged nonchalantly, though he felt anything but. “I’m open to suggestions,” he said.
She stood, that smile still on her face, and unzipped her skirt and let it slide down her legs and then did the same with her panties, though he couldn’t see her pussy through her shirttails. Then she came toward him, her eyes locked with his. When she reached him, she straddled him and then looped her arms around his neck.
“I’m sure I can think of something to occupy us,” she whispered.
21
“We’re landing,” Simeon said.
Claire had been curled in his lap for hours, not that he was complaining. Reason had told him he should lay her down and try to sleep himself, but instead, he’d held her close and run his fingers through her hair, trying to memorize the feel of her body in his arms.
She stirred and then buckled herself into her seat, and Simeon missed her instantly. He wanted to reach for her, but he strapped himself in for the landing, some part of him grateful that there was some outside force keeping him from her because he knew he couldn’t rely on his own self-control. He had none of that, not where Claire was concerned.
The plane came to a smooth landing, and the captain opened the door and let them out. Simeon guided Claire to his waiting vehicle. He didn’t keep a driver on staff at this house, and besides, he didn’t want to share Claire with anyone.
“Where are we?” Claire asked.
He glanced at her quickly and then turned back to the road. “Just a little place I keep on the beach,” he said.
She laughed and then stared out of the window. Simeon knew she was trying to figure out where they were, and he decided to delay the suspense. Even though he watched the road, he loved the little glimpses of Claire as she tried to puzzle the question out, her expression open, happy, all the things he’d only had when she was around.
“Saint-Tropez?” she said.
Claire whirled her head around to stare at him, and then looked out of the window again, her face twisted with disbelief. “Your little place on the beach is in Saint-Tropez, France?”
He shrugged, something he’d done a lot when he was younger. It was a sign of defensiveness, his attempt to deflect, and he’d thought he’d rid himself of the habit, though it appeared to be something else Claire had brought back.
“I didn’t know you like to travel,” she said.
“I don’t. I didn’t. At least, not before… What’s the point of liking something you can’t afford to do?” he replied.
The twinge of bitterness in his voice was unintentional, but he didn’t try to get rid of it.
“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming, Simeon,” she whispered.
He snorted. “There’s everything wrong with dreaming. Dreams are weakness, fantasy, something that makes you a slave to things you can never have.” He nodded, certain about this at least, before he continued. “Action, on the other hand, action is the only thing that counts. What you do, not what you say, is what matters. And what you wish means nothing at all,” he said.
Simeon glanced over at Claire, who looked at him, her expression serene. “That doesn’t seem like a very happy way to live,” she said calmly, watching his face as he pulled to a stop.
“Who says we have the right to be happy?” he replied, his voice more raw than he wanted.
“You really getting this trip off to a very lovely start,” she said, lifting the corner of her mouth in a soft smile.
He laughed, the sound deep, hearty, but he cut off quickly when he realized what he’d done.
It was nearly dark, but the path to the villa was lit, and Simeon got out of the car and circled it to help Claire out.
“I’ll show you the place,” he said as he nodded toward the front door.
“Okay,” she said, and as they walked, she laced her fingers between his and gripped his hand. It felt so right, so natural, that Simeon wanted to squeeze back. He did, and when Claire glanced over at him and smiled, his chest constricted.
Simeon unlocked the double doors and then led Claire in. She looked around avidly, and as she watched, Simeon did as well. He’d had the place cleaned and aired, and it gleamed. But Claire seemed to pay little mind and was instead moving toward the open balcony doors.
The beach was only steps away, and from inside the house, Simeon could hear the soft crash of waves as they walked toward the open doors. The expression on her face now was close to that she’d had in the penthouse, but it was so much more intense and so much more spectacular. She’d loved the view of the harbor, but it seemed she liked the beach even more.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice low as if she didn’t want to speak too loud, the faint hint of reverence in it making Simeon feel much the same.
“Yes, it is,” Simeon said as he came to stand behind her.
She turned to look at him, her gaze searching his face. Simeon didn’t know what she saw, but after a moment, she leaned back against him. Without thinking, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around he
r, pulling her even closer. Claire stood on her tiptoes and tilted her head, and Simeon took over, kissing at the soft, creamy skin of her neck. The moment intensified, and Claire curled even tighter against him.
The he lifted her and laid her on one of the outdoor chairs. As they moved together in the clean ocean air, Claire filled Simeon’s soul as Simeon filled her body, the soft sound of waves crashing filling his ears as he sent them both to climax.
22
The next morning, afternoon, really, Claire stared down at the bed and then looked back to Simeon. His expression was almost grim, but there was a light in his eyes that she couldn’t miss.
“What’s that?” Claire asked, again glancing at the scraps of fabric Simeon held.
“You’re adorable when you’re suspicious, rich girl,” he said.
She tilted her head. “Claire. And should I be suspicious?” she asked.
“Nope. There’s no mystery here,” he said, moving toward her purposefully.
“So what is that?” she repeated, still staring down at the bed.
“Your wardrobe for the week,” he said nonchalantly.
Claire felt her eyes bug out as she stared at Simeon wildly. And the jerk had the nerve to smile. She huffed at him, which only made him laugh.
“It’s not poison, Claire,” he said as he came to stand behind her.
For the first time, his hard body against hers, the little tremor that went through her where they touched was not at the forefront of her mind.
“No. It’s not poison. It’s a bikini!” she exclaimed.
He laughed again, and Claire slapped at his chest, though she kept her eyes on the bathing suit.
“We’re on a beach. Swimwear seemed appropriate,” he said, his voice rasping against her skin.
“Swimwear. Yes, this…”
“Is perfect,” he said.
Then, body folding over hers, he reached for the bikini top and laid it against her. She responded to his touch without thought, though it didn’t fully distract her. The bikini was the same color as her goddess dress, the deep gold surprisingly complementary to her skin tone. Too bad there wasn’t enough of it to cover her body.
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