She had forgotten just how opulent the Kellner world was. At school when she'd been sent away, the people she met wondered why she didn't revel in money the way they did, like bloated pigs at a never-ending troth. She hated the rich, and hated them because of every cruel lesson learned at the hands of Ferdinand and Michael Kellner, and the final, most painful lessons learned at the whim of Sebastian Kellner.
She glanced sideways at him now as the plane taxied up to the runway for liftoff. He didn't revel in his money, he seemed to bear it comfortably. Hell, he seemed to bear everything comfortably, everything but her.
She glanced out the window as the myriad of planes at O'Hare lined up. It had been years since she'd last been on a private plane, and that had been the Airstream in the Kellner fleet that had flown her the last time back to Stockholm for her final semester of graduate school. Back then she had wondered about, a free man of two years, knowing they were kept apart. There he sat, in the reclining leather swivel chair next to hers, not three feet away, and she was still wondering.
Claire could not bring herself to discuss Sharon. Not yet. The life she had carved out in Toronto was hers, Angela Johnson was hers, Sharon was hers. Whatever the hell was between her and Sebastian it would soon come to an end, it had to.
He'd asked her for this time and in a moment of weakness she had agreed. Weakness, it had to b that. The need she felt for him, the heat that seemed to burn them up whenever they were close...it was too much.
This was his world, a world of private jets and billion dollar cash flow issues. Her world was small, busy, and fit nicely into an anonymous condo in any large city in the world. Information was her real job, and so long as she had a computer she could work anywhere in the world.
This would be a test-drive of sorts, she thought. They were flying to a secure island. Sebastian had bought it two years earlier and according to him though the island was in the British Virgin Islands it held only five private residences and only residents and guests were allowed.
She would appear on no manifest and for the next week she would be safe. Claire almost snorted. Safe from a killer, sure, but what about... He looked up, those clear, bright, sharp eyes meeting hers. Claire jerked her attention back out the window as they took off, that rushing feeling of fear, excitement, and anticipation washing over her.
A burst of arousal broke through her, startling Claire into the realization of how similarly Sebastian made her feel. Watching the city fall beneath them as they headed out over Lake Michigan. After long, breathless minutes the plane leveled out.
Sebastian had dismissed the on-call staff keeping only the pilot and co-pilot. He unbuckled his seat belt and held his hand out to her. "Come with me."
"Where to?" Where they say was the main cabin and meeting room. The chairs swiveled and the floor panels could be moved to raise up legs that connected to the tabletop, not hung near the back doorway to the next cabin.
There was a galley, staff seating area, a small lounge with a permanent dining table, and behind that a bedroom for long flights. Sebastian led her to the galley where he grabbed a bottle and two glasses, and then grabbed her hand again and went to the bedroom.
It was small like a hotel room but richly appointed. There was a king size bed that looked soft and plush, a shade darker than the dark blue plush carpeting. The walls were hung in cream fabric and the painting was a real Magritte, from his early days. Claire had spent enough time in this world not to goggle, but she still felt out of place.
Sebastian closed the door behind her and set his bounty own on the small dresser. Why there needed to be a dresser on a plane, Claire couldn't say, but the mirror on top reflected them and the bed. He came up behind her and she felt her body stiffen, felt the desire to pull away.
He must have felt it too because there was a flash of anger across his face and then his lips were pressed against her neck. Claire closed her eyes and gave in to the sensation. This, of all things, felt right.
He held her from behind, his arms steel bands, his mouth furiously claiming every last nerve. The shimmer of anger and fear pulsed at her arousal, making Claire feel as if her body sizzled. The moment she relaxed, the second she began to melt against him Sebastian made a sound of victory that died on a heated moan.
His hands moved, skimming up her sides teasingly and hovering under her suddenly aching breasts. Claire couldn't stand the waiting and reached her own hands up, intending to cup his head and bring him lower.
"No," Sebastian soft softly yet firmly. "No." The second command was more a plea as he hefted the weight of her breasts and stoked Claire's stiff nipples through the fabric.
She knew what he wanted and suddenly Claire ached to give him her submission. All he wanted was to lead the dance, and it made him feel safe. She whimpered as he ground his hard erection into her bottom and knew in her heart the battle was lost. Truthfully, letting him take the lead made her safe too, so long as all decisions were momentarily out of her hands.
Just what did it mean?
***
It was like a modern fairy tale. The island was small, like a large hill of lush green rising from the ocean. The sand all around was pearl white and the ocean pooled into coves of perfect turquoise calm.
They had landed in Tortola and from there taken a boat to the private island. There were only a small handful of residences each with a private dock, and Sebastian had piloted the speedboat excellently. Here in the tropics he seemed a different man. His shirt was off and his tanned skin gleamed in the sun. His sunglasses were small, round, perfectly dark, and hid his eyes and he gave her sly smiles whenever he caught her admiring him.
Actually, he had seemed a looser man since their interlude on the plain. Without question she had followed where he lead, and it had brought them both to a furious climax of pure, raw desire. Even now she ached slightly and wanted more, craved his touch. It was as if he planned this, as if hiss little game extended beyond the bedroom. Frowning, Claire pushed the thought aside and studied the little slice of paradise that was to become their refuge.
The boat was parked inside a boathouse overlooking the private beach. A natural rocky outcropping of a peninsula on one side and a man-made built-up sand bar on the other made for a cove of calm waters.
Claire could not resist dipping her hand in and laughing at the warm ocean. Bora bora would be like this, but her smile faded when she realized it would be nothing like this. The large house awaiting them was richly appointed, stocked with food, private and secure. On her own in the tropics she would have to carry her money with her, sleep with one eye open, and keep moving.
Sebastian had sensed her thoughts and tugged her along to the house. There were five bedrooms and a large open floor plan on the first floor. The basement was a walk-out onto the sloping hill and was in effect a rumpus and entertainment room. This was all Sebastian, she knew, this was not a Kellner family holding, it was his own. It came as no surprise that the most modern and largest room was the kitchen.
She elected to lay by the small pool and chase a nap while he prepared a large lunch. He left a laptop out there, one from the house, not work, loaded with music that played for her as she soaked up the sun.
