San Francisco Love: San Francisco Trilogy: Part Three Page 3
“Would you like to go for a little trip with me?”
She considered him, seeming to study him. It struck him then that, purely objectively, she wasn’t particularly beautiful. She had nice even features, but bare-faced and with wet hair, some might have called her plain.
Not him. To him she was beautiful. And she would be his.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I take it that’s a yes?”
She sighed. “When you smile and look all sexy like that, I have a hard time saying no to you.”
“Then I’ll be sure to smile more.”
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“No.”
“How will I know what to pack?”
“You think you’ll need clothes?”
Her chest rose and fell in a slow, deep breath that he knew was a sign she was aroused. His cock twitched in his pants. Maybe they should just start playing now…
She shook herself. “Fine, I’m wearing nothing but ugly pajamas.”
“And I’m sure you’ll look lovely.”
She pointed one finger at him. “You go buy something. I’m going to nap.”
For the first time in his life, James had a very vivid fantasy about submitting to a woman. Christiana would look amazing in thigh-high boots and a black corset, and holding a whip.
Where had that mental image come from?
“As my lady commands,” he murmured, half-distracted by the fantasy.
She was smiling as she turned and left the room.
James sat back, picked up his tablet, then dashed off a quick text to his local agent, authorizing an all-cash, no-inspection, one-day closed offer on the house on Russian Hill.
By the time they got back from Solomon’s party, the house would be his. He’d have to come up with something romantic, maybe fill the place with flowers, so when he took her there to offer her the gold-and-diamond collar it would be a night she’d never forget.
Act like you’ve been on a private plane before. Don’t make an idiot of yourself.
She stared out the car window at the small plane. “Oh my god, this is so cool!”
Damn it, Christiana, you are so not suave.
The car service James hired to pick them up brought them right out onto the tarmac, stopping near the private jet. It was just like in a movie.
Unlike in the movie, there were two TSA agents with wands, who did a perfunctory scan of their bodies. It was hardly a thorough security check. Money bought special consideration.
There was a short red carpet leading to the fold-down stairs. A trim flight attendant with a brilliant white smile and a jaunty handkerchief tied around her throat waited for them.
“Welcome,” she said in a faint eastern European accent.
“Hi! Thank you,” Christiana said.
James just nodded, then put his hand on Christiana’s back, urging her up the stairs. The inside of the jet was small. There were six first-class-style seats, four near the front, with two on either side of the aisle and facing each other. Behind that was a pair of facing seats on one side of the aisle, and a small couch on the other. A massive bunch of flowers, wrapped in fabric rather than tissue and plastic, lay on the couch.
James kept his hand on her back, urging her toward the rear set of seats. He scooped up the flowers, handing them to her. “For you.”
The flowers were all white—roses and lilies and peonies. They smelled divine.
“This is beautiful, thank you so much.” She hadn’t had much occasion in her life to get flowers. The occasional bunch from her friends for her birthday or when she got a promotion. A corsage from her high school prom date. A bunch from her mom when she graduated college. And most memorably, until this bunch, a dozen red roses on Valentine’s Day from a guy she’d been dating, who only months later would disappear from her life because she worked “all the time.”
It wouldn’t be like that with James. He worked a lot, too—there were mornings he got up with her so he could make conference calls and attend virtual meetings in different time zones. Occasionally she’d seen the serious, studious look on his face when she came down after her nap and caught him working. He may have played the dilettante, but he worked hard.
That made her like him more.
No, not like him. Love him.
She’d hoped that it had just been the night of marathon sex talking, but with each day that passed, she fell a little more in love with him. She’d tried to fight it—she’d made sure he’d seen her looking dusty and dirty from work, thinking that maybe he’d do or say something that would squash the feelings. Instead he’d called her beautiful.
And he was buying a house in San Francisco.
She knew he had his own residences in London, Paris, L.A., and New York. They’d had a lively debate about where he actually lived, in which she insisted he had to have a single “home base” and he insisted that wasn’t true. The way he lived, moving from place to place with ease, not seeming to worry about packing or having what he needed, was utterly foreign to her.
Yet here she was, on a private plane, holding a huge bouquet of white flowers.
She’d backed off on the threat of wearing pajamas, and instead was wearing her favorite pair of jeans, which were worn enough that they looked like those super-expensive pre-distressed kinds she saw Instagram models wearing.
She’d paired that with the white collared dress shirt from the suit she wore for major work meetings. Instead of tucked into slacks, the tails of the shirt were loose, and she had the top three buttons undone, which showed a hint of the black lace bra she was naughtily wearing under the white shirt.
The outfit was cool and daring, two things she was not, but she was pretty impressed that she’d been able to put it together. The black forty-dollar flats she had on were probably a dead giveaway that she wasn’t the sort of person who normally rode private planes, but she was feeling confident enough that she took her phone from her pocket, passing it to James.
“Will you take my picture?”
She plopped down into a seat, crossed her legs in what she hoped was an elegant way, and held the flowers. James snapped a picture.
“Can you back up? I want to make sure you get the whole private jet thing.”
James was fighting a smile. He probably thought she was ridiculous, but she didn’t care. She might not be suave or cool, but she had flowers on a private plane, and damn it, she wanted photographic proof.
James handed back her phone. “Do these meet your approval?”
“I should put on more lipstick.”
“You look lovely.”
She mock snorted. “I don’t care what you think. This is about what my cousin will think.”
“Your cousin?”
“She’s a doctor and thinks she’s so fancy. Refuses to eat tamales at Christmas.”
“I don’t really know what those two things have to do with one another…”
Christiana picked the best picture and sent it to her cousin with the message International travel in style! Will text you when I land.
She debated texting Ginger. She’d been avoiding her best friend’s invitations to go out, saying that she had to work. It was an excuse that hadn’t raised alarms, because it was hardly the first time she’d skipped out on a social invitation because of work.
As much as she wanted to send her friend the same pictures she’d just sent her cousin, Ginger would demand answers—where was she going, who was she with, had she robbed a bank. While her cousin might ask questions, she certainly wouldn’t freak out the way Ginger would.
“Are you ready to take off, Mr. Nolen?” the flight attendant asked.
James looked to her. “Ms. Dell?”
Christiana jumped. “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I’ll turn this off.”
“No need,” the flight attendant assured her. “But if you’d please fasten your seatbelt, I’ll do the brief safety demonstration, and then we’ll be on our way.”
She dropped onto the couch beside James, who was sprawled comfortably, his tablet on his lap. “Have you finished interrogating everyone?” he asked.
“Interrogating? I was just asking questions.”
“I’m fairly certain the attendant doesn’t know the specifics of the aerodynamics of the aircraft.”
“You’re right. She doesn’t. The pilot doesn’t either.”
“His job is to fly the plane, not build it.”
“How can he fly it if he doesn’t really even know how it works?”
“Do you know how it works?”
“Of course. I mean, I’m not an aerospace engineer, but I know the basics.”
“And do you know how to fly a plane?” James pursed his lips.
“Okay, fine,” she said, leaning into him. “I agree there’s a degree of specialization necessary.”
“I’m glad the private flight meets your expectations.” James put his arm around her.
She leaned away. “Did I…offend you?”
“Oh no, not at all. I apologize, I was teasing.”
“But I’m acting like a jerk.”
“Never.” He kissed her head. “Please don’t doubt yourself. You’re perfect.”
Christiana curled into him, wondering if he meant that. Wondering if he felt for her even a small portion of what she felt for him. He had to feel something, right? He wouldn’t hold her like this, tell her she was beautiful and perfect, unless his heart was at least a little involved.
But he was a prince, her dark prince. Princes were always charming.
“Where would you like lunch set up, Ms. Dell?” Kseina, the attendant, asked.
“Where do you normally do it? Or where would you suggest?” Christiana asked.
“Perhaps one of the front sets of seats, so I can prepare without disturbing you.”
“That sounds great. Do you need any help?”
“No, thank you, Ms. Dell.”
“Okay, well, just let me know.”
Kseina walked away, and James nuzzled her temple. “After lunch, I’m going to ask Kseina to join the pilot in the cockpit. So we can have some privacy.”
Christiana lifted her face, and he kissed her, just the way she wanted. “That sounds promising.”
“I have a question to ask you,” he murmured against her lips.
“A question?” she squeaked.
“Yes, a question.” He bent his head and kissed her neck.
James went back to his tablet, and Christiana stayed curled against him, working very, very hard to keep herself from fantasizing that he was about to propose.
She’d known him for less than two months. They’d spent a total of fewer than ten days together. He wasn’t going to propose. In fact, she’d be a bit worried if he did, since that was crazy, and he wasn’t the crazy type. Crazy rich, not crazy crazy. But the part of her that was stupidly in love with him, the part of her that was wooed by roses and champagne, was imagining him down on one knee, a big fat diamond ring in hand.
Twenty minutes later, Kseina invited them to take their seats for lunch.
They sat on the large, comfortable leather seats, a small table between them. The table had a white tablecloth, and the lobster ravioli and steamed vegetables were served on thin white plates with silver rims and real silverware. They drank crisp white wine and sparkling water, ate bread that tasted freshly baked, and had small palate cleansers of lemon sorbet before the decadent warm chocolate cake dessert. Christiana told herself not to eat all the cake—sex on a full stomach, especially energetic sex, wasn’t fun—but dessert was too good, and she practically licked the plate clean while sipping a delicate oolong tea.
They spoke casually during the meal. Well, perhaps casually wasn’t the right word. James mentioned a building he was buying in England that he planned to demo, and she grilled him about the specs until he gave in and got his tablet, pulling up the blueprints, which she examined while finishing her tea.
Kseina took their plates and gave them short glasses of sweet, dark port as an after-meal drink. James spoke to her quietly, and she nodded before walking to the front, through the curtain that hid the galley. They heard the click of the cockpit door open and close.
“Come,” James commanded, tugging Christiana from her chair.
She left the port glass in favor of carrying the tablet. “You shouldn’t knock it down, you should renovate it. The infrastructure is sound.”
“And dated.”
“If you were in earthquake county, yes, I’d say knock it, but this is going to take more time and money to demo than they’re telling you. Let me show you.”
James tugged the tablet from her hand, switching it out for her port glass. “I may ask you to sit in on a call I have with them next week.”
“I can do that.”
“But this isn’t what I want to talk about right now. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to one of the rearmost facing set of seats.
His question. She’d worked hard not to think about what he was going to ask her while they ate. That was one of the reasons she’d focused on the blueprints, though now that she’d seen them, she was fairly certain he needed her help.
She took a seat and crossed her legs, trying to look casual with just a hint of sexy. She probably wasn’t pulling it off, but the effort made her feel better. James stowed his tablet in his laptop bag, then pulled something else out of the front pocket. Because of the angles, she wasn’t able to see what he’d grabbed.
Ring box!
It’s not a ring box, you nitwit.
Christiana blamed too many Disney Princess cartoons for her stupid obsession with a romantic proposal. Clearly some part of her brain was broken.
James sat in the chair across from her, reclining in that casual yet predatory way he had. That look, which she now knew so well, made her blood heat, and romantic notions faded in favor of something much darker and more delicious.
The only rule he’d held to was no sex—well, at least no cock-in-pussy-or-ass-sex. He’d let her get away with swallowing when he fucked her mouth, but he wouldn’t budge on the other rule. Maybe he was going to ask her to change their contract.
Yes, yes, yes. She wanted him inside her with a desperation that was bordering on madness.
“I’m ready to tell you where we’re going,” James said casually.
“Oh, good, I’ve only asked you a thousand times.”
He grinned, unrepentant. “We’re going to see my friend Solomon.”
That wasn’t what she’d expected. “O…kay?”
“He’s having a party, and he invited me to come.”
Hmm, now this was getting interesting. “What kind of party?”
“The best kind of party.”
“A sex party.”
He chuckled. “Yes, though that makes it seem rather unrefined. Solomon is a member of the Orchid Club also.”
“He’s the host of the next club event thing?”
“No, though he has hosted before. This is a private party. There will be people there who are members of the society, but also some who aren’t. This is a private party, on his island.”
“Solomon owns an island?”
“A small one.”
“Oh, well, if it’s only a small one…”
“It’s technically part of the Exuma Islands, in the Bahamas, which is why we’re stopping in Atlanta to refuel.”
“Tropical island. I didn’t pack for tropical island.”
“That’s not going to be a problem.”
Christiana hummed. “Ah, of course. Sex party. Naked party.”
“Yes and no. Solomon is having a skin party.”
“How is that different from a naked party?”
“This is a BDSM party, with both more rules and fewer rules than you would have seen at the Orchid
Club event.”
“How can it have both more rules and less rules?”
“Well, you see, at Solomon’s skin parties, any inch of a submissive’s skin that is exposed is allowed to be touched.”
Christiana tensed. “By anyone?”
“Yes.”
For the first time since getting on the plane, she felt a twinge of fear. She tried to play it off. “Well, I, um, guess I’m glad I brought lot of pants.”
James leaned forward. “I think you’ll enjoy this party, which is why I’m taking you.”
She didn’t want to be touched by random people. James had this all wrong, and she was surprised by how wrong he was.
“But I have no desire to let other people touch you.”
She relaxed, blowing out air. “Okay, I was getting nervous.”
“Trust me, Christiana.”
“I do. I’m on your private plane. You could be taking me to the skin suit factory.”
He shook his head slightly, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “No skin suit. But I do have a question to ask you.”
“Okay.” Now she really had no idea what the question was going to be.
James pulled the item he’d taken from his bag out of his pocket. He laid it across his palm, showing it to her. It was a short piece of leather with several small rings embedded in it and a delicate buckle.
A collar.
Christiana sucked in air and looked from his hand to his face.
“Christiana, will you wear my collar?”
Chapter 3
James waited, trying not to look as nervous as he felt, for her to answer. Christiana leaned forward, carefully touching the collar. She stroked the leather, and his cock twitched in his pants, remembering what it felt like to have those fingers on him.
He turned it over so she could see the JKN embroidered on the inside. She traced the letters with her nail.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll wear your collar.”
He grinned, and something dark and dangerous inside him roared in triumph. She was his.
“Come here,” he demanded.
He’d intended to pull her onto his lap, but she slipped to her knees before him. She looked up at him with soft, needy eyes, and he wanted to slide his hands into her hair and then his cock into her mouth.