The Billionaire's Craving

Oh, who was she kidding? The real truth was, down under it all, she hadn’t read the fine print for one very crucial reason — deep down, she’d been afraid she’d read something in there that would force her to turn down the aid. So she hadn’t read the contracts. Instead, she’d stuck her head in the sand and pretended everything was fine.

Money. Debt. Fear. Obligations.

Sabela could only hope the tenuous relief she’d basked in for a short while was worth the price she’d soon be paying.

“Ms. Vaughn?” the stewardess asked.

Sabela snapped out of her thoughts. The waitress held out a flute of champagne by its slender stem.

“I, um …” Sabela murmured.

A drink was the last thing she wanted, but even as she spoke, the stewardess lifted a small tray attached to the outside arm of the chair and set the drink down.

“A French ’75, ma’am,” the stewardess told her.

Sabela didn’t know a ’75 from a ’95 from a 2015, of course, but she nodded like she did. “Thank you.”

The stewardess bowed her head and turned to leave, but Sabela didn’t want her to go just yet.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, Ms. Vaughn?”

“Can you tell me where we’re going?”

The flight attendant flashed her a practiced smile. “We’re on our way to Switzerland, Ms. Vaughn.”

There. That wasn’t so hard. What was the man in the suit’s problem, anyway? Why hadn’t he told her she was being whisked across the Atlantic Ocean to a different continent, to Switzerland, where she knew no one? She didn’t even know what language they spoke there.

And she’d be totally dependent on a man named Morgan who she’d never met and had no reason whatsoever to trust. A man who demanded she pay … something.

Yeah, so, that would be why the man in the suit wouldn’t tell her where she was going. She might not have stepped onto the jet if she’d known. Undoubtedly, he’d realized that.

At twenty-four years old she’d barely been out of the city, let alone to Europe.

“Where in Switzerland?” she asked the attendant, not that the answer would mean anything to her. It did seem, however, that it was something one should ask.

And if the stewardess was going to be open with her, Sabela wanted to take advantage. Knowing everything she could about where she was going and who Mr. Morgan was would be essential to making sure she got out of this mess.

But Sabela had pressed her luck too far.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t divulge any further details.” The stewardess looked uneasy. “I wasn’t even supposed to tell you where we’re going. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?” Sabela demanded. “Did Mr. Morgan tell you not to talk to me?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can only say Mr. Morgan is looking forward to meeting you.”

The stewardess dashed away.

It didn’t make any sense. First, the man in the suit and his tight-lipped insistence not to share details, and now the frightened stewardess. Why keep Sabela in the dark?

Whoever Mr. Morgan was, Sabela needed to be prepared for the worst.

Sabela watched the bubbles rise from the bottom of the flute of champagne, thinking through her situation. Asking others hadn’t helped her so far, so she was going to have to take matters into her own hands.

She pulled out her phone.

With the stewardess gone and no one else on the flight to tell her not to, Sabela had a whole world of information at her fingers.

Since she was already on the plane and on her way to see Mr. Morgan, she didn’t want to chance it by going against his rules and reaching out to anyone to tell them where she was going. But that wouldn’t stop her from doing her own research about the mess she was caught up in.

There was open Wi-Fi on the jet, and Sabela connected to it. It didn’t matter if Mr. Morgan saw what she was typing. If he was going to punish her for trying to learn about him, it was worth it.

Punish her. What a strange thought to have.

A quick search including “Mr. Morgan” and the name of the relief organization from the financial aid application were all she needed, Sabela was sure. A relief company like that would have a bio on its CEO, and she was sure that CEO had to be Mr. Morgan.

But nothing came up.

Frowning, Sabela tried a few different search terms, but each time the results weren’t related to what she was seeking. It was as if the relief organization didn’t exist at all.

Sabela put her phone down and set the French ’75 aside. Until she knew more about her benefactor and why his staff acted scared of him, she wasn’t going to trust anything he offered.

All Sabela knew was that she owed Mr. Morgan money. A lot of money. If he was taking her away from everything she knew, to somewhere that she knew nothing, it was to gain an advantage over her.

He was looking to make her weak.

But she would stand strong, just like she always had. She was used to going it alone and counting only on herself.

Mr. Morgan could intimidate his staff all he wanted, but she wouldn’t let him get to her. She’d remain determined and calm, no matter what he demanded she do to repay her debt.

What was the worst he could do, anyway?

A cold chill crept up her spine.

On second thought, Sabela thought with a frown, maybe it was better she didn’t think about it.

The stewardess had to be spooked for a reason.

She picked up her phone to call her provider and add international service to her cell plan.

Chapter Eight

THE DARK SEDAN WOVE THROUGH the thin mountain paths, going slow so as not to lose traction on the fresh powder. Colin watched its approach from Haberlin Chalet, his arms folded against his muscular chest.

The snowstorm had let up just enough to allow passage, and by the darkness of the sky, Colin knew it wouldn’t be long before it started snowing again. The road back to Andermatt would become unusable. With any luck, before it opened up again, Sabela would never want to leave.

“Mr. Morgan,” Marie said softly behind him.

Colin turned. “Yes, Marie?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I am happy for you. It’s been so long that you’ve been lonely. Whoever this girl is, she must be special to have seen through who you pretend to be to see who you really are.”

The words gave Colin reason to pause. His lips were parted, but no reply came forth. Marie wasn’t one to discuss something so personal. In fact, she’d never expressed an opinion about him one way or the other.

He wasn’t sure if he liked this turn of events. She’d said, “Who you pretend to be.” What could she possibly know about that?

Before he could decide on his response to her presumption, she touched him lightly on the arm.

Her gaze met his and she smiled, her eyes kind, full of love and life. “I’m looking forward to meeting her. I hope she’ll love it here with us, and that this visit will be a long one.”

Marie wasn’t privy to his plans, and she had the wrong idea. Colin longed to set her straight, to tell her that she should do her job and not get attached to any strange notions that might have entered her head.

Perhaps she was menopausal and having a hormone-induced meltdown. He’d have to keep an eye on her around Sabela. Just what he needed, another detail to attend to.

He pursed his lips and dipped his chin. “Do your job with your usual care, and I’m sure her comfort during her stay will be more than adequate. That’s all that need concern you.”

He couldn’t miss the disappointment that made Marie’s face fall. It was only a flash, however, before she straightened her back and transformed herself back into the alert, yet dispassionate professional Colin was accustomed to.

“Of course, Mr. Morgan. As you wish,” she said.

“Thank you …”

He might have said more, but he saw, thorough the windows, out of the corner of his eye, that the car was

pulling into the driveway. Precious cargo had finally arrived.

Marie stepped aside, giving him the space he needed to move around her and head to the main hall.

He looked around the place as he went. One last check.

The chalet was spotless and gleaming. The views were fantastic. And Colin?

He stopped in front of a large mirror in the main hall and eyed himself critically.

Dressed in a custom-made suit that fit his body like a glove, dark blond hair styled flawlessly, darker beard stylishly short, complexion without fault, and posture straight and confident, he’d left no detail undone.