And, yes, I know that all of this is part of his plan to help me chase away my lingering fears, and I’m still dubious that it will work. Right now, though, I don’t care about plans or fears. All I care about is desire. Because right now, I can’t deny my body’s reaction. And massive fail or not, I’m certain I’m going to enjoy this experiment.
“All right,” I say with a decisive nod. “But we should say goodbye to the girls.”
He meets my eyes. “No.”
I suck a breath in through my nose, hating the thought of not seeing them. Afraid that if I don’t, fate will conspire against me, and I might never see them again. “Yes,” I counter. “We can stop by the pond on the way to the helipad. I can’t just leave. I haven’t been away from them since the kidnapping.”
He steps forward and takes my hands. “Sweetheart, I know.”
Chapter Six
Since I hadn’t intended to go to Paris, my wardrobe is entirely too casual. Loose cotton dresses, baggy shorts, flip-flops. In the past, I kept a nice dress or two for when we visited one of the resort’s featured restaurants. But I’d recently taken them back to Malibu, intending to trade them out. Naturally, I haven’t gotten around to that yet.
I settle on twill pants and a plain white T-shirt with cute sandals, which should be comfortable on the plane. Apparently we’re going shopping when we get there. I’ll restock my closet Parisian-style.
I give Damien a shout from the bathroom to let him know I’m almost ready, then pause in front of the mirror to check my makeup and run a brush through my hair.
I’m debating a ponytail when he walks in. He stops in the doorway, looks me up and down, then frowns.
“What?” I ask.
“I thought you said you were ready.”
I study his face, confused, but he looks perfectly serious. “I—um, I figured this would be fine for traveling. What’s the problem?”
“It’s my fault,” he says, as if he’s just remembered something. “I neglected to set out your outfit.” He moves through the large bathroom to the equally large closet. When he returns, he’s holding my trench coat.
It’s neither cold nor rainy, and I’m still ridiculously confused.
“This,” he says. “Wear this.”
I start to point out that there’s no need, when I realize what he means. He wants me to wear the coat. Only the coat.
I open my mouth to protest, then see the subtle shake of his head even as I hear the echo of his earlier words. You’ll do what I say, Nikki. Without question. Without argument.
That’s the game, after all.
So I shrug casually, as if this is nothing, then pull off my shirt. I toss it negligently across the padded stool in front of my dressing table. I follow with my bra, then my sandals, then pull my pants and underwear off together.
I walk slowly to him, enjoying his reaction, as well as the way his obvious desire lights a spark inside me. I take the coat with a smirk, then put it on. The silk lining glides smoothly over my skin, the sensation all the more erotic since this garment isn’t meant to be worn next to bare flesh. I button the coat, but with only four buttons it gapes a bit more than I’d like. I cinch the sash firmly around my waist and feel slightly less exposed. Very slightly.
Then I stand in front of my husband, my arms to my sides, as if offering myself up for auction.
“Good,” he says. “And you can wear the sandals.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’ll stay this way all the way to Paris.”
His words freeze me. I don’t know what I’d been thinking—that this was a game to be played before we left the island?—but what he’s suggesting had never even entered my mind.
“Damien, no—”
“Don’t argue,” he says, then glances at his watch. “There’s no time to punish you now…”
“But—” I cut myself off. “Sir, may I speak freely?”
“You may.”
“We’ll be traveling almost a full day. The chopper to the Santa Monica airport. Refueling on the East Coast. All the way over the Atlantic.”
“You’re afraid someone will realize. Worse, that they’ll see.”
“Well, yes.”
“All right,” he says, and I sag with relief. “Embrace that fear.”
I freeze. “What—”
“Without question. Without argument.” He turns to head out of the bathroom, pausing to look back at me. “Get your purse. We need to get to the helipad. And Nikki,” he adds, with just the hint of a smile, “while we’re traveling—while you’re afraid of what people might think or see—I want you to remember that seeing you face your fears pleases me.”
I meet his eyes, roll my shoulders back, and nod.
* * * *
I’ve not flown much in the chopper, and after going from the island back to the mainland, I can unequivocally state that I prefer traveling with wings, not blades. The noise was intense, but not as much as the vibration. And while the sensation of helicopter motion combined with my hyper-aroused state was rather scintillating, there was no way to enjoy the sensations. Not with the pilot sitting just a few feet away from me and Damien.
The real downside, though, became evident when we boarded the Bombardier, the jet Damien uses primarily for intercontinental travel. I was drunk on sexual anticipation, my body hyper-aware of everything. And yet I had to board that plane, chat with Grayson, and then catch up with Katie, who’s been the primary attendant with the Stark fleet for as long as I’ve known Damien.
“They know,” I whisper to Damien now that we’re buckled in for take-off, each with a glass of wine.
“They might,” he says. “But they’ll never be certain.”
I grin at him, amused. The man has a point.
“I want to call the kids as soon as we’re in the air.”
“No,” he says.
“Excus
e me?”
“Are you afraid something’s happened to them?”
“No,” I say, because even though that was my reason for calling—to make sure all is well—I also know that it must be. Sylvia or Jackson would have called immediately if anything had happened, and if they contacted Damien, he would have told me. Even while playing this game, he wouldn’t withhold information about our babies.
“I just—I hate leaving without saying goodbye.”
“I know,” he says gently. “I wouldn’t whisk their mommy away with no word. I went by the pond on my run this morning and told them that Daddy’s taking Mommy on a secret trip, gave them both kisses from you, and told them they had to help keep the secret.”
I relax. I should have known Damien would anticipate my worries.
Take-off is uneventful, and as soon as Grayson’s voice comes over the loudspeaker to let us know we’ve reached cruising altitude, I unbuckle and stand, my hand held out to Damien.
His brows raise. “Going somewhere?”
“The state room?” I mean it as a statement, but it comes out as a question.
“Maybe later,” he says. “Right now, I think you should sit down.” He nods at the adjustable couch that lines the copilot side of the jet. Each of the four segments extend, pulling out into four narrow beds divided by hidden arm rests that convert to bed rails, or into one full size bed if the rails are retracted.
In other words, it’s large enough to comfortably do anything Damien has in mind.
Without thinking, I take a step backward. Damien’s brows rise, and I freeze. “Objections, Ms. Fairchild?”
I lick my lips, thinking. I know that Katie won’t come in. There’s a door between the passenger area and the galley where the crew stays. Still, it’s a lot like having sex in the den while the kids are playing in their room.
I sigh and start to sit. Damien takes my elbow to prevent it. “It’s warm in here. I don’t think you need the coat.”
My heart pounds, and I shake my head without thinking.
“Yes,” he says. That’s all he says.
I take off the coat, ignoring his tiny smile of triumph, and toss it onto one of the two armchairs on the opposite side of the cabin.