Whisked Away by Her Millionaire Boss

‘Sarah? You need to tell me what’s wrong.’

Ben’s voice was calm and now he clicked his seat belt undone, rose to his feet and moved towards her.

‘Whoa.’

He crouched in front of her seat, took her hands in his, and somehow the firmness of his grasp, his cool authority, his sheer aura penetrated the fog.

‘Are you scared of flying?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I was always a nervous flyer, but back then...’ Back then she’d had Imo and now she didn’t. Back then she hadn’t had Jodie. ‘I’m terrified. I can’t take the risk.’ Her voice was too high, the words staccato as they tumbled out. ‘I can’t die. I can’t leave Jodie.’

Because

she knew the agony of being left, and the idea of Jodie abandoned to grow up without a mother was all too much. It was foolish of her to be here on this private jet with a gorgeous millionaire on her way to a dream job in Milan; foolish of her to tempt fate.

‘Hey. Listen to me.’ Ben’s calm voice penetrated the panic. ‘I want you to focus and I want you to tell me five fruits beginning with the letter B.’

What? The request was so unexpected she blinked. ‘Why on earth would I do that?’

‘Humour me. It helps stop panic or anger. It helps regulate emotion. I understand you’re scared, and we’ll figure out what to do about that. But first think of five different fruits beginning with the letter B.’

He was insane—though somehow his voice, the feel of his hands on hers, steadied her, and almost against her will her brain started to consider the question.

‘Banana.’

‘Good. Four to go.’

‘Breadfruit.’ She was nearly sure that existed. ‘Blueberries...blackberries.’

Now she started to go through the alphabet Ba... Be... Bi... She looked up at him. ‘Don’t tell me the answer. Just tell me that there is a fifth.’

‘There is,’ he confirmed, his cobalt blue eyes studying her calmly, and she felt the panic recede a little more as she focused and the minutes ticked by.

‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked.

‘Yes. A part of me still wants to run screaming into the cockpit and tell the pilot to turn around, but I’m guessing that would be complicated.’

‘It would. Would it help if I gave you some safety facts and statistics?’

‘No!’

It was hard to keep the bitterness from that syllable as panic threatened again. Statistics meant squat. What were the statistics that had meant Imo died while Sarah lived. Fifty-fifty? What were the odds of Imo getting leukaemia? They hadn’t changed the fact that the disease had clutched her sister in its grip and hadn’t let go. Despite the sixty-five per cent survival rate.

Anger at the unfairness of it all wrestled with her guilt.

‘Then what can I do to help?’

‘Distraction worked,’ she said, and suddenly there was another emotion in the adrenalin-fuelled mix.

She’d been granted life—a life she’d nearly wasted and thrown away. But here she was, just inches away from Ben, her hands still entwined in his. Gently she freed one, and almost as if in a dream she reached out, pressed her hand against his chest, heard his slight intake of breath.

So alive, so big, so strong, so...there.

Another flash of Imogen: her twin’s face, the same face she saw every day in the mirror. Go for it, Sarah. Don’t waste time. Live.

The beat of his heart was strong under her fingers—proof of his vitality. Raising her eyes, she met the vibrant blue of his, saw awareness in his gaze, the darkened cobalt, the flare of unmistakeable desire. And the bone-deep knowledge of how life could be snuffed out—how fate could take a swipe—urged her to live in this moment and this one alone.

So she leant forward and pressed her lips tentatively against the firmness of his mouth.