by Hannah Ford
“Don’t think you won’t pay for this later,” he said, his breath tickling my skin. “I will take this out on your body.”
And then he shut the door.
My hands clamped together in frustration, my mind working the problem over in my mind, trying to figure out a way to get Noah to agree to let me go with him.
The solution occurred to me as soon as he got in the car and started the engine.
“If you don’t let me go,” I said calmly. “I’ll go talk to the police while you’re gone.”
“I will lock you up,” he said just as calmly, guiding the car onto 42nd Street and heading back uptown toward our apartment.
“Ha!” I said. “With who guarding me? The security guard who let Detective Rake bully his way right to our front door? Good luck with that.”
“Let me worry about who will be guarding you.”
“It won’t matter,” I said. “I’ll never be as safe as I am with you.” It was true.
Noah’s jaw twitched, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He had no weaknesses except one – my safety.
I stayed quiet, watching as he mulled it over in his mind, trying to figure out where I was safer – with him and Lameuix, or here alone in the city.
“Fine,” he said. “But we’ll take the jet.”
“You have a jet?” I asked, shocked.
“Of course I have a jet, Charlotte. I’m a billionaire.”
“Are we going far away?”
“Not really.”
“Then why do we have to take the jet?”
“Because,” Noah said. “Detective Rake isn’t going to give up that easily. If he doesn’t hear from you soon, he will resurface. And when he does, it will not look good for you to have left the city.”
Detective Rake.
I’d almost forgotten.
God, he thought I’d killed Jason Cartwright. Nausea rolled through my body as I remembered the detective’s words. Stabbed. Blood everywhere.
Suddenly, I felt light-headed, and I took a few long deep breaths until I felt better.
One crime at a time, Charlotte, I told myself. For now worry about Lameuix.
* * *
“This is yours?” I asked an hour later as Noah’s driver, Jared, pulled our car onto the tarmac at JFK. There was a shiny black jet waiting on the runway, its nose rising majestically toward the sky as if it were ready to take off at the push of a button. Which, I guess, technically, it was.
“Yes.” Noah had been distracted on the ride over, spending most of the time on his phone as he dealt with the other cases on his docket, scheduling court dates and coordinating with his junior associates.
He finished typing the email he was working on, then placed his iPad in his briefcase.
As he did, the sleeve of his plaid button-down slid up and flashed the face of his black Rolex. Apparently Lameuix was holed up at some compound in Upstate New York, and according to Noah it was in the middle of nowhere – so he’d insisted we stop at home and change before Jared drove us to the airport.
I was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue sweater. Noah was wearing jeans, too, but they were dark washed and expensive looking, his shirt navy blue and hunter green. Heavy brown Timberland boots encased his feet. He looked like a sexy lumberjack. A sexy lumberjack wearing a Rolex.
I giggled.
“Something funny?” Noah asked as he clasped his briefcase shut.
“It’s just… you’re wearing jeans and a plaid shirt and hiking boots, and your watch is……” I couldn’t stop laughing.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Charlotte.”
“It’s just that even when you’re trying to look normal, you’re just… “ I shook my head. “We’re supposed to look like we’re going hiking. Who wears a Rolex hiking?”
“Someone who wants to know what time it is,” he said, deadpan.
I giggled again.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asked. “You think that’s funny, me in my Rolex?”
I nodded, and he reached across the back of the car and began to tickle me. I giggled and laughed and tried to squirm out from under him, but he took my hands and pushed them up over my head.
“Oh, it feels good to laugh,” I said, slightly breathless.
“I know something else that would feel good,” he breathed, brushing his lips across my collarbone. I shivered, remembering how bad I’d been today, wondering what he would do to me and when he would do it.
The sound of Jared’s voice came through the speaker in the back. “Sir?”
“Yes, Jared?” Noah said, as he kissed the hollow of my throat.
“Shall I tell them you’re ready for take off, sir?”
“Yes, Jared, that will be fine.”
But Noah didn’t make a move to get out of the car. Instead he kissed me hard and deep on the lips, his hands traveling down my sides and causing butterflies to swarm my stomach.
“Are you ready to be punished, Charlotte?” he asked devilishly. It wasn’t a question, though. A question would have implied that I had some say in it, that I had some choice over when or where I would receive my consequences.
“Now?” I asked.
“Now. In an hour. All day.” His hands slipped up under my shirt, his palms cupping my breasts through my bra, his index finger sliding lazily along the top of the lacy cups. Heat rushed through my body.
“You are not to speak to anyone but me, Charlotte,” he said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I bit my lip. “I mean, I think I do. You mean I’m not allowed to talk to Lameuix? When we get there?”
“Yes, Lameuix. But anyone else who talks to you, as well. You will respond to them only through me. Do you understand?”
I flushed. “But won’t people think that’s weird?”
“People will think you have a smart mouth and you can’t be trusted to make your own statements.” His breath was warm against my neck, his body heavy on top of mine.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, sir, I understand.”
“Good.” He pulled his body from mine, leaving me lying there in the backseat, panting and wanting.
He held his hand out and helped me up, and I straightened my sweater and smoothed my hair.
When we got out of the car, the stairs leading to the jet had been rolled out.
“I checked with Edward and you can board whenever you wish, sir,” Jared said. “They’re ready for you.”
“Thank you, Jared,” Noah said. He pulled his briefcase from the car and handed it to Jared.
“Who’s Edward?” I asked Noah, making sure I directed my question to him and not Jared.
“My pilot.” Noah gave me a warning look, a reminder that I wasn’t to speak to anyone but him.
I rolled my eyes just the tiniest bit. I know.
His eye twitched in disapproval.
“Would you like me to take your bag, miss?” Jared asked me, gesturing to the oversized tote I’d brought with me.
I looked at Noah, waiting for him to answer for me. But he didn’t.
The silence stretched a beat longer than necessary, until it clicked in. I was expected to tell Noah what I wanted to say to Jared.
I leaned up and whispered in Noah’s ear. “You can tell him thank you but I’ll carry my own bag.”
“Charlotte appreciates the offer, but I will carry her bag for her,” Noah reported. He reached out and took my bag from me.
“Yes, sir,” Jared said, his face blank and devoid of reaction. I supposed when you worked for Noah so long, you weren’t surprised by anything.
Still, my face flamed and I averted my gaze as the three of us boarded the plane.
Once we were on board, Jared set Noah’s briefcase down and turned to him. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“No, Jared. I will call you when we are ready to be driven home.”
“Yes, sir.” Jared nodded and then disappeared back down the steps and back out onto the tarmac.
>
I looked around, shaking my head, still unable to comprehend the kind of wealth that allowed someone to own their own jet. And it wasn’t just any jet – granted, I hadn’t been on many private jets (read: none), but this one seemed like it went above and beyond.
The interior was done in shades of silver and black, giving the whole plane a sleek, sophisticated, futuristic feel. The seats were wide and opulent, and made of black leather.
Toward the back of the jet there was a desk set up, with a wide marble top that was attached to the wall. Noah picked up his briefcase and brought it over to the desk, then set it down and looked at me.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“You must be.”
“I’m not.” It was late afternoon now, the sun beginning to dip in the sky, and I wondered what Lameuix was going to think about us showing up at his house so late. I thought about our arrival, about having to face Lameuix in the dark, and even though I knew next to nothing about him, and even though I’d asked to come on this trip, a shiver ran up my spine.
Noah saw the look on my face. “Charlotte.”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to come. I can arrange for you to stay here. Or we can find a place for you to wait Upstate while I go and meet with Lameuix.”
“No.” I stuck my chin into the air, hoping I sounded more sure of myself than I felt inside. “I want to go.”
A look of dominance clouded his strong features, his eyes hooded and dark. I knew I was pushing him, knew I was putting him in an awful position. His need to protect me was strong, and I was making it impossible by threatening to go meet with Detective Rake if he left me alone.
“Very well.” Noah reached over and pushed a button on a console next to one of the chairs, and almost immediately, a uniformed flight attendant appeared. She was blonde and tan, her eyes blue, her skirt short.
“Hello, sir,” she said, her eyes lingering appreciatively as she took in Noah’s broad shoulders and rugged sexiness. “Welcome aboard. Miss.” She looked at me and nodded, and I nodded back. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or not, but I thought I noticed a look of curiosity flash across her face, as if she was trying to figure out what my relationship was to Noah. If I was a work colleague, or if we were together in a relationship. “What can I do for you?” she asked smoothly.
Interesting wording, I thought. What can I do for you? Not what can I get you?
“We’d like to see an in-flight menu, please,” Noah said.
“Of course, sir.” She turned and disappeared back toward the cockpit.
“There’s an in-flight menu?” I asked.
“There’s a private chef,” Noah said, slipping his arms around my waist and pulling me close. “And a bedroom.”
I froze. I knew there would be punishments. I just didn’t know they would be coming so soon.
“There’s a bedroom on the plane?” I asked, my voice slightly strangled.
“Yes, Charlotte. There is a bedroom on the plane.”
The waitress returned before he could elaborate. She held two menus out to us, and Noah glanced at one quickly while she stood there, waiting. I ran my eyes down the menu. I wasn’t lying when I told Noah I wasn’t hungry. But I knew he would insist I eat something.
“I’ll have the filet mignon,” Noah said. “Medium.”
“Certainly, sir.” The flight attendant turned to me, and I glanced at Noah, wondering if he was going to make it two, if he was going to order for me like he usually did.
But he was looking at me expectantly, a twinkle in his eye and a small smile tugging at the side of his lips.
And then I remembered.
I wasn’t allowed to talk.
If I wanted something to eat, I was going to have to say it to Noah, who would then say it to the flight attendant. I thought about just not ordering anything, but even then I would have to let her know I didn’t want anything.
“Miss?” the flight attendant asked. “If the menu isn’t sufficient, please do let me know and I’ll see if the chef can arrange for something more to your liking.”
“Charlotte?” Noah teased. “Is the menu to your liking?”
My face burned. I rose up on my tiptoes and whispered into Noah’s ear. “I just want the grilled chicken salad.”
Noah nodded. “My fiancé would like the grilled chicken salad.”
The flight attendant’s brows knitted together in confusion, but she knew better than to show it or to question what was going on. “Certainly. What kind of dressing?”
She was addressing her questions to Noah now. Quick on the uptake, that one.
I leaned up to whisper in his ear again. “Tell her I’ll have balsamic if they have it, if not then blue cheese.”
“She will have the balsamic.”
“Yes, sir.” The flight attendant nodded and then disappeared back through the door from which she’d came.
A second later, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “We are cleared for take off, and our flight to Tarillville will begin as scheduled. Please take a seat and fasten your seatbelts.”
Noah and I sat down, and he put my seatbelt on me, then held my hand as the plane took off.
“Good?” Noah asked as the plane leveled out. He unbuckled my seatbelt, his hand skimming my hip, his touch burning my skin through my jeans.
The flight attendant returned a few minutes later and set our food down in front of us. This time, she directed all her questions to Noah.
“Do you need anything else, sir?” she asked.
Noah looked at me and I shook my head.
“No, thank you,” he said.
She nodded and left.
I went to pick up my fork, but before I could, my phone rang.
The caller ID flashed a 212 area code.
“Do not answer that,” Noah growled.
“I have to! It could be – ”
“It’s the police department,” Noah said. “Detective Rake’s private number. I recognize it.”
I hesitated, my hand over the button. I still wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing by not cooperating with the police. Noah and I had never resolved our disagreement about it earlier, because my mom had called and interrupted us with her ridiculous drama.
Noah took my phone out of my hand and sent the call to voicemail. A second later, the phone beeped with a message.
I waited, tense, but he made no move to listen to it.
“Noah, I really think I should listen to the message,” I said softly.
His eyes narrowed, a vein in his neck throbbing as he pressed the phone to his ear and listened to the message while I watched his face for any reaction to what he was hearing. But there was none.
When he was done, he placed my phone in his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“This is mine now.”
“What?” I shook my head and held my hand out. “No. Give it back.”
“You obviously cannot be trusted to have a phone, so from now on, I will screen your calls. I will let you know if there’s anything important you need to deal with.”
“What?” I repeated incredulously. “No. That is completely insane. Give me my phone back now.”
“Charlotte…” he said, his voice a warning.
“No, Noah. I’m not going to –”
“Dammit, Charlotte,” he said, slamming his hand against the table. “You will stop this now. You obviously cannot grasp the seriousness of the situation. You are a suspect in a murder investigation, and you want to go running around talking to the police like it’s nothing.”
“I’m in charge of myself,” I said, but my heart was hammering in my chest as his words hit home. You are a suspect in a murder investigation.
“Charlotte,” he said, his voice hard as steel. “Go to the bedroom.”
My mouth went dry. “What about our food?” I tried.
“The bedroom is through there.” He n
odded toward a closed mahogany door, ignoring my question about the food. “Go. Now.”
I knew if I fought, he would just make it worse.
So I got up and walked through the door and into the bedroom.
It was magnificent, the kind of bedroom that could have existed in the pages of a magazine. It wasn’t large, but the bed was on a raised mahogany platform and was covered in a taupe bedspread. The walls were lined with abstract art, and my breath caught again at the extravagance of everything, the opulence, the fact that there was art on these walls that probably cost as much as a house.
I wasn’t sure Noah would expect of me, so I sat down at the edge of the bed and waited.
A moment later, he appeared in the doorway. He shut the door firmly behind him, then crossed the room to a small closet on the opposite side of the room. He opened it and pulled out a chair.
However, on closer inspection, I realized it wasn’t really a chair. At least, not a normal chair.
It was high backed and wooden, and it looked almost like an electric chair. It had arms with cuffs on them, and there were shackles hanging from the legs as well. The seat was leather and split into two planks, so that whoever was sitting on it would be forced to have their legs spread.
“What is that?” I asked, slightly horrified.
“A chair,” Noah said simply. He began to unbutton his shirt, his movements exquisitely slow and deliberate, and I watched as he pulled it off, his magnificent, built body coming into view. I shivered as his biceps and triceps flexed, my eyes trailing over his chiseled perfection.
He walked over to where I was sitting on the bed and gazed down at me, then cupped my chin in his hand before leaning down and kissing me, deep and slow. When he finally broke the kiss, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and wrapped it around his hand, tugging hard.
“You’ve been very bad, Charlotte,” he said. “Do you understand that?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Stand up.”
I stood up, and Noah sat down on the bed. He leaned back on his elbows, shirtless, his shoulder muscles popping as he let his gaze run over my body. “Take your shirt off.”
I grasped the sides of my sweater and pulled it off.
“Now your jeans.”
I took my jeans off, leaving me in just my lacy red bra and tiny matching thong.
