by Ana Sparks
The kiss was everything, and as he began to pull away; I started to wonder if maybe that kiss had meant something in particular. I began to wonder if maybe it had been a goodbye kiss.
“I don't want you to go,” I said breathlessly, not caring how desperate it made me sound.
Joel stroked a finger down my cheek and I shivered.
“I have to go,” he said. “You've got a flight tomorrow. Your mother would kill me if I kept you up later.”
“That's not what I meant.” I stepped closer to him, gripping the front of his shirt in trembling hands. “I don't want you to go from my life forever. I want to keep you.”
“You want to keep me?” he asked, evidently amused. “Like a lost puppy you found on the street?”
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hold back my smile. “Like a...well, like a person that I'm dating. Or something.”
The smile that crossed Joel's face could have powered half the state. He took my face in his hands and kissed me again, this time short, but sweet. When he pulled away, he kissed my forehead.
“You'll see me again, darling, don't you worry.”
I watched him walk back to his SUV, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. Did he not have an ETA of when I was going to see him again? It might be nice to have some notice.
Just as Joel was about to open his car door, he turned back to me. “Hey, do you know much about Los Angeles real estate?”
I blinked, shocked, the words not quite settling in. “Uh, no. I rent.”
“Hmm.” Joel opened the door. “Guess I'll have to consult somebody in the business.”
With that, Joel closed the door and backed out of the driveway.
I watched him go, uncertain of what had just happened. Was Joel moving to L.A.? Would he do that? Could he do that? L.A. would be a long way to go for his patients, and truth be told, I wasn't sure the city needed any more plastic surgeons.
Not that it mattered whether they were in need or not. Joel had something up his sleeve, and I couldn't wait to find out what it was.
Epilogue
One year later
The plane dipped low over the surf, and I could practically feel the salty spray across my skin. I shrieked with joy and smacked Joel lightly on the arm the second he pulled us back up to a suitable cruising altitude.
“You're showing off,” I scolded.
He laughed. “Am I not allowed to show off my insane pilot skills to my wife from time to time?”
“Insane is definitely the correct word,” I shrieked playfully. “One of these days you're going to kill us!”
Joel laughed and I turned my gaze to the side window so he couldn't see me smile.
We were flying along an atoll in the South Pacific, exploring all the little islands that were difficult to get to otherwise. When your husband owned a plane, however, you could just pick a spot on the map and go. It was one of the many things I enjoyed about living with Joel, though that was an incredibly long list.
“Look at that one,” Joel said, pointing off to the left at a little island. I looked over and smiled, loving the way the sapphire sea licked at the edges of the white sand beach, surrounding it in its cool embrace like a lover. The view from up here was always spectacular, but the view inside the cockpit was unparalleled.
“You know,” I said. “I had a crazy thought the first time I came up in the plane with you.”
Joel looked over at me, and I saw my reflection mirrored in his aviators. “Oh yeah? What kind of crazy thought?”
I grinned. “It was more of a desire.” I nibbled on my lower lip, and Joel watched as long as possible before he was forced to turn back to look at the sky.
“Tell me.” It was a command and a plea rolled into one. I had his full attention, or as much of it as he could afford to spare while piloting the steel bird.
“I thought about how much I would love to make love to you in here,” I said, stroking my fingers along the cool metal interior reverently. “I had this mental image that was so hot, I blushed like crazy. And you had no idea.”
The plane's nose immediately tipped downward. My eyes widened with concern.
“Joel? What are you doing?”
He grinned but kept his gaze straight ahead. “I'm landing.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Nope.” He chuckled. “But I think you've waited long enough for your fantasy to be fulfilled. Don't you?”
Excitement rippled through my body. We descended so quickly that my heart flew up into my throat. It was a bit like going downhill on a rollercoaster, except I knew what waited for me at the bottom wasn't a loop. It was an incredibly sexy man.
“Aye aye, captain,” I said, stripping off my shirt.
Joel groaned, and I could tell it was because he had to keep both hands on the wheel and thus couldn't reach over and touch me. To that end, I touched myself, running my hands along my stomach, over the front of my bra, and up my neck. I wasn't sure if it was particularly wise, given the fact that Joel had to land the plane, but I was too turned-on to care, and my husband certainly wasn't complaining.
The plane bumped over the surface of the water, jolting the cabin. My breasts jiggled enticingly with the motion, and I noticed Joel giving me the side-eye as they did.
I loved how one look from him could make my insides burn, could light a fire in my belly that only he could put out. Every day with him was an adventure, whether we were at our house in L.A., or the one in Miami, or the cute little cabana in Nassau. I couldn't believe that everything I loved about my life today was the unanticipated result of my sister stealing a bunch of money from her employer. It was so surreal.
Joel killed the plane's engine, tossed his sunglasses onto the dash, and grabbed my hand.
“Come on,” he said.
I hopped into his lap, heart hammering in my chest. He opened the door to let in some air, then started to undress.
“You're not going to romance me a little first?” I whined jokingly.
Joel's eyes flashed with lust. “I'll spend the whole night romancing you if that's what you want,” he growled. “But right here, right now, I can't wait another second to have you. Any questions?”
My body grew heavy with desire, nipples pressing against the lace of my bra. “No questions.”
“Good.” Joel pressed his mouth on mine in a passionate, heart-stopping kiss. It was demanding and unrelenting, like being caught in a storm that sucked the breath from my lungs and made me feel wild. I hung onto him for dear life, hands roaming over his taut muscles, nails digging into the skin of his back.
Joel lowered me onto the cool metal floor and began to undress me, tearing my clothes away more than undressing, really. My core burned for him. I kissed him as though I was dying and he was the only thing that could keep me alive for one more second on this earth.
“I love you,” I murmured between kisses.
Joel, completely naked now, nipped at my lower lip. “I love you, too.”
There were no more words. We tumbled together across the floor, and I couldn't tell whether the plane rocked from the passing swells beneath its pontoons, or our energetic lovemaking.
My fantasy had finally come to life. Being with Joel was like existing on the final page of a fairytale. There was always that feeling that pure happiness would continue until the end of time, even if it was impossible to read beyond the pages we'd been allotted.
“What am I going to do with you?” Joel gasped an hour later, his naked body half-draped across me.
“You make it sound like I'm some sort of trouble maker,” I replied.
Joel chuckled. “You are a troublemaker.” He nuzzled into my neck, kissing the spot against my pulse. “But you're my troublemaker.”
“Well, in that case,” I sighed. “I suppose you'll just have to keep me in line.”
The man I loved look deeply into my eyes. “Count on it.”
The End
Steal The CEO’s Daughter
Layl
a Valentine
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Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
Ella
In my defense, I made a valiant attempt to join in with the festivities. As the heiress to EBgen Corp, it would only be suitable to mingle with my future employees. However, upon spotting my mother with a half-dozen shot glasses lined up in front of her, I made an executive decision; as pleasant as it might have been to break the news to her when she was three sheets to the wind, I knew I would only regret it later. She’d wake up the next day, mind wiped thanks to that heavenly elixir known as bourbon. Which, for me, meant I would have the most awkward conversation of my life not once, but twice.
Granted, I could have tried to just enjoy the party. Unfortunately, except for the crew themselves, every other person on board the cruise ship was one of my mother’s employees. As appealing as the thought of hitting the free bar was, I knew I wouldn’t much enjoy talking shop with a ship full of drunk businesspeople.
That was one of the most annoying things about being the poster child for EBgen; most of the employees were older men who had been working for my mother for decades. In spite of just turning twenty-four, they still viewed me as little more than a child. It wouldn’t do for Ella Beck to go on a drunken tirade saying things such as, “Yes, I’m very much allowed to drink, Bernard. This sort of thing is why your wife divorced you; you can’t keep your opinions to yourself.”
I could imagine the field day my mother would have with that one. In spite of naming her company after me, there was no question that she would side with her employees over her daughter—faster than you could say, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ella."
This was what left me darting away from the main bar on the upper deck, trying to dismiss the turmoil in my stomach as seasickness. I was a grown woman; it was humiliating to acknowledge how fearful I was of my mother’s disappointment.
It should have been an enjoyable cruise. Especially considering that once we hit port in Rio, my mother would be signing a contract so lucrative that everyone under her employment would see their salaries nearly double. It didn't mean very much to me, however. I didn’t have to work to get to the point I was; I was born to take over EBgen.
I’m pretty sure my mother had negotiated a contract with my father (or, by my mom’s assertion, sperm donor) to ensure that he wouldn’t put any ideas of freedom in my head. They had divorced when I was an infant, however, so I couldn’t pose such questions to the man himself. My mother liked to claim that he had been a deadbeat, but in Martha Beck’s eyes, having any dreams that went beyond your income confirmed you a deadbeat on the spot.
I loved my mother dearly, regardless of my bitterness. All the same, I could see why anyone would head for the hills after getting to know her winning business model. I had been fantasizing about my great escape for some years, and had even gone to one of the most prestigious liberal arts schools in the country in an attempt to assert some independence.
Unfortunately, growing up home-schooled with a parent who placed zero emphasis on the arts left me ill-prepared for such a big step. Cue me tucking tail and changing my major to an MBA. Not one of my proudest moments, but my mother had been thrilled.
In spite of my entire life seemingly leading up to the time that I would take over EBgen, I still carried hopes and dreams beyond that. I wanted nothing more than to travel the world, learn new languages, and immerse myself in the cultures beyond my own. The only trips I’d been on had been business-related, and while the destinations were grand, I hadn’t seen much besides the insides of offices and hotel conference centers.
This particular trip had only served to cement the idea that I was unsuited for this lifestyle. I couldn’t even feign interest in the stories my mother had heard around the office printer. Oh, yes, do fill me in on all the details of how Jerry had mixed up the cyan and magenta ink! I had begun to wonder if I was insane; if perhaps that was the sort of thing ordinary people found themselves entertained by? Was I defective in some way? Christ, there had to be more to life than break room gossip and stock market shifts.
God forbid I try to find a boyfriend with interests outside of the box deemed acceptable by my mom. Does he like stand-up comedy? “He must be a stoner, Ella, for the love of God.” Does he work in graphic design? “Oh, heavens, a starving artist. Enjoy living off of ramen noodles for the rest of your life.” It drove me crazy how quickly my mother dismissed my desires. For years, I had been convinced that she just wanted me to stay single and ‘ready to mingle,’ but then she had started trying to set me up with the stuffy sons of her employees.
It would have been fine if they had been handsome, or at least moderately attractive. However, they had all been prematurely balding, with interests including ‘fiscal responsibility.' I had the vaguest inkling of an idea that my mother only wanted me to birth another child to take my place after I kicked the bucket. Which, judging by the stress that went with this job, I could see myself doing by forty.
On numerous occasions throughout my life, I had tried to convince myself that my mother simply had my best interests at heart. As I grew older, however, it became apparent that the only thing she cared about was the life she had laid out for me. I would be wealthy, well-known across the country. Hell, I would likely be known worldwide if the expansion plan she was putting into action resulted in success. Of course, it would. Martha Beck didn’t know the meaning of failure.
The one lingering question was whether or not I would be happy. More specifically, did she even care about my happiness? Was I simply a vessel to perpetuate her success? Was she using the profits from EBgen to fund brain transplant surgery so she could swap our bodies when she became too old and frail?
Okay, I’ll admit that is a bit of a stretch. If you ask me, though, the entire situation was ridiculous. My life was founded in ridiculousness, at least if you accounted for the times my mother insisted I was as such. If you subtracted ridiculousness from the equation, my life’s foundation was much duller. At this point, I craved ridiculousness. I craved anything aside from the life that had my mother put into motion for me.
I was jolted from my thoughts as I nearly collided with someone coming the other way.
Oh, heavens.
He had to have been the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. His hair was dark and shaggy, his eyes the most piercing shade of blue. If I had ever doubted the existence of a higher power, he restored my faith upon seeing that he was shirtless, his well-formed abs exposed to the open air. My immediate thought was to ask, “Can I touch your muscles? Forgive me if that’s a ditzy thing to ask, but I’m a woman with needs!” Luckily, the idea registered in my mind as crazy before it reached my lips.
He seemed too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice me, unfortunately, sidestepping me at the last possible second and continuing in the direction he was going. I came to a stop, turning to watch as he walked away. If you’ve ever heard that phrase, ‘I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,’ rest assured that it appropriately suited my thoughts at that moment. He had the roundest, most toned butt I had ever seen on a man, and his tanned, muscular legs seemed to stretch on for days.
As he turned the corner and I could no longer watch the unfairly sexy motions of his body, I realized abruptly that I needed a drink. A gin and tonic sounded magnificent, but
to indulge that desire, I would have to join the festivities I was trying so desperately to avoid.
Making another executive decision, I walked in the direction of the party. If I was lucky, maybe my mother wouldn’t get as drunk as I expected. It had always been a tossup, and I was forced to wonder how lucrative alcoholism could be for the company’s image. I would at the very least get to enjoy that gin and tonic to soothe the fire of desire that had been brewing in my gut since I’d seen that handsome crew member.
In another world, in another lifetime, I might have stopped him and asked for his name. In another world, I wasn’t Elizabeth Beck; I would be a sexy alien princess, at liberty to have her share of handsome men any day of the week.
‘An alien? Honey, have you been reading that strange erotic fiction again?’
Great. I was even beginning to hear my mother’s voice in my brain. Quite fortunately, however, I didn’t have to offer my brain-mother an explanation for my strange thoughts. I simply imagined a tiny version of her working in the wings of my mind. She seemed to be lingering towards the inexplicable anxiety button, which was so like her.
I knew it was just my imagination, of course. I wasn’t that crazy. At least, not yet. If it wasn't the stroke by forty, it would be a nervous breakdown that rendered me incapable of running a business empire.
It’s always good to have a fallback plan, after all.
I managed to smile to myself as I made my way back to the party. One of my mom’s employees, Jerry, reached out a hand to stop me as I approached the bar, and I forced a pleasant expression.
“Just a moment, young lady. We’re going to need to see some ID!” he teased. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, something of which I was extraordinarily proud.
