Chapter 16
Bonnie
Even a week with Elijah was nowhere near long enough to learn everything about him. For one thing, billionaires apparently hated wasting time.
I’d barely finished my coffee in the apartment’s kitchen when he said, “Are you good if we take a trip? Mitch is being a pain my ass about a meeting in London this afternoon.”
I stared at him across the counter. “You’re aware that London isn’t the next town over? It’s a six-hour drive.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Under an hour by air.”
I controlled the need to splutter. “That’s still a plane. Security. All of which take time.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not today.”
He said it with the calm confidence of someone used to bending the world into convenient shapes, and he wasn’t wrong. An hour later, I sat in a white leather seat inside a sleek jet that smelled of cedar and expensive coffee, watching the ground crew move around outside the oval window.
My brain refused to process the situation.
“You have a plane,” I stated the obvious.
Elijah glanced up from the tablet in his lap. “Technically, I have access to several. I don’t see the point in owning one that sits around doing nothing most of the time, so I share a pool of them. It’s more environmentally friendly, at a pinch.”
“Stop pretending it’s normal.”
His lips twitched. “You’d rather take the train?”
I imagined the two of us crammed into a carriage with commuters and tourists. It wasn’t that he didn’t fit in that scene. It was just that I’d got used to being alone with him.
At whatever was on my face, he full-on grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
I folded my arms and leaned back in the chair. The seat swallowed me, plush and ridiculous. Everything in the cabin gleamed. Soft lighting. Polished wood. A couch at the back.
The kind of environment where people discussed mergers and drank whisky.
I watched him instead.
Elijah had changed into dark jeans and a navy shirt rolled to the elbows. His hair still carried the faint disorder from where I’d dragged my fingers through it earlier. The sight stirred a slow, familiar heat low in my stomach.
God, I was predictable.
He caught me looking. “Something on your mind?”
“You’re very casual about huge outlays of money.”
“I told you I don’t own the plane.”
“You’re sitting in it. And I’m pretty sure this isn’t Ryanair.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “Their bathrooms are too small for what I want to do to you on this flight.”
The engines hummed to life, vibration running through the floor beneath my shoes. I gripped the armrest, then forced myself to relax.
“Nervous?” he asked.
“No.”
“Death grip says otherwise.”
“I’m not nervous about flying. I’m nervous about the fact I’m dating a man who treats long-distance travel as a morning errand.”
His gaze softened. “Ah, honey. We’re not dating.”
“Excuse me?” I loved it when he called me ‘honey’. I’d never had a nickname given by a boyfriend, if that’s what he was to me.
“Thirty days is just a number, and dating is far too polite a word. Plus dates have an end to them. We don’t.”
I rolled my eyes, but warmth spread through my chest anyway. Doubt and insecurity be gone. Elijah had put them to bed.
The plane lifted smoothly into the sky. Deadwater shrank beneath us. Clouds swallowed the view, and suddenly the world outside vanished, leaving only the quiet cabin and the steady presence of the man beside me.
For a while, we sat in comfortable silence.
Then Elijah set the tablet aside. “So. Tell me about your business.”
I whipped my head around. “I thought we agreed not to talk about work.”
“That was week one. Week two has different rules.”
I considered him carefully. “You’re not going to interrogate me about profit margins, are you?”
“Depends. Do you have any cool stories about them?”
I snorted.
“Rude. Just give me the basics.”
The corner of my mouth lifted, a familiar joy swirling in my belly at the dream I’d set aside since the disaster. “Fine. It’s lingerie. As if you don’t know.”
His eyebrows rose a fraction. “Let’s pretend I don’t. Your knowledge explains the guided tour in Crowley’s.”
“Hey, that was a very professional demonstration.”
“You were flirting.”
“Multitasking.”
He studied me with a level of focus that sent a ripple down my spine. “Why lingerie?”
I hesitated. Because that question opened a door I’d shut, and I’d never confided in anyone about my dream.
But the soft hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Elijah’s presence made something inside me loosen.
“I studied fashion design,” I said slowly. “Though I didn’t finish.”
“Why not?”
“Life.”
His gaze stayed on me. No pressure or judgement. Just curiosity or even fascination over me.
So I continued. “My mum got sick during my third year. Bills piled up. I needed to work and support her.” I shrugged. “Once you step off that track, it’s hard to climb back on.”
Elijah didn’t speak for a moment. Then he said quietly, “Yet you still design. And Crowley’s?”
My jaw tightened. “That didn’t go well.”
He set his elbows on his knees. “So they were a potential buyer. What would you do if nothing stood in your way?”
I stared out the window.
Clouds drifted past in silent white oceans.
“I’d launch my own line. Comfortable, sexy pieces that make women feel incredible. Not the torture devices some brands sell.”
His mouth curved. “You’re passionate about it.”
“Of course I am. Underwear sits closest to the body. It should feel powerful.”
He nodded slowly. “I’d buy that.”
“You don’t wear bras.”
He barked a laugh. It warmed me all the way through. Not only at his interest, but at his instant acceptance and support. I’d never had it.
He nudged my knee with his. “Smartass. Can I ask more?”
“Not yet. Maybe later.”
His gaze turned heated. “Then can you take that shirt off so I can get a closer look at the merchandise?”
I peeked at the door to the cabin, fever rising through my body.
Elijah smiled, sharklike. “Don’t worry about the crew. See this little button? If I press it, they won’t disturb us.”
I kicked off my heels and toed the button in question. If I had to be all fancy and fly private, there was no chance I was missing out on the Mile High Club.
As always, Elijah didn’t disappoint. At however many thousand feet, he spread me out like a feast and showed me how badly he wanted me. And I didn’t hide any part of how much I needed him back.
He made me come somewhere over the middle of the country, millions of people beneath us unaware.
The conversation drifted after that. We talked about small things. Music. Food. Elijah didn’t steer the topic back to business, and I didn’t ask questions about the empire I knew he was hiding behind those calm eyes.
Trust.
The word slipped into my mind before I could stop it.
I trusted him. Just a little. Enough to sit in a private jet with him and tell him pieces of my life I usually kept guarded. That realisation warmed me as much as it should’ve scared me.
London greeted us with grey skies and restless traffic.
An expensive car waited outside the private terminal, another thing I chose not to comment on, and we drove through the city in relative silence.
Black cabs wove through streets lined with centuries-old buildings. Red double-decker buses rolled past shopfronts glowing with afternoon lights. It was far bigger than Deadwater but had much the same vibe. A collection of hundreds of towns all smushed together, just with fancier architecture.
I rested my forehead against the cool window as I watched the city rush by.
Elijah touched my arm. “Have you been here before?”
“Once, on a school trip to the Tower of London with an overnight stay in a youth hostel. I spent most of the trip staring at shop windows.”
“Design inspiration?”
I elbowed him for knowing me too well already.
Traffic slowed near the Thames. Tall buildings rose ahead, glass reflecting the dim sky.
Elijah’s hand landed palm-up on the seat between us. He bounced it in invitation. I curled my fingers through his so we were holding hands. The contact felt natural. Possessive. Maybe even comforting.
We’d done this during sex, but never so casually.
The car turned into a quieter street lined with modern apartments. Steel gates opened, and we pulled into an underground garage.
“Elijah Westwood,” I said slowly. “Please tell me this isn’t another ultra-fancy hotel.”
“No.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “It’s home.
Thought I’d show it to you, first. If you want, you can chill here while I handle work.
” He appeared shy all of a sudden. “Unless you want to come to the office? It’s not my place of business, so I don’t know what it’s like.
You’d probably be more comfortable here, but the choice is yours. ”
My stomach flipped. Snoop around his house or wait outside a meeting room. Decisions, decisions. “Here’s good. But just know I’ll be searching out all your secrets.”
“I’d expect nothing less. In fact, I’m relying on it.”
We stepped out of the lift directly into a wide hallway with polished floors and muted lighting. It whispered wealth without shouting.
I wandered forward, turning in a slow circle. “This place is huge.”
“Takes after its owner,” he said.
I grinned at the dick joke. “You live here alone?”
“Nope. There’s a very beautiful lady in residence now.”
I glanced back at him.
The words resounded in my head. He meant me. Be still, my heart.
He stayed by the door. “I’ll get this over and done with as soon as possible. One meeting, a maximum of two hours, then I’ll be back with you. We can do whatever you want after. Be tourists, window shop.”
His cute, slightly teasing smile sped my pulse. If he didn’t get out of here, I’d be on him again.
I lifted my chin to the exit. “Get out of my hair.”
Elijah brought me in for a deep, drugging kiss, his final parting words sending yet more flurries of need through me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then he was gone.
I wandered through the living room, curiosity pulling me over to a huge window that overlooked the Thames, London Bridge upstream and skyscrapers opposite. What a luxury that view was. Yet I wasn’t hung up on how expensive the apartment had to be.
It carried Elijah’s scent, plus something floral I couldn’t quite place. Probably a fancy cleaning product.
My chest tightened with an unexpected wave of ridiculous affection. We’d known each other barely a couple of weeks. Still. The idea of him living here alone felt wrong.
He should have someone. Someone who fit beside him. Someone who—
A faint sound drifted through the space.
I paused, listening hard.
“Elijah?” a woman called from the hallway that led to the right.
My stomach dipped. Confusion prickled through me. Maybe housekeeping? Except the accent had been American, I was almost certain.
I prowled to what had to be his bedroom and pushed the door open.
My world stopped.
A woman lay tangled in the sheets of Elijah’s bed. Blonde hair spread across the pillow. Bare shoulders. Her sleepy eyes blinked open as the door creaked.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she frowned. “Who are you?”
The words barely reached my ears. Shock roared through my head. Because there was no mistake or misunderstanding.
He’d told me a woman lived here, and there she was, in his bed.
And I had just walked straight into a setup.