CHAPTER 58

Nathalie wanted to tell Darius she wasn’t Zion’s keeper. But before the words could make it out of her throat, she realized they would be a lie. Because she had set herself up as her brother’s keeper, and that had directed every decision she’d made since.

Even her career choice had been about Zion. She was happy to do it, of course, happy to take care of him. But it was scary to realize that her entire world really did revolve entirely around her brother. At least it had—until Darius had blasted into their lives.

“Let me relieve some of your burdens, Nathalie.” His voice was gentle but firm. Confident. As always.

“And let me take you to London in my private jet.” His tone changed, deepened, softened. Seduced.

“I want to lay you down on the bed in my private cabin. I want to join the Mile High Club with you.” He took all the air out of her objections with a few words and an image that carried a big punch. Of course he would have a bed in his private jet.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“It’s completely fair,” he argued.

“Because we both want it equally.” God, yes, she wanted it, just as much as he did. Wanted it so badly that just thinking of it had her control ripping into even thinner shreds than it had out on the race track, and then at the motel.

“I’ll make sure he’s fine. School, work, home. He won’t be alone. I’ve got it covered. I promise.” There was one big difference between Darius and the men she’d dated, apart from his wealth: Zion loved Darius. And from what she could see when they were together, he cared deeply for her brother as well.

That alone should have been enough for her to say yes, but they weren’t talking about one wild night together—this would be two full days and nights and an ocean away from her brother.

“Tell me what you’re really afraid of, Nathalie. And I’ll fix it.” She watched the parched brown hills of summer race by, felt the rumble of a semi as they whizzed past.

“I’m not afraid of anything. I just worry.” What if someday Zion doesn’t need me? The thought surprised her. Surprised her enough that she was forced to ask herself whether it would really be such a terrible thing to take a couple of days for herself. If she let her brother fly freer.

“You need to tell Mrs. Oswald that he doesn’t like the dark.” Darius grin was huge as her words made it clear that she would go with him, but he was smart enough not to gloat.

“You can give her a list of instructions. And we’ll be home in forty-eight hours. A very hot forty-eight hours.”

He picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. Even the light touch of his mouth set her pulse on high speed. She hadn’t a single defense against him. A normal woman would question why she needed a defense against the perfect man. After all, Darius had all the answers. He’d told her all his deep, dark secrets. And it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. She put her hand over his on her knee and stroked his knuckles with her thumb.

Then she splayed her fingers and laced them through his. He’d told her he loved her—and she wanted to love him, too, wholly and without any lingering fears. But though she now knew where he’d come from and how he’d made himself into the wonderful man he was—and even though she’d never been happier with anyone else—she still couldn’t shake her natural tendency to hold something back. Just in case. Just for a little while longer, because everything had moved so fast between them.

From zero to a hundred in the beat of a heart. Soon, she hoped, she’d be able to round the corner and feel sure about everything. Sure that Zion would be okay without her spending every waking minute watching over him. Sure that being a little wild, and unfurling her wings from time to time, wouldn’t damage the life she’d built for herself and her brother. And sure that when Darius said he loved her, he meant that he’d love her forever. It was far easier to clear time on her calendar than Nathalie had imagined.

Zion thought it was a major adventure to stay at Darius for two days. He was going to watch all the Fast and Furious movies back to back, then all the Transformers. His tastes were simple. Other kids his age would have had a huge party and raided the liquor cabinet. Just as Darius had said, Zion would be fine. He probably wouldn’t even miss her. But she was determined not to spoil the trip by thinking about that...or by worrying that she was wrong, and that something might happen to him while she was out sowing more wild oats with Darius.

“This filet mignon is delicious.” The luxurious lounge where they were served dinner aboard his private jet could pass for an elegant living room except for the seatbelts, the flotation devices, and the oxygen masks that would drop down if needed.

“I should have known you’d serve gourmet meals.” Darius poured more champagne.

“If I’m going to do something—” He grinned.

“—I want to do it better than anyone else.” Nathalie now knew that was no exaggeration.

A limousine had driven them onto the airfield at San Francisco International Airport. Two flight attendants—a man and a woman, both in their mid-thirties, neatly dressed, attractive, and enough alike to be siblings—had greeted them, stowed their luggage, served cocktails, provided bowls of her favorite sweets, and disappeared. The captain, a seasoned gentleman in his fifties, had gone over the flight plan with Darius, then returned to the cockpit. Throughout, Darius was polite and full of thanks, not only with the captain, but also with the flight attendants. With his driver. With a waiter. With everyone. He thanked big, tipped big, and showed respect.

“How is porcelain unique?” She went back to the conversation they’d been having. Tomorrow afternoon they were going to tour a porcelain factory he was interested in.

“Actually, I’m not sure right now how I’ll make it unique. That’s the purpose of the trip. To figure it out.”

“But why?” She hadn’t imagined Darius would find china plates the slightest bit interesting.

“The truth?” He gave her a grin that was halfway between cheeky and embarrassed.

“I was on Facebook and some guy had posted photos of his new set of French china. People went nuts over that post. And you’d be surprised how many comments were from interested guys, not just women.” His smile still made her heart race every single time.

“So I’m looking into it.”

“You think there could be a lot of money there?”

“I see potential. You can show some people a five-hundred-dollar set of china and they shrug it off as merely department store. But charge them five thousand, and suddenly, they’ve got to have it.”

“For the same exact thing?”

“With a tweak—something to make it unique.” He nodded.

“It’s about perceived value, not actual cost.” It was a totally different way of thinking. She’d never bought the

“most expensive.”

Although sometimes she had to agree that you got what you paid for when the thrifty alternative fell apart after two uses. So okay, sometimes expensive had its advantages. She waved a hand over the crystal, china, and silver. Everything was first class on Air Spencer.

“Speaking of all this fine china—”

“I didn’t pay five thousand for it. So my testosterone is still intact.”

“I never doubted that.” Darius had way more than his share of testosterone.

“Actually, I was going to say I feel totally underdressed in jeans. I should be wearing an evening dress.”

“You’re perfect exactly the way you are. Besides,” he said as he leaned close,

“I intend to have you out of those jeans right after we finish the chocolate mousse.” A flush of sexual heat washed through her, but she couldn’t help wondering what his flight crew would think when he took her into his private cabin. But since she’d decided to take this trip with him, she intended to relish every single moment until the trip ended. Raising her champagne flute, she waited until he picked up his, too.

“To the Mile High Club.” She clinked the rim against his.

“Let’s save dessert for later.” His eyes darkened with the sexy glint that never failed to turn her insides to liquid.

“You always have such perfect ideas.” He rose, came to her side, and leaned down, his mouth so close that his warm breath caressed the shell of her ear. She actually shivered. With anticipation. With lust. And with an emotion she was terrified to put a name to.

“I’m going to tell my stewards to keep the mousse on ice and the coffee switch ready to brew.” He nuzzled her cheek.

“Then I want to walk in on a naked and willing woman in my bed.” Air speed wasn’t getting to her now. She didn’t need the power of a jet engine. Darius was all it took to make her crazy.

* * *

Nathalie was absolute perfection, her skin creamy and soft, her silky hair fanned across the pillow, her breasts taut and her body sweetly ready for him.

“I should commission a portrait of you just like this.” He would put it on the wall opposite his bed so that he’d see her the moment he opened his eyes. Until the day he convinced her to move in with him and he could just turn his head to look at her in all her flesh-and-blood glory. She laughed, a slight touch of nerves mingled with pleasure at his compliment, sexy and a little shy all at the same time.

“Your champagne.”

He came down on the bed with one knee between her legs, tipping the glass until a dribble of sparkling wine filled her belly button. He sipped it away. She held his head to her stomach and arched up, a little hum of pleasure in her throat. The sizzle of champagne on his tongue and the sweetness of her skin were the only sustenance he needed. But he needed to be skin-on-skin with her, so he backed away and stripped down. Fast.

There wasn’t any rush, but why waste a moment covered up by excess clothing when he had Nathalie in his bed? The thought made him want to laugh. He felt as though not a single shadow was hanging over him anymore. He felt happy. It wasn’t an emotion he’d truly known before. Not until Nathalie. And now, with everything in him, he wanted to make her happy, too.

Happier than she’d ever been. He stalked her onto the bed, climbing on all fours until he was over her. He hadn’t turned off the overhead lights and the late afternoon rays swept in through the portholes as well. As they flew east, the sun would fall fast. Her eyes were a seductive shade of blue, her lips full and red, and for the next forty-eight hours she was all his.

“Beautiful.” The single word was filled with awe.

“You are just so damned beautiful.” He leaned down to steal a kiss from her lips, taking a sip of her. Then he went deep, kissing her hard, tasting her mouth like a man addicted to sweetness, giving her his entire heart in the kiss.

“You’re beautiful, too.” Her whispered words were almost shy. She traced his tattoo.

“And so sexy. I’ve never known anyone with a tattoo.”

“Maybe they kept it hidden.” The way he had.

“I don’t think so.” She kept her gaze and her touch on the tattoo, the barest hint of a smile on her mouth.

“I’d never been with a bad boy before. Not until you.” He flexed his arm, the tattooed car undulating as if its engine were revving, which made her smile.

“I used to be a bad boy,” he said,

“but now—” “You’re still one,” she said in a husky voice.

“Every time you kiss me. Every time you touch me. Every time you look at me from across a room and I know that you’re mentally stripping me bare. Or,” she added with a sexy little smile,

“when you’ve got me naked beneath you on your plane.”

“Naked and so damned sweet that you blow my mind every single time.”

He licked her lips, then trailed his mouth along her jaw, down her throat. He tongued the sweet skin at the hollow of her collarbones. He worshipped her breasts, tasting them until she moaned and arched beneath him. Thank God she’d said she liked being with a bad boy, because he couldn’t stop himself from taking her with his fingers, hard and fast until her breath became sexy little pants that strummed his nerve endings.

He bit her neck then, in the way she loved, and she tightened around him, her body rising, her breath falling, her pleasure sounds wrapping around his insides and pulling him in deep. Until Nathalie, sex had never been more than a physical release. It hadn’t been sweet. It hadn’t had meaning. But now her pleasure meant absolutely everything to him as she writhed on the bed, brought her legs up around his back, fisted her hands in the sheet, and cried out. Her body bucked against his and tiny tremors rippled across her belly as she climaxed hard.

But she didn’t cry out again, and he knew it had to be because she’d obviously remembered where they were. She’d thought about his cabin crew, and she’d shut herself down. For so long, ever since she’d had to take charge of her brother, she’d shut down her innate passion, and along with it, so much joy. But he didn’t want her to ever have to do that again.

* * *

Nathalie had barely come down off her delirious high when Darius said,

“You were thinking.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he kissed her before she could. Framing her face with his hands, he delved deep. Her scent was on his fingers, his body was hard between her thighs. She was all skin and sensation. When he lifted his head, he stared her down with hot, dark eyes.

“No thinking. That’s my only rule for you and me.”

“I wasn’t thinking.” How could she when the pleasure he’d given her had turned her upside down and inside out, until there’d only been room in her mind for his touch?

“Then why didn’t you let yourself cry out?” Her answer came before she realized he’d been right.

“Your crew.”

“That means you were thinking.”

He swept in for another long, hard, delicious kiss, making sure she couldn’t possibly think anymore. He filled her up, every space, until there was no room for anything but his possessive mouth, his skin soft and rough against her, the electric hum through her body, and the warmth around her heart.

God, he did things to her. Made her feel. Hot and needy, soft and gooey. It was beyond getting physical, beyond his mouth on her, his hands stroking her. Beyond the climaxes. He made her feel beautiful. He turned her over, setting her on her hands and knees, and pushed up flush against her.

Big and beautiful and dangerously sexy, he made her wild all over again. Wonderfully, perfectly wild, as he gripped her hips with his hands and was inside her before she could even take her next breath. A moan escaped her as he plunged deep, clear to the very heart of her. Everything spiraled down to the connection between them, his heat, his hardness, his relentless movements. She braced herself on the bed and pushed back on him, meeting each of his thrusts.

He completely surrounded her then, leaning over her, a blanket, lusciously hot and heavy. They strained together, hard breaths, hammering hearts, rushing blood. And this time, when she shattered, she couldn’t think about anything but him, crying his name as he called out hers, too.

* * *

Darius had never been more content as he hauled her closer, her arm splayed across his chest, her hand resting at his shoulder. She fell asleep against him, and after they woke, he loved her again, head to toe, top to bottom, inside and out. He’d loved her with every inch of his body, touched, kissed, licked, and adored every inch of hers.

He knew every scented hollow, each sensitive patch of skin. But it still wasn’t enough. He ached for more. And they had only thirty-eight hours left. He considered canceling the plant tour and holing up with her in his Knightsbridge flat. But he wanted to show her London. He wanted to give her something she’d never had before—that trip to Europe she’d been saving for but had never been able to take after her parents passed away.

“We’ll be landing in a little over an hour. I ordered the coffee.” They’d never gotten around to the mousse.

“Do you want to shower before breakfast?” She flexed and stretched before cracking one eyelid.

“I’d kill for a shower.” She opened both eyes and smiled at him.

“Come with me.”

“Can’t resist me?” The teasing curve of her smile faded.

“No. How could I?” She put her hand over his heart and he swore it skipped a beat as she said,

“How could anyone resist you, Darius?”

He’d known she wouldn’t say she loved him at the peak of her climax. Not when it was clear that she still needed to think, decide, determine whether letting him all the way into her and Zion’s life was a good idea. But with that touch and those words, she gave him the promise of it. Of love. Hell, yes, she made him so damn happy his heart stood wide open and ready for her. And soon, hopefully, hers would be wide open for him, too.

Nathalie knew she should be exhausted, with the time change, the lack of sleep, and the way Darius had loved her all the way across the Atlantic. Yet his touch was like a jolt of electricity lighting her up. Even once they’d entered the factory doors, he didn’t let up. A hand at the small of her back to guide her. A light caress on her arm to point out something interesting. He introduced her as his girlfriend, and everyone treated her with the utmost respect.

She found the porcelain factory fascinating. The owner and plant manager, Mr. Birhams, told them all about how porcelain was made, and the differences between it, bone china, and fine china.

“The cup is beautiful.” It wasn’t quite a teacup that you’d use on a saucer, but it wasn’t a mug either. At least, not the thick, heavy ceramic kind she was used to. This was smaller, more fragile, and painted with flowers and swirls and curlicues highlighted in gold. Real gold.

“Please, you must have it.” Mr. Birhams was tall, with a bald patch, thick glasses, dense tufts of hair sprouting from his ears, and the hint of a middle-aged paunch beneath his three-piece suit.

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Please, ma’am, we insist,” a young artist spoke up.

“You do amazing work.” Darius held aloft another cup, the light shining through the delicate pattern and glinting on the gold-trimmed rim. The workroom was large, exceptionally clean, with high windows set along the upper wall and curving into the ceiling to provide more natural light. Pieces in various stages of the process lined long workbenches.

“It’s amazing to think that each piece is hand painted.”

“Thank you, sir.” The woman was petite, her thick red hair pulled back in a bun and stuffed beneath a net. Her name was Jenny, and she was obviously from another part of England, as she lacked the crisp city accent of Mr. Birhams. But she beamed beneath Darius praise.

“In the next room, we have our figurines.” Mr. Birhams began to move them along. But Darius wasn’t about to be herded anywhere.

“We appreciate the opportunity to view your artistry,” he said to the small assembly. There were smiles all around from the five women and one man. Mr. Birhams had explained that generally men’s hands were too big for the delicate work. The one gentleman was smaller than average, with thin pianist’s fingers. Darius turned to Mr. Birhams.

“Why are there no signatures on any of the pieces?” The tall man hesitated for a moment before answering.

“They’re meant to be indistinguishable.”

“Consider this.” In his elegant suit, striped tie, and white shirt, with his dark hair and strong features, Darius was a businessman to be reckoned with.

“Each of your artists brands their work with a hidden symbol. Every set then becomes unique and sought after. People will be searching for the symbol. It will be the thing to talk about.” He smiled at the pretty red-haired girl.

“They’ll say, ‘I’ve got a Jenny.’” Mr. Birhams pursed his lips primly.

“But what if everyone prefers the pieces made by one or two workers, and no one wants to buy the others?” Darius turned to Birhams’s artists.

“What do you think?”

Standing amid all the fine and delicate china, Darius was amazing. He had so much money that he could stomp on these people. Yet he respected them enough to ask their opinion. He called them artists rather than workers.

It was the way he treated everyone, from Mama Martini to his flight crew to the girl who’d served him coffee in the factory cafeteria. It wasn’t how she’d ever thought of men with money. But it was Darius, through and through, heart to soul . One after the other, the porcelain artists spoke up.

“It could be a competition,” Jenny said first.

“There would certainly be no slackers.” Celina was an older woman with a tiny nose and extremely small hands, as well.

“I’m no slacker.” That was the young man, one step behind the women. His name hadn’t been mentioned.

“My artistry would be valued as highly as anyone else’s.”

“I’m sure it would be.” Darius looked from one to the next.

“I would like my wares to have a signature. Exclusively.” Nathalie understood that this would be the detail that would set his commodity apart. This was why his clients would buy at a price ten times higher.

“And I’m willing to pay for that exclusivity, of course.” With the mention of money, Mr. Birhams nodded as though his head were on springs.

“Certainly. Of course. It’s a brilliant idea.”

Darius charm—and brilliance—were remarkable. He’d secured buy-in from the lowest level to the top without any fist-pounding. She was sure that when he negotiated the premium for the signature, he would drive a hard bargain, but the company would get its fair share. Mr. Birhams, a very happy executive with a million-dollar bone between his teeth, spread his arm expansively.

“Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s move to our figurines. I think you’ll find them most exquisite. We dip real lace into porcelain to create the period dresses.”