Because He Takes Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Two) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

“Don’t be nervous, Adriana,” he said.

“Oh, I’m not nervous.”

“Don’t lie to me, either.”

“I’m not!” I lied.

He shook his head, like he was amused by my
protests,
then
led me up the steps and into the jet.

As soon as we got inside, I couldn’t play it
cool anymore. This was a
private
jet,
and it looked nothing like
the cramped quarters of the commercial planes I was used to flying in, the kind
of planes where you needed to worry about who was sitting next to you and if
you were going to have enough room to move your legs.

The inside of this plane looked like a media
room of someone’s house.
 
Someone’s
very expensive media room in someone’s very expensive house.
 
Huge cream-colored leather chairs were
set up in two groups of four, each group gathered around a small
work table
.
 
In
the middle of the plane was a larger table, raised onto a platform.
 
It was set for two with square white
plates trimmed with a swirling gold design and sparking silverware.
 
Were we going to be eating on the plane?
 
I wasn’t sure I could eat in front
of Callum.
 
My stomach was too
nervous.
 
I wondered what kind of
food they served on a private jet.
 
Probably
fancy things like arugula truffles and caviar omelets.

There was a TV hanging on one wall, with CNBC
on the main screen, along with smaller screens that seemed to be hooked up to
someone’s laptop, showing different graphs scrolling up and down with red and
green lines that appeared to be moving in random patterns.

“Holy crap,” I breathed before I could stop
myself.

Callum gave me another amused smile.

“This is insane,” I said, walking over to the
table and running my hand over the gleaming wood.
 
I thought of the scuffed up table back at
my apartment and realized the table Callum had in his jet was nicer than the
one I had there.
 
Forget my
apartment, this table was nicer than the one back at my mom’s house in
Michigan.

There was an ice bucket sitting in the middle
of the table, filled with a deep blue glass bottle of what looked like
champagne.

But when Callum pulled it out of the ice and
uncapped it, I realized it was sparkling water.
 
Of course.
 
I should have known.
 
Water with lemon -- Callum’s
drink of choice.

He poured us each a glass of fizzing water,
then reached into a tiny bowl filled with sliced lemons.
 
He dropped one into his glass and then
picked up another.
 
He looked at me,
his eyebrows questioning.
 
I nodded
slightly and he dropped the lemon into my water, a look of approval coming over
his face.

I felt myself flush with pleasure that I’d done
something to please him.

He raised his glass.
 
“To an amazing weekend,” he said.

“To an amazing weekend,” I said, clinking my
glass against his.

I took a sip, surprised to find that I was
starting to like the sour taste of lemon.
 
But from now on, I knew the scent would remind me of Callum, of kissing
him, of what we’d done the other night at the club.

My flush deepened.

“I told you not to be nervous,” Callum said.

“I’m not…” I started, but he cut me off.

He cupped my chin in his hand and grazed my
cheek with the pad of his thumb.
 
“You’re blushing, Adriana” he said.
 
“I can see it.”

I couldn’t speak.
 
I was paralyzed, so I just nodded.

He took another step toward me, put his other
hand on the other side of my face, then pushed even closer so that his chest
was right against mine.

“Hi,” he said, and grinned.

“Hi,” I said, letting out the breath I was
holding.

“Relax,” he said, and then he leaned down and
angled his mouth over mine and kissed me.
 
He tasted familiar, and I felt myself instantly relax, my body melting
into a puddle against his.
 
I parted
my lips slightly, wanting more, wanting him to take me with his tongue, but he pulled
back.
 
“Everything’s fine,” he said
softly.
 
“We’re not going to do
anything that makes you uncomfortable, okay?”

I nodded, my heart hammering in my chest.

I felt hot, and I knew my face must have been
beet red.

His presence was unnerving me, making me so hot
and bothered that I couldn’t even think straight.
 
I needed a break.
 

“Um, can I… where’s the restroom?”
 
My blush seemed to deepen as I said the
words, like it was embarrassing to be talking about going to the bathroom in
front of him.
 
“Over there,” he
said, pointing to a door toward the back of the plane.
 

“Thanks.”
 
I headed for the bathroom, on the way passing another open door, which
led to an alcove that had a bed in it.
 
A bed!
 
Callum had a bed on
his plane!
 
Was he that horny?
 
He couldn’t even go on a two-hour flight
without having sex?
 
Of course not,
I told myself.
 
First of all, people
slept on planes all the time.
 
And
someone like Callum probably took tons of international flights, flights that
took hours and sometimes even days.
 
Of course he would want to be comfortable.

Still.

It was naïve of me to think I was the first
woman he’d brought on this plane, and even more naïve to think that Callum
hadn’t used that bed for something other than sleeping. I pictured a gorgeous
woman,
someone exotic looking with all kinds of curly dark hair
and perfect tan skin, imagined her being tied to that bed, her head flung back
in ecstasy.

Stop, I told myself as I splashed water on my
face.
 
I’d been right – my
cheeks were rosy red, the color deepening high on my cheeks.
 
I took a couple of breaths and splashed
more water on my face, drying my skin with a luxurious hand towel that was
sitting next to sink, its fabric monogrammed with Callum’s initials.

My phone began ringing in my bag, and I lunged
for it, a conditioned response ever since I’d been filling out all those
applications and sending out all those resumes.
 
I didn’t know why I always got so
excited when my phone rang – so far I hadn’t gotten one call back.
 
But it only took one, I reminded myself.
 
Just one person to
call me and get me in the door.

I crossed my fingers for an unfamiliar 212
number to be flashing on my caller ID. But it wasn’t someone calling from a
publishing house.
 
It was my mother.

I hesitated.

The last thing I wanted to do was talk to my
mother while I was on Callum Wilder’s private jet, about to be whisked away for
a sex-filled weekend romp. But experience told me that if I didn’t answer, my
mom would just keep calling back until I did.
 
And if I
still
didn’t
answer, she might call Nessa to find out where I was.

Nessa!
 
Oh, God.
 
I’d forgotten to
tell her not to tell my mom where I was.
 
Not that she would, I didn’t think, but…

I answered the call.

“Hi, Mom,” I said cheerily.

“Hi, Carrie!” my mom said.
 
My mom insisted on calling me Carrie
after Carrie Bradshaw, even though I specifically told her that reference was
very outdated, and that I was nothing like Carrie Bradshaw.
 

“What’s up, Mom?” I said.
 
“I can’t talk long, I’m, um… I’m getting
ready to… I’m at a coffee shop filling out resumes.”

“Oh, how fancy,” my mother said.
 
“I just wanted to call and say hi, let
you know I’m thinking of you.
 
Did
you get a chance to read that article I sent you?”

“What article?”
 
My mother talked a mile a minute and
also had a strong southern accent.
 
Even though she lived in Michigan, she’d been born in North Carolina,
and when she got excited about something, her accent came through, hard and
strong, sometimes making it hard to understand her.

“The one about the cast of Temptations,” she
said. “Their real life romances?
 
On
and off set?”

“Oh,” I said, vaguely remembering something
about that showing up in my inbox.
 
“No, I haven’t gotten around to it.”
 
My mother was obsessed with soap operas,
namely the show Temptations, and I’d made the mistake of watching it with her
one day before I left for New York in an effort to bond with her.
 
She was now doing everything she could
to get me interested in it, even though the storylines were trite and
melodramatic.
 

“Well, you have a busy life I’m sure,” she
said.
 
“Have you found a job yet?”

“No, Mom,” I said.
 
“Not yet.”
  
In fact, I’m not even looking for a job right
now,
I’m on the private jet of some billionaire who wants to use me for sex.

“You will, honey,” she said.
 
“You will.
 
Now, tell me all about New York.”

“I’d love to,” I said.
 
“But I’m in the middle of filling out an
application. Can I call you back?”
 
I made sure not to say exactly when.

“Of course, of course,” she said.

There was a knock on bathroom door.

“You okay, Lemon?” Callum’s deep voice
demanded.

“Yes,” I said.
 
“Be out in a minute.”

“Who was that?” my mom wanted to know.

“Oh, I’m just at Starbucks,” I said.
 
“Someone wants to use the outlet for
their laptop.”
 

“Oh!
 
Okay,” my mom said.
 
“Call
back so we can talk about Ciara’s wedding.”

“Okay,” I said, having totally forgotten about
my sister Ciara getting married.
 
She was way too young to get married, in my opinion, but there was
nothing I could say or do.

“Kisses!” my mom shrieked and then the line
went dead.

I smoothed my hair one more time and opened the
bathroom door.

Callum was standing there, his frame tall and
commanding.
 
“I just got word from
the pilot that we’ll be taking off soon.”

“Okay.”
 
My stomach was already a mess, and I wondered what the take off was
going to do to me.
 
I was a nervous
flyer on the best day, and I’d never been in a private jet before, never mind a
private jet with one of the most gorgeous men on the planet.

“
Who
were you talking
to?”

“No one.”

“I heard you on the phone.”

“It was my mom.
 
It wasn’t important.”

“You lied to her.”

“What?”

“You lied to her about where you were.”
 
His blue eyes narrowed at me, the color darkening
like a storm on a summer’s day.
 

“Yes,” I admitted.
“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t need to know every detail
of my life.”

He tilted his head, considering this.
 
I realized how narrow the hallway we
were standing in was, how close he was to me.
 
Run.
 
The word flashed like a neon sign, imprinting itself on my brain.
 
I wasn’t scared or upset – but I
had a weird premonition, a feeling I was about to go tumbling into something
with Callum I wasn’t sure I could handle.
 
Once we were in the air, there would be nothing I could do to stop
it.
 
If I left now, at least I would
have a chance.

“Are you in the habit of lying to people?”
Callum asked.

“What?”

“You heard me.
 
Do you regularly hide things about your
life when from the people close to you?”
 
His tone wasn’t mad or accusing.
 
He was asking like he was curious, like he wanted to know more about
me.
 
But there was something else
– something under the surface, almost like he was collecting information
about me and stowing it away
, the way you would do when you
were trying to make a decision about something.