Boxed Set: At the Billionaire’s Command – Vol. 1-3 (9 page)

He stayed like that for a long while, until a feeling of utter completeness spread through me. Time had stopped. Nothing bad could happen to me while I was encircled and protected by this man.
His hands continued their journey. He measured the curve of my breasts with his caresses. My head turned and rested on his shoulder as I offered my neck for his kisses. His hands were on my stomach and he left them there. He let them spread their heat as far as my womb.

I was hot, unbelievably hot. With the tip of his tongue, he delicately licked the beads of sweat on my shoulder, while sliding one hand between my thighs. I heard the hissing of the flames, the fire crackling and our deep breathing.

In a corner of the room, leaning against a wall, was an enormous mirror. Graceful curves rippled in its reflection and I could see erotic shapes, two bodies entwined.

The man lay me down in the bed of cushions. I could see his face now. It was familiar to me, but it amazed me every time, as if I were seeing it for the first time. His face was so handsome that I thought I would never tire of discovering and admiring it. I had recognised him in the flames and in his caresses. Now I could read his green eyes.

I was stretched out, given over to his desires. He reached out a hand to one of the tables and picked up a bunch of grapes between his fingers. Leaning over me, he carefully plucked the grapes off and lined them up on my body, from my neck to my pubis. He stepped back, contemplated his composition, leaned over me again and began to eat. Only his lips touched my skin. He took his time, making the pleasure last and spacing out each mouthful. Every time his mouth brushed against my body I stopped myself trembling and my back arching, so that the grapes did not slide down my sides. Between my breasts… my navel… and then in my bush. But his mouth did not stop there. It continued to descend, descend as far as the ultimate juicy fruit.

His lips were now around my clitoris, sucking it, lapping it. I could no longer control my back or my breathing. I ran my fingers through his hair. I could feel the movements of his tongue, he was tasting me, eating me, devouring me…

"Miss? Miss!"
I woke up with a start, panting and bathed in sweat. My neighbour had turned to face me and placed a hand on my lower arm.

"Are you alright, Miss?"
I looked at him, wide-eyed.

"I’m sorry if I woke you, but you seemed very agitated and you kept saying,
“Fire”
,
“Fire”
,
“Fire”
…"

Oh no!
My dream came back to me and I blushed with shame. I hoped I hadn’t said anything else!

"I’m fine, I’m fine, thank you. It was just a dream. I’m sorry if I disturbed you."

"No, no, don’t worry about it. You seemed really shaken up by your nightmare, I wanted to save you from the flames,” joked my neighbour.
You don’t know how right you are!

"To be honest, I think I’m hungry."

My response had a double meaning, but only I knew that. My neighbour was surprised and amused. At least my answer had changed the subject and made us laugh.

"My name’s Vincent", he said, holding out his hand.

"Julia."

So this was my neighbour for the New York-Paris flight: Vincent. Vincent was an extremely nice, young man, not particularly good-looking, but perfectly charming. With his short blond hair and his starched polo shirt tucked into beige chinos which fell perfectly onto polished shoes, he looked like a clean-cut boy in every respect. His soft blue eyes and open smile undoubtedly reflected a natural gentleness and an unaffected kindness. At first sight he was one of those boys, with his angelic face and wholesome style, about whom grandmothers say,
“He looks as if butter wouldn’t melt!”
and mothers say,
“He’s the ideal son-in-law”
, but whom girls find a bit too perfect, too much of a pretty-boy and a bit too smooth.
However, I had to acknowledge that his friendly demeanor, combined with his sporty build, inspired confidence, lent him a certain charm and made him seem strong, protective and reassuring.

And as he also seemed to have a sense of humour, I was looking forward to having such a pleasant travelling companion.

"Were you on holiday in New York?", asked Vincent.

"No, not really. Let’s just say that before starting my studies in Paris, I wanted to travel a bit, see something different and learn to speak good English. I came to New York, found a job and stayed for six months. And you? Holiday?"

"Could we address each other as “tu”?"

"Yes, of course."

I wondered why I hadn’t addressed him as “tu” straight away, as I do naturally with people my own age. Was it perhaps because a young man of around twenty travelling alone in business class did not seem to be a matter of course, because unconsciously, saying “vous” to him was a way of marking the distance which separated me from this “
^first
class” world in which I felt out of place?

"I was there to visit my parents. They've lived in New York for the last two years."

"Don’t you live with them?"

"No, I wanted to stay in Paris. My father is a diplomat and my mother is… a diplomat’s wife", he said with a slightly raised eyebrow and a small mocking laugh in his voice. "When I was younger, I followed them everywhere. I did my baccalaureate in Paris. I love the city and I had made a great group of friends, I didn’t want to leave it all behind. My parents were in favour of me staying."

Vincent told me a bit about his life, the large apartment his parents rented for him in the
^first
arrondissement, his law studies, the sports he played and the rock group he had formed with friends, in which he played the guitar. I told myself that Vincent was a bit of a caricature, the type of guy I would probably have kept my distance from. But he was not as pretentious as I would have expected a young bourgeois Parisian like him to be. He was not haughty, self-important, arrogant or blasé. On the contrary, his natural spontaneity and straightforwardness made him very agreeable.
I stayed fairly quiet. I avoided talking about my stay in New York, which would inevitably make me think a bit too much about Daniel and risk upsetting me. We talked about this and that, observed the passengers and made jokes.

Suddenly, Vincent remembered that I was hungry.

"By the way, didn’t you want to eat something?"

"Yes, what time is it?" I looked at my watch.

"Nice watch!" Said Vincent, pointing his chin and his eyes at my wrist.

"Yes."

My eyes remained fixed on the jewel. Last night, between the end of my celebrations, the stress of my departure and tiredness, I hadn’t really paid it much attention. It was certainly extremely beautiful. Sophisticated, but not ostentatious. The round face was not too wide and was ringed with small diamonds. The number XII had been replaced by a ruby. The pink gold links of the strap gave it a masculine edge. It was a perfect balance of chic, discretion and elegance.

What on earth could this present mean? Was it just a sign of affection
(all relative to the heir to the Tercari fortune, of course)
? A half-macho, half-romantic desire to adorn a woman in beautiful things
(which was just like dear Mr Fire)
? Or should I read more into it? Analysing it could be a double-edged sword.
This watch could express a call to order:
No delays will be tolerated/You no longer have any excuse
; state that he possessed me:
Your time is mine/ You will now keep time with me
; show a kind of megalomaniac power:
I am the master of time/I control everything
or, without going that far, at least get it into my head, once and for all, that time, his time, was a precious thing that he couldn’t waste or stretch at will.

But it was also possible to imagine that this watch signified waiting:
I’m waiting for you/I can’t wait until we are in the same time zone
or communion:
With this watch face, I am joining us in common time
; or that it symbolised a desire for the durability of the relationship, paying tribute to the time spent and looking forward to the future.
In this watch I clearly saw both sides of Daniel (all the ardor he was capable of showing and also the coldness), without one aspect prevailing over the other.

And the small note attached to the gift didn’t give me any clues. It didn’t even mention the watch. I rummaged in my bag for the notebook I’d slipped the note into. There it was. I read it again. And, just like the first time, I thought there was something strange about it.

“I just wanted to let you know and promise you,
before you get on the plane in a little while,
that I am really looking forward to having you
by my side again and kissing your soft cheek.
And rest assured that I will
meet you at the airport,
I promise you.
D. W.”

"Wow, that man doesn’t mince his words!"
I quickly turned towards Vincent, who was smiling broadly. I gave him a questioning and flabbergasted look.

"I’m sorry Julia, I didn’t mean to be indiscreet."

"No, no… What made you say that?"

"Well… the message is rather… explicit… to the point. A bit saucy to be honest."

"
'Saucy'
? I’d say it was more sweet, maybe even a bit soppy."

"Oh…?! Can’t you see it?"

"See what?"

"Read every other line and you’ll understand…"

“I just wanted to let you know and promise you
before you get on the plane in a little while,
that I am really looking forward to having you
by my side again and kissing your soft cheek.
And rest assured that I will
meet you at the airport,
I promise you.
D. W.”

"Oh yes! You’re right…"
Yes, read like that, it is more typical of Mr Fire…
I could feel my cheeks burning and I quickly grabbed the piece of paper, my fumbling, exaggerated movements betraying my embarrassment.

“Um… (I laughed). Thanks for your help! A friend gave me this note that an admirer had sent her and said,
“This’ll make you laugh… if you find the solution!”
As you can see, I didn’t understand the puzzle…"
Just a little lie to get myself out of a fix…

"OK, so shall we order that meal?"

Vincent and I spent the rest of the flight talking about this and that. Around one hour before we arrived, I started to feel cramps in my stomach. The pain was bearable, but the feeling was really unpleasant. I told myself that the best way of making it disappear was not to pay any attention to it and to concentrate on my conversation with Vincent. But the pain grew worse and my silent inner battle with it must have shown on my face, as Vincent said:

"Are you OK, Julia, you look very tense?"

"I’ve got a bit of a stomach ache, it must be what we ate a while ago."
That was the first explanation which came into my mind; I couldn’t think of any others.

"Would you like me to call a stewardess?"

"No, no. Carry on talking to me, if I listen to you rather than this pain, it’ll hopefully disappear."

Vincent tried to distract me and partially managed it as the sharp, shooting pains gave way to a duller, more diffuse pain. But the relief was short-lived. Soon, other symptoms appeared, I found it hard to swallow, my head was spinning and my body temperature alternated between hot flushes and cold sweats. I could no longer listen to Vincent. I focused on what was happening in my body. I’d never felt like it before and I started to panic. I felt the need to stay still and hold on, as if the slightest movement would make me faint. A steward announced that we would soon be landing.

"I don’t feel well."
I was gasping for breath as I said these words in a feeble voice, although I put all my energy into them. Vincent moved closer to me, put a hand on my forehead and grabbed my arm. He was talking to me but I could no longer hear him. I closed my eyes. While the plane began its descent, everything seemed to speed up. The more I panicked, the worse I felt and vice versa. I was in a spiral. Pins and needles gradually took over my limbs, paralysing them. My breath was racing and I could no longer breathe deeply. I felt myself dropping… I heard the plane touch the runway. Then, nothing.

When I regained consciousness, I could hear voices around me. I wanted to see what was happening or make a sign, but my body wouldn’t respond. My eyes stayed closed. My body felt heavy, weak and confused and wouldn’t move; I couldn’t make a sound. Only my brain seemed to be awake.

"Are you a relative or her boyfriend?" asked a woman’s voice.

"No."
I recognised Vincent’s voice.

"Then I cannot allow you to accompany her."
I must still be on the plane and Vincent must be talking to a stewardess.

"But what are you going to do with her?"

"Don’t worry. We are used to dealing with unaccompanied persons who are taken ill. This young lady will immediately be transferred to a hospital. My colleague has called an ambulance and has given your observations to the nurses. The ambulance will come straight onto the tarmac."

"Can you at least tell me which hospital she’ll be taken to?"

"I don’t even know myself. Perhaps the ground staff can tell you, you could always ask them. Do you know if she had any hand luggage, a bag or a jacket?"

"Yes, yes. Here."

"Is this the patient?" asked a man’s voice.

"Yes she is, over here", replied the stewardess.
Sounds of people moving around, footsteps approaching and a metallic jingling I couldn’t identify.
Somebody took my hand.

"Julia, I don’t know if you can hear me. Don’t worry, everything will be ok. They’re going to take you to hospital and I’ll come and see you. Don’t worry."
Vincent… He removed his hand, while other hands grabbed my shoulders and legs. I was picked up and then put down in a horizontal position, further away. Somebody put something soft next to me. Was it my bag?

"One, two, three!"
I was raised up from the ground.

"Let’s go!"
I was being moved. The narrow aeroplane aisle. Then steps. I was shaken about and jolted. I wanted to throw up and I wanted to cry. I was afraid. What was wrong with me? Where were they taking me? The sound of a door and then I was put down again. A door banged and I heard an engine. I wanted to shout. What about my things? Who will take care of my suitcases? And… suddenly, Daniel came into my mind. Daniel was waiting for me… Who would let him know? I cried tears which didn’t roll down my cheeks.