Jennifer Hayward - Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss

He kept her braced against his chest as he negotiated the door handle to the bedroom, shouldered himself in and deposited her on the bed with a lucky move that brought him down hard beside her. The jet dropped, this time a good fifty feet, pulling a low, agonized cry from Francesca. He kept a hand on her, his body half draped over her. The jet leveled out. “Swallow,” he commanded.

Her throat convulsed as she did. “This is soooo not good.”

“It’s just turbulence.” He recovered his own breath.

“Still.” Her eyes popped open, valiantly hanging on to her terror. “Donnn’t leave me.”

“I can’t at this moment.” He gave the sky a grim look through the tiny, oval windows. It was an inky, endless black canvas crisscrossed by vibrant streaks of jagged gold lightning.

Francesca pulled him toward her as if he was a pillow. He put a palm to her shoulder to push her back into the bed. A whimper escaped her throat. “Please.”

He crumbled. Gathered her soft curves to him and held her while the storm raged on outside. She smelled like orange blossoms—like intoxication and innocence all in one. The plane leveled out and stayed that way for minutes. In the warmth of his arms, Francesca stopped trembling. He tried to remember the last time he’d held a woman like this, for comfort, and didn’t have to think long. It would have been seven years ago when Susanna had left.

The thought did something strange to his head. He glanced out the window as the lightning receded and the space between rumbles of thunder lengthened. Having Francesca wrapped around him like this was inspiring the need to find out whether his dream would come anything close to reality... The thought made him hard so fast, comfort was obliterated on a long, potent surge of lust.

He stood and dumped her on the bed. Her eyes flickered open. “It’s calming down now.” She curled up in the fetal position and used the pillow as a cushion instead of him. He turned and made for the door as a whole lot more creamy thigh was exposed. Mother of God .

Back in the main cabin, he buckled himself in and stared out the window at the storm. He’d called this one—he had. It had been a bad idea. A bad idea that was getting worse every minute.

CHAPTER FOUR

FRANKIE WOKE WITH the instinctive feeling something was not quite right. Bright light beat an assault against the throb behind her eyes. Her head felt fuzzy... heavy .

She closed her eyes harder against the overwhelming light. She must have forgotten to close the blinds. And on a morning when she had a blinding headache... Great .

A low, insistent hum beneath her ear made her frown. Were they renovating the brownstone across the street again ? The floor dipped beneath her, riding a stream of air. Floors don’t move unless you live in California . Her eyes sprang open. The light streaming in was coming from tiny oval windows, a world of blue flowing by. She wasn’t in her bedroom; she was in the Grant Industries jet on her way to London. And it was morning.

Her gaze flew to the watch on her arm— 8:00 a.m. Oh, lord .

Pieces of the night before assembled themselves in her head. That awful thunder and lightning storm... The way the jet had been tossed around like a toy airplane, subjected to God’s fury. That pill of her sister’s she’d taken that had knocked the lights out of her...

Oh, no . Her heart plummeted. The rest of it she didn’t want to remember. Her boss carrying her in here in the middle of that madness because she’d been half passed out. Him putting her to bed. Him holding her...

She buried her face in the pillow. She’d clung to him like a woman possessed. So far from the independent, strong woman she was it made her cringe to think of it. Made her cringe to think she’d given him yet another reason to think her less than competent.

Heat flooded her face. Tessa would never have put herself in that position. Tessa would have been cool as a cucumber in the face of almost certain aeronautic death.

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