The Billionaire's Allure (3 page)

“Ah…”

“The promenade gourmande,” Adamson said.

“Excellent choice.” The maître d’ disappeared in the same direction as the waiter.

“It’s a bit of everything,” Adamson said. “I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”

“Um, thank you.”

The waiter returned with a silver serving platter. “The fois gras.”

A white plate held a circular portion of caramel colored meat, shot through with spices and seared on the sides. Succulent juices beaded on the surface of the hand’s width of still sizzling meat. Fresh herbs and vegetables lay in a circle of red sauce.

“What is the sauce today?” Adamson asked.

“We have pickled red onions with a sweet beet sauce.”

“Very well.” Adamson carved a portion of the meat and placed it on a bone white saucer that looked nearly translucent. He set the saucer before me and waited.

I cut off a corner with my fork and sampled it. It tasted like heaven--rich and meaty with an herbal undertone of rosemary and a smooth texture that melted on my tongue. “It’s amazing.”

“Try the sauce.” He cut a portion for himself and added a few of the onions and beets to the side.

Seven courses later my tongue needed a vacation. Such a profusion of tastes and textures. And between every course, we sampled a new wine. I was afraid to stand, for fear of wobbling, and I had barely sipped each glass.

“So before dinner you were telling me about how you were planning to abandon the company in a year?” He had a twinkle in his eye that made me think he wasn’t entirely serious.

“Well, of course. Use the company for a year, then kick it to the curb once I had my fill. The way of the world, right?”

“What are you trying to imply, Miss Wilson?”

I glanced away. It was too hard to keep up a playful façade when I was so nervous. “Nothing. I just wanted to go to law school or be in a place that made me happy. A place where I could do some good.”

“I see. Well, I have a proposition for you. I need a personal assistant.”

I took another sip of my water and realized the glass was already empty. “So hire a secretary.” It slipped out, and immediately I regretted it. I would never have been so forward with him, with anyone I didn’t already know as a friend, but he made it so easy to feel like I’d already know him for years.

“I spend a fair portion of my time traveling and attending formal functions. I don’t think a secretary would do. I want someone beautiful and charming and intelligent. I want you, Miss Wilson.”

I blinked.
Beautiful and charming and intelligent? Who’s the charmer here, exactly.
“I…”

“You don’t need to answer immediately. Take a few hours and think about it. I assure you that the compensation would be most generous. And perhaps I could have a word with the admissions office at Georgetown.”

The first thing to spring to mind was “hell yes,” but what was the catch? Would he just use me, then throw me away? But what choice did I have? I needed a job, and at the moment I was in danger of not being able to make rent. On the other hand, I didn’t feel comfortable taking on the role of high class hooker; I didn’t care how rich he was. I would
not
be some man’s expensive prostitute. Just the thought of it made me want to shudder.
The stairwell was an aberration,
I told myself.
I am an intelligent, classy woman; I will not let any man think he owns me.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, at last.

“Excellent. Do you have other plans this evening?” He asked so politely, as if he really thought I might have something else more important. I couldn’t tell if it was an act, or if he really did care that I might have a busy night of
Law & Order
scheduled.

“I’m free.”

“The Discovery is at the Air and Space Museum now and I haven’t been to see it yet. Do you fancy a trip to the Smithsonian?”

“The space shuttle?”

He nodded.

“Is the museum open?”

He chuckled. “It is for us.”

The maître d’ came over to the table and took Adamson’s black credit card. He swiped it on a hand held scanner and handed it back. “Thank you for dining with us, sir. Have a wonderful evening.”

“You, too, Geordie.”

I followed Adamson out the back of the restaurant, far from the crowd, to a waiting limo.

***

The museum rose up, a great curving bluff of white illuminated by long splashes of light shining from the ground. It was so big that it didn’t even look like a hangar. A jet roared in the distance, and I peered out the window to see it crawl into the sky.

“Have you been here before?” Adamson asked.

“Yes. It’s not a coincidence that I worked for an aerospace company. I grew up at an FBO in upstate New York.”

The limo stopped before the catwalk-like awning. “Interesting.” Adamson and I climbed out of the door. The passenger window lowered a few inches. “I’ll call you when we’re finished,” Adamson said, to Thomas.

“So how are we going to get inside?” I asked, as we passed down the sidewalk.

“We’re going to knock on the door.” He rapped on the glass and waited.

“Do you know someone on the inside?”

“The company makes substantial donations. It conveys a few privileges.”

Must be some donations.
It made sense, though. The heritage the museum preserved was Adamson Aerospace’s heritage, too.

A security guard appeared a few moments later. “The museum is closed,” he said. Adamson took a business card from his pocket and held it to the glass. The guard’s eyes grew wide. “I’ll be right back.”

“He has to run it by his boss,” Adamson said.

“You’ve done this before?”

“A few times.”

“Do you bring all your dates here?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

I harrumphed at that. It was hard to tell if he was joking, or if it was a glimpse of his true character.

“So whose card was that?” I asked.

“The museum director’s.”

Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?
The guard returned and unlocked the door. “My boss said to give you the run of the place.” His hands shook as he locked the door behind us.

“Thank you,” Adamson peered at the guard’s nametag, “Jake.” He took my hand and led me through the atrium, toward the nose of the SR-71
.
“You said you grew up at an FBO?”

“My dad ran a little airport by Plattsburgh.”

“So do you fly?” We stopped before the rakish black jet.

“Not anymore. I had an instrument rating, but I’m not current.” I walked around, admiring the curves on the 71. Seen from above it looked terribly phallic, but from the ground it was more like an obsidian knife.

“That’s too bad. Why did you stop?”

“My parents were in a crash.” I spoke more softly. “It was fatal. I lost the urge after that.”

“I see.” He stepped closer to me and looked deep into my eyes as if he was searching for something.

“It’s been eight years.” I swallowed hard. This wasn’t the time to dredge up those emotions. “I used to love flying, though. The sense of freedom when you’re bobbing along by yourself with nothing around but the clouds and the birds is amazing. I keep telling myself that when I get out of law school, I’ll get back into it.” I pointed to the Blackbird. “This thing still gives me a thrill every time I see it.”

“My father contracted some of the avionics in it. He worked directly with the Skunkworks back in the 60s.”

“No kidding?”
If your dad worked for Lockheed, how did you get that accent?

“It wasn’t long after he started the company.” Adamson sighed. “I’ve never gotten my own license. It’s always business travel, and the company keeps a pair of pilots on payroll.”

“You should at least learn the basics. If your pilot has a heart attack, you’d be able to land.”

“You might be right.” He stared in the distance, quiet for a few moments. “I think the Discovery is down here.” He led us around a corner and toward a door marked staff only. He slowed down just enough to make sure he wouldn’t slam into it if it were locked, then pushed on through.

The first thing I noticed was a faint smell of paint, but then I saw the shuttle. It was breathtaking. At nearly 60 yards long, it dominated the hangar where it was stored. “It looks so rough,” I said.

“They’re restoring it.” He walked around to the far side and stopped at the foot of a ladder. “Do you want to look inside?”

I looked at him like he was crazy. It was scandalous enough to even be in the building, and he wanted to sneak into the space shuttle? “Should we?”

“We’re here. Why not?” He motioned for me to go up first.

My chest tightened. It felt like I was stealing or something. The metal was cold, and I could feel my nipples start to tingle. I glanced down, expecting to see Adamson looking up my dress, but his eyes were glued to the shuttle.
Maybe he’s not just after my body.

The ladder turned into a walkway that extended over the cargo bay of the shuttle. I stopped and let Adamson catch up.

“Go on down,” he said.

I nodded.
This is so wrong.
My pulse fluttered as I climbed down into the cargo bay. It was hard to walk in it in my heels. The floor curved and there were tools scattered around. I picked my way forward toward an open hatch that protruded from the front on of the shuttle. “Do you want to go all the way inside?” I asked Adamson.

His eyes twinkled. “We’re here.”

I crawled through the airlock tunnel and stepped out onto the middle deck of the crew area. If I had thought my apartment was small, I had a new appreciation for the term “space-saving.”

Adamson came through behind me and stopped with his hands on my hips. “Imagine being stuck in here with four other people for two weeks.” His hands squeezed my hips, lifting me up. He pulled me in closer as if he was showing me his point. My cheeks flushed.

“I don’t know if I could do it,” I said.

He released my hips and slid his hands down to my thighs.

“Let’s go up to the flight deck,” Adamson said. This time he went up the ladder first.

I took off my shoes and followed. Those steps were too narrow to attempt in heels. I needed to keep up with him if I wanted a glimpse of that perfect ass of his. Unlike him my eyes were all over his body.

The upper deck was even more cramped than the lower. It was a lot messier, too. Boxes of avionics lay scattered across the front of the cabin, some in the pilots’ seats, some half hanging out of their compartments. Diagrams and tools were set haphazardly among the electronics.

I pressed in close to Adamson. He moved aside and slipped an arm around me. “It’s really something, isn’t it?”

It definitely was something, alright. The material moved beneath his crotch. I peeked around, pretending like I was admiring the shuttle, but actually checking out other parts of him. A thick bulge pointed sideways. My throat caught.
God, he’s hard as a rock. And huge.
My nub began to heat.

Strong hands gripped my arms and turned me toward him. His lips crushed into mine as I felt his hand secure my ass with a tight squeeze. His other hand lifted up my dress and traced the crease at the small of my back. Reaction took my body and my hands sought his bulging cock. One word from me and we’d be on our way back to the limo, but I wanted to taste him. Instead, I tilted my head back and met his lips.

Being wanted by a man like Aaron Adamson would make any girl tingle at the thought. Charming, handsome, beautiful. Rich hardly played into it, not in the moment.

He ran his lips along my neck. “I’ve been thinking about this since yesterday.” Fingers worked the muscles in the small of my back. “The smoothness of your skin. Your smell.”

I swallowed hard, still trying to decide if this was what I wanted. My body wanted it. I could feel the warmth, the moistness. My nipples were hard again, and it wasn’t the cold. He wasn’t my boss anymore. Why shouldn’t I enjoy myself?

His lips brushed my earlobe and along my jaw. The roughness of his close cropped beard contrasted with the softness of his lips. He kissed the corner of my mouth. “I want to feel your lips on me,” he whispered.

His manhood flexed beneath my touch as I unbuttoned his pants. I slithered down his body, rubbing my breasts over his chest. I crouched before him, my dress spreading wide, and pulled his member free.

He smelled clean and manly. His member was so thick and so long. The bulbous crown seemed so big. I imagined it inside my pussy, stroking along my g-spot, and creamed myself. I traced a finger over his glans, feeling the velvet crown, and followed up with my tongue. He tasted as clean as he smelled.

He shuddered and a breath hissed out. A groan echoed from deep in his chest. I flicked my tongue under the tip, back and forth across the sensitive skin. Then I eased him deeper. My head bobbed up and down the length of his shaft. I could feel the exterior smoothness and underlying texture with my lips.

I slipped my hand from his shaft into his pants and cupped his balls. His hands went to my head and grabbed my scalp. He pressed me closer, pushing his shaft deeper. I didn’t mind. I wanted him. All of him. He pushed into my throat, my muscles contracting, unaccustomed to the invasion. At first I wanted to panic, but when I realized I could breathe, I didn’t mind. I wanted him to come. I wanted to be the one that made him come.

My other hand slipped between my legs, under my dress. My fingers glided through my soaking folds and rubbed against my nub. I hardly had to touch myself before I was shuddering.

Adamson groaned. His fingers raked through my hair. His shaft flexed and he came, erupting into my mouth. I pulled back from him just enough that I wouldn’t choke, and swallowed everything, sucking every last drop of his juices.

My own orgasm rocketed through me as I sucked him. Billowing waves of pleasure rolled through every nerve in my body. At last, I pulled him free with a pop and gasped for breath. He hoisted me to my feet and we stood there, leaning against the wall of the space shuttle, panting for breath.

I smoothed my skirt as he buttoned his pants.

“You look exhausted,” he said. “Am I keeping you up too late?” His eyes glinted, as if he were toying with me.