One million dollars -- a dream come true for struggling college student Ashlynn Morgan. All she has to do is sign on the dotted line and agree to become surrogate mother for CEO multi billionaire Felix Dunnerson and his wife Deborah.
Yet, during th...
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My body still buzzes from my high when we pull up next to a small plane. My jaw drops. The words "oh my god, you got a plane?" are only revealed by a gurgle. As CEO and main shareholder of a global corporation with billions of dollars in annual turnover, what else did I expect? I should've known that he has his own jet at his disposal.
"This is my Gulfstream G650." A certain pride accompanies the jutting of his chin.
"It's cool," I manage to mutter, still trying to get over the shock that he's taking me out of town on his own freaking airplane. Even that bitch Madeline Price would probably be green of envy.
When I step inside the cabin, I blink twice before pinching my arm to ensure I haven't snoozed off. The whole interior is dominantly kept in white leather with some accentuating black corners. The wrap around couch in the shape of a horseshoe is not only incredibly huge but looks very comfortable.
"Do you like it?" Felix wraps his arms around me from behind, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder.
"It's—" I swallow. "It's—"
"Yes."
"You got a freaking fireplace."
He laughs. "It's not real but electric. You couldn't have a real fire on an airplane."
"Still, it looks like the real thing." I can't take my eyes of the lavish elegance of the interior—it's like I'm living in someone else's dream. Another pinch in my arm, harder this time, confirms I'm not.
"What's in the back?" I point to the narrow double doors next to the fireplace and the bar.
"It's the bedroom."
"You got a separate bedroom?" This time, my jaw stays unhinged.
"I have to fly a lot for business overseas, so sleeping on the plane is the most efficient use of my time."
"Can I see it?"
This time, the chuckle is streaked with huskiness. "I thought we'd have dinner first."
"I didn't mean it like that." I nudge him in the ribs when his arousal presses against my behind. "Of course we can eat first."
"After you, milady."
When his lips briefly brush my neck just below my earlobe, his heated breath tingles on my skin. The gentle touch tears harshly at my defenses; now, I wish I had insisted on seeing the bedroom.
He keeps his hand on the small of my back as he guides me along the couch. A table is set by the window, the crystal glasses alone look more expensive than my aunt's entire dish set. Pulling out the chair for me, he hands me my napkin before taking his own seat. Out of nowhere, a stewardess appears.
"Good evening, Mr. Dunnerson. Can I offer you and your guest an aperitive?"
