A Taste of Heaven (Billionaires' Secrets Book 3) (20 page)

His voice emerged huskier than he intended. “We’ll live like nomads, then.”

“But what about the kids’ schooling?” She swallowed. “I know it’s a bit premature, but—”

“We’ll homeschool them. My mom did that for me a lot of the time and I turned out okay. It’ll be fun. They’ll be at home wherever we go. Don’t worry about trying to be ‘normal’ and to fit in with other people and their expectations. It’s much more fun to just be
you.
”

“You’re right, of course.” She inhaled and tucked a soggy strand of hair sheepishly behind her ears. “I’ve been painting.”

“I know. Margo told me you’re blowing people’s minds right, left and center. She thinks you’re one of the major talents of the twenty-first century.”

Sam blushed, even in the rain, and tried to wave her hand. “That’s ridiculous! They’re just paintings. Representational. Totally unfashionable.”

Louis just held her tighter, inhaling the rich, glorious scent of her and feeling for her warmth through her wet clothes. “Fashion means nothing when it comes to true beauty, Sam. That’s what you have and what you create in the world around you. You’ve gotten lost a couple of times, and so have I...” He drew in a breath as emotion threatened to choke
him
“But I love you, Sam. And I know that as long as you and I stick together, we’ll find our way somewhere wonderful.” Sam blinked at him, eyes glistening with hope and fear and so much more. “I love you, too, Louis. I tried not to, or at least not to love you in this way, but I couldn’t help it.”

She paused, and a smile flickered across her mouth. “And now I choose the road that leads into bed with you every night.”

“We’d better make sure that bed has a roof over it, tonight.” He looked up at the sky, dark with clouds spitting rain over the whole watery world. “I’ve got dry clothes at the cabin.”

Mischief flickered in Sam’s eyes. “I don’t think we’ll be needing those.”

A jolt of lust shot straight to his groin. “I like the way you think.”

He turned and tugged at the cord on the outboard motor and the engine grumbled to life. With one arm around Sam, Louis guided the boat through the familiar yet ever-changing waters.

To his favorite place, with his favorite person in the whole world.

THE END

Have you read Jennifer Lewis’
Desert Kings
series? If not, read on for the novella
Stranded with the Sheikh
.

Join the new release newsletter at
www.jenlewis.com
.

Desert Kings

Three brothers return to claim their thrones in remote and beautiful Ubar after their estranged father dies and divides his kingdom between them.

In
Veronica
– Stranded with the Sheikh
, shy architect Veronica Baxter finds herself on a jet with dangerously charming Zadir Al Kilanjar, heir to the throne of Ubar. When their plane crashes in the deserted Empty Quarter, they search for a way to escape—and discover each other.

Novella: Veronica - Stranded with the Sheikh FREE!

Book 1: Osman - Rescued by the Sheikh

Book 2: Zadir - Bought for the Sheikh

Novella: A Christmas Wedding

Book 3: Gibran - Return of the Rebel Sheikh

Book 4: Amahd - Captivated by the Sheikh

Boxed set with all six Desert Kings books

1

A
ll taut, tanned muscle and flashing blue eyes, Zadir Al Kilanjar was trouble. Ronnie Baxter could see that from a mile away. Right now she sat only a few feet away across the aisle of a private jet, flying from one business meeting in Dubai to another in Bahrain. For the first hour of the flight, she’d buried herself in a thriller, while he scrolled and typed on a sleek piece of technology.

“Veronica, right?” His deep voice penetrated the silence of the cabin.

She steeled herself to meet his gaze. “Yes.” She didn’t know him well enough to tell him that everyone called her Ronnie. He might think she liked him or something.

“Am I imagining things or did the engine just cut out?”

She tugged her earbuds out. She used them to block out the outside world more often than she cared to admit. The cabin hum sounded normal to her. She glanced out the window at the forbidding desert below. “We’re still flying.”

“I suppose we are.” He flexed his arms, pulling his white T-shirt tight over a broad chest. It really wasn’t right for a man to look that good when he stretched. “I feel like we should be there by now.”

She tugged her eyes from his hard, flat stomach. “It’s difficult for me to judge. This is my first trip to the Arabian peninsula and everywhere seems to be thousands of miles apart with nothing but sand in between.”

“Not on this flight.” She noticed the slight dimple in his left cheek. Definitely trouble. Cute slightly British accent, too. “We’re going from one part of the coast to the other.”

She turned and frowned at the dunes below. “Then shouldn’t we be near water?”

“Yes. If you see land it means we’re coming down any minute.”

A nasty feeling snuck over her and she put down her e-reader. “Look out the window.”

He gave her a curious glance. He’d pulled down the blind on his side before takeoff and sat in the aisle seat. He probably traveled so often that he found the spectacular earth-from-space view routine. No doubt the region’s perpetual sunshine was simply annoying screen glare. He leaned over, giving her an uncomfortably intimate view of his sculpted backside, jerked up the blind and peered out the oval porthole on the far side. “Holy shit.”

He turned back quickly. “It looks like we’re over the Rub’ Al Khali. The Empty Quarter.”

Another glance out her window confirmed the view of nothing but peaks and valleys of sand, blistering blue sky pressed down against them. The harsh sun cast shards of light off the plastic plane window. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re flying the wrong way. Bahrain is on the coast. Let me go talk to the pilot.” He put his tablet on the seat next to him and rose. Her eyes followed his broad shoulders as he strode purposefully down the short aisle toward the cockpit.

She hadn’t wanted to come here, but oil billionaires made good architecture clients, at least if you were ambitious and wanted to create something bold and powerful, not just another craftsman-style house on a suburban hill. Earlier today, she’d met with a brokerage owner in Dubai who wanted a landmark headquarters. Now she was on her way to attend the wedding of a man she’d met once, who wanted her to design a coastal retreat for him and his new bride in Bahrain. More money than God, apparently, so worth her time and effort.

Zadir struggled with the handle on the cockpit door. “It won’t open.” He banged with his fist.

Panic surged through her, and she rose to her feet. “Maybe he’s dead? Or unconscious?” They weren’t all that high above the dunes.

“Sit down and buckle in.” Grim determination had replaced Zadir’s flirtatious expression. He pulled his billfold out of his back pocket, used a credit card to trip the lock, then burst in. Within seconds he yelled out. “The pilot’s gone. Get up here.”

The shock of his brusque order stung for a split second before his words sank in.

The pilot’s gone.

Heart pounding, she fumbled with her seat belt, then sprang to her feet. Where could he go? She hurried down the aisle and pushed into the bright cockpit, with its intimidating array of dials and levers.

“A window is missing. It’s not broken, either. The frame’s been unscrewed. It must have been deliberately removed.” Zadir was scanning the equipment, peering at the lettering on the controls. She glanced about and saw one of the side windows completely gone.

“How come we’re not being sucked out?”

“Low altitude. He wasn’t sucked out either. He must have jumped some time after takeoff.”

It was hard to believe. She searched the tiny cockpit for signs that he was there, hiding, waiting to spring out at them, but it was too small for even a cockroach to hide. The missing window scared her. She could feel a breeze and didn’t want to go any closer. “Do you know how to steer it back?”

Zadir didn’t turn from the dashboard. “We won’t make it back. Or anywhere else, either. We’re out of fuel.” He pointed to the gauge, which was below the E for empty. “Right now we’re gliding.”

She gulped. “What do we do?”

“I tried to send a Mayday on the radio, but it’s been disabled. He must have cut the wires.”

“Why?” her voice came out a frightened whisper.

“I don’t know, but we need to get this thing down safely before it loses momentum.”

“Here in the desert?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Do you know how to land a plane?”

“I’ve taken a couple of lessons, and the controls are pretty standard.”

A couple of lessons?
The missing window gave a crystal-clear view of hot blue sky and hotter amber sands. Panic quickened her breath and made her hand spring to her mouth as if to stifle a scream.

Zadir grabbed her shoulder. “Keep your head. Sit down and buckle in. Assume the crash position.” He was already buckling into the pilot’s seat. “The good thing is that the sand should make for a fairly soft landing and there’s no fuel to start a fire.”

“Comforting.” Her fingers trembled so much she had a hard time closing her buckle. “I hope the plane doesn’t break up on landing.”

“Me too.”

Although he’d told her to put her head down, she couldn’t take her eyes off the windshield as he guided the plane lower, and the dunes rose up toward them. A scream tickled the back of her throat while he struggled to keep their course straight and the ground rushed toward them.

“Brace!”

She pressed her head to her knees before a jarring, bumping, rolling motion seized the cabin as the plane sledded across the desert floor. They came to a complete standstill in seconds, not like the long taxiing at an airport. She lifted her head gingerly. “We’re down?”

“Yup. And still alive.” He smiled.

A wave of relief washed over her. She’d survived a plane crash thanks to this man. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’re probably hundreds of miles from anywhere. We need to find a way to get out of here.”

He climbed out of his seat and headed back into the cabin. The plan had landed at an angle so he grabbed at the seats as he made his way down the aisle and pulled a phone from his bag. “I’m going to try to call for help, but I don’t have high hopes since we are quite literally in the middle of nowhere.”

She pulled out her phone and looked for bars. None.

“Service is patchy even in the main city of my home country. We’re still catching up with the twentieth century out here, let alone the twenty-first.” He frowned, punching numbers into his phone. “Nothing.”

“Surely someone would notice the plane going off its planned route.”

“Except that this isn’t a Boeing 747 going from London to Paris. It’s a private corporate jet chartered by my friend Najib to carry us to his wedding.”

“Hopefully Mr. Al Makar will notice when we don’t show up.”

“He’d better. I’m his best man.” His blue eyes flashed grim humor. “But they won’t think to look for us out here in the desert. We’ll be lucky if anyone flies over at all.”

The air in the plane was getting hotter. “Do you think we should try to get outside?” She could see sand almost up to the level of the windows on one side and had a sudden vision of suffocating in there.

“Yes, but first let’s find out what we have for water and food. There should be water supplies on the plane for events such as this.” They dug through the area in the back of the plane that served as a small galley and discovered that the two five-gallon jugs of water that should have been secured there had been removed.

Deep foreboding clawed at her gut. “I’m starting to get a feeling that someone wants us dead.”

“Or wants me dead, and you have the bad luck to be with me.” His chiseled features tightened. “My brother Osman has suspected some kind of conspiracy against our family since our father died.” He looked right at her. “My father was king of a country you’ve probably never heard of.”

“Ubar.” She knew more about Zadir Al Kilanjar than she cared to admit, due to her weakness for celebrity gossip. “I read about his death in the paper, and that he divided the kingdom among his three sons.”

He nodded. “Can’t say I was too happy about it. In general, I prefer the Left Bank of Paris to the empty desert. Damn, there’s no food, either.” The mini-fridge was empty, not even an ice cube in the tiny freezer compartment.

“I have some water in my bag.” She walked back to her seat, balancing herself on the seat backs. She had four small bottles of Evian and a big mister of spring water.

“What’s the spray bottle for?” He joined her.

“My skin gets dry on airplanes.” She felt a little embarrassed by it. “Spritzing it feels really good.” She fished around the bottom of her bag and pulled out a bag of cashews and an energy bar. “But this is all the food I have.”

“I’m glad you’re a good traveler. I don’t even have a single peanut or a drop of water.”