Sugar Daddy (Travis Family #1)(107)

I hoped I was right.

I'd planned to take a cab to my next stop, a small public airport about seven miles away, but a limo driver was waiting for me in baggage claim. He held up a sign with the handwritten letters JONES. I approached him tentatively. "Are you by chance looking for Liberty Jones?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"That would be me."

I guessed Churchill had arranged for the ride, either out of thoughtfulness, or the fear that I couldn't have managed to get a cab by myself. Travis men are nothing if not overprotective.

The driver helped me with my suitcase, a Hartmann tweed Gretchen had loaned me and helped pack. It was stuffed with light wool pants and a skirt, some white shirts, my silk scarf, and two cashmere sweaters she swore she had no use for. Optimistically I had also packed an evening dress and heels. There was a brand-new passport in my purse, along with Gage's, which his secretary had provided.

It was nearly dusk by the time I was dropped off at the small airport, which had two runways, a snack bar, and nothing remotely resembling a control tower. I noticed how different the air smelled in North Carolina, salty and soft and green.

There were seven aircraft on the ground, two small and five midsized, one of them the Travises' Gulfstream. Next to a yacht, the most blatant exhibition of extreme wealth is a private jet. The superrich have planes with showers, private bedrooms, and wood-paneled workstations, along with fancy stuff like gold-plated cup holders.

But the Travises, mindful of maintenance costs, had been conservative by Texan standards. That's sort of a joke if you've ever seen their Gulfstream, a luxury long-range aircraft fitted with fiddleback mahogany and soft wool carpeting. Also leather swivel seats, a plasma TV, and a curtained-off divan that folds out into a queen-sized bed.

I boarded the plane and met the pilot and copilot. While they sat in the cockpit. I had a soda and waited nervously for Gage. I practiced a speech, a hundred versions, searching for the right words to make Gage understand how I felt.

I heard someone boarding the plane, and my pulse went crazy and the speech flew right out of my head.

Gage didn't see me at first. He looked grim and tired, dropping a shiny black briefcase into the nearest seat, rubbing the back of his neck as if it were sore.

"Hey," I said softly.

His head turned, and his face went blank as he saw me. "Liberty. What are you doing here?"

I felt an overwhelming rush of love for him, more love than I could contain, rising off me like heat. God, he was beautiful. I groped for words. "I.. .1 decided on Paris."

A long silence passed. "Paris."

"Yes, you know you asked me if I...well, I called the pilot yesterday. I told him I

wanted to surprise you."

"You did."

"He's worked everything out so we can leave straight from here. Right now. If you want." I offered him a hopeful smile. "I've got your passport."

Gage removed his jacket, taking his time about it. I was reassured by the way he seemed to fumble a little as he laid the garment over a seat back. "So now you're ready to go somewhere with me."

My voice was thick with emotion. "I'm ready to go anywhere with you."

He looked at me with brilliant gray eyes, and I caught my breath as a slow smile curved his lips. Loosening his tie, he began to approach me.

"Wait," I choked out. "I have to tell you something."

Gage stopped. "Yes?"

"Churchill told me about the Medina deal. It was my fault—I'm the one who tipped Hardy off about it. I had no idea that he would...I'm sorry." My voice broke. "I'm so sorry."

Gage reached me in two strides. "It's all right. No. damn it. don't start crying."

"I would never do anything to hurt you—"

"I know you wouldn't. Hush. Hush." He hauled me close, wiping at my tears with his fingers.

"I was so stupid. I didn't realize—why didn't you say anything to me about it?"

"I didn't want you to worry. I knew it wasn't your fault. I should have made certain you understood it was confidential."

I was stunned by his belief in me. "How could you be so sure I didn't do it on purpose?"

He cradled my face in his hands and smiled into my streaming eyes. "Because I know you. Liberty Jones. Don't cry, sweetheart, you're killing me."

"I'll make it up to you, I swear—"

"Shut up," Gage said tenderly, and kissed me with a blistering heat that made my knees buckle. I wrapped my arms around his neck, forgetting the reason for tears, forgetting everything but him. He kissed me over and over, deeper, until we both staggered in the aisle, and he was forced to brace a hand on one of the seats to keep us from falling over. And the plane wasn't even moving. His breath rushed fast and hot against my cheek as he drew back enough to whisper, "What about the other guy?"

My eyes half closed as I felt the heel of his hand brush the side of my breast. "He's the past," I managed to say. "You're the future."

"Damn right I am." Another deeply uncivilized kiss, full of fire and tenderness, promising more than I could begin to take in. All I could think was that a lifetime with this man wouldn't be nearly enough. He pulled away with an unsteady laugh and said, "There's no getting away from me now, Liberty. This is it."