“Mr. Moore, can I get you anything?” Sandra appeared almost out of thin air and leaned in close to him. The scent of her cloying perfume was suffocating.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” He gave a pointed look at the flight attendant and saw the expression on her face. It was one he had seen countless times. With the kind of wealth he had it was inevitable to attract attention of the sexual kind. Women flocked to him, despite his adamant arguments he was not interested. He may have accepted their company before he met Stellan, but since taking on his submissive lover there hadn’t been any other female or male who held his attention. That is, until he saw Blythe Winters in his office. He had known he wanted her before she even turned around and looked in his eyes. “Maybe Miss Winters would care for something? Another glass of champagne perhaps?” Blythe’s smile this time was genuine, and he felt something inside of him shift.
“I’m fine. Thank you, Mr. Moore.”
Dietrich didn’t know if he liked hearing “Sir” or “Mr. Moore” come from those pretty, red lips of hers. When he realized Sandra had yet to leave he waved her off and said, “Thank you, Sandra, but I think Miss Winters and I are content for the time being. If we need you I’ll be sure to call.”
“Yes, Sir.” Sandra turned and disappeared toward the back of the cabin and behind the galley door. Hearing the flight attendant use the same title Blythe used didn’t have the same effect on him.
“So, Miss Winters, I’d love to hear about your endeavors en pointe.” She looked down at her lap, and her dark blonde hair made a curtain around her face. He found he didn’t like her hiding what she felt from him. He leaned forward, knowing that he was overstepping the boundaries he set for himself, but unable to stop himself. He tilted her head up with his finger under her chin. Her light green eyes widened at his blatant close proximity. He brushed her hair away from one side and curled it around her tiny ear. He let his finger trail over the delicate shell, marveling that her flesh was soft and smelt of soap and something lightly floral.
“Mr. Moore?” His name came from her as a whisper, and he found his gaze trained on his mouth. “What are you doing?” There was uneasiness in her voice, and that sound is what had him realizing what he was doing. He let go of her and leaned back in his seat. The temptation to touch her had been too strong, and he had crossed a line because of his selfish needs. He would have Blythe Winters, and so would Stellan, but all of that was in due time. Pushing her too fast would only end up in pushing her farther back. That was something he wasn’t about to risk.
“I apologize, Miss Winters. That was completely inappropriate, but please don’t hide yourself from me.” He offered her a smile he hoped reassured her.
“It’s fine. Everything is fine.” She pushed her hair off her shoulders, and he wondered if he rattled her that badly. “My mother put me in ballet when I was five after my father … left. I guess she thought it would keep my mind off things and help me stay busy. I took to it pretty fast and stayed with it all through high school. I knew I wanted to continue with it, and so I decided to venture away from home and start fresh in New York.” Her voice was a bit shaky, and he wondered what had happened in her life and if she would trust him with her past. She took a deep breath and continued. “I started going to school and training when I first came to New York. Everything was going great, but then I hurt myself on stage, and it ended before it even really started.” She grabbed the blanket that sat on the empty seat beside her. “Nothing violent happened, and I didn’t have an affair with my instructor.” She was teasing, and he knew it was her way of deflecting from the seriousness of the topic. “I was practicing a pas de deux. Ballet is strenuous on the body to begin with. You get aches in places you didn’t even know existed.” She started picking at the hem of the blanket. “Long story short, my partner didn’t hold me in the right position, which resulted in me falling and landing awkwardly on my ankle. Needless to say my career was over. I stopped pointe altogether, even withdrawing from school.” She unfolded the blanket and laid it over her lap. “Okay, enough with the depressing topic, Mr. Moore.” She smiled, and it was filled with so much sorrow Dietrich regretted even bringing it up.
There were many things he wanted to say to her, things that would bring light to her eyes again and wash away the disappointment that poured from her. His reaction to her didn’t surprise him, not when he had felt just as strongly when he first met Stellan all those years ago. Dietrich relied on his gut and instincts to make multi-million dollar purchases. Those instincts never failed him, not with Stellan and certainly not with Blythe. He would teach her how to let go, to feel free and hand herself over to him with the trust he needed. Dietrich wouldn’t let her down. In fact, he would help her realize that she could be free if only she relinquished herself to him. She didn’t need to be burdened when he and Stellan could help her feel only pleasure, emotional and physical. He knew his lover as well as he knew himself, and if he had this strong of a reaction to Blythe then there was no question so would his sub.
Instead of continuing on with a subject that clearly upset her, he simply said, “Rest up, Miss Winters.” She nodded and let herself close her eyes. Maybe she realized how easy it was to obey? She certainly did it so well. He could see plainly that she was burdened with her emotions, but he would soon show her there was no need to carry them alone.
****
The plane landed a little after five a.m. local time, just as Walter said, and now they were headed toward Mr. Moore’s villa. The car that had been waiting for them was a sleek Mercedes. Blythe had only been to a few states, so flying across the ocean to another country was wondrous for her. Everything seemed so grand and wonderful, even with her jetlag weighing her down. She had woken up a few times during the night to see Mr. Moore typing away on his laptop, but he had been far too engrossed in what he was doing to notice her. He named off stunning buildings they passed on their drive to his home: Estátua de Dom Pedro IV, Santa Engrácia, and her favorite thus far, the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos. She wondered if he purposefully took the scenic route because they were spread out pretty well and it seemed a bit out of the way, but she wasn’t complaining because it was a spectacular sight.
The Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, a church, had sat beautifully alone, with its pointed tips and stunning architecture. Maybe she would have time to sightsee a bit, to walk within the castles and churches that had been around for hundreds of years? No, there probably wouldn’t be time for that, not with Mr. Moore’s chaotic schedule.
The rest of the ride was made in relative silence, and Mr. Moore spoke on the phone. His Portuguese was flawless, and Blythe found it quite romantic. Whoever he spoke to obviously was someone he cared for if his calm voice and gentle chuckles were anything to go by. Maybe it was his lover, or possibly a fling he met up with whenever he visited the country? She didn’t let it consume her thoughts and went back to watching the ocean roll by her. It was glorious and serene, and she let herself get lost in the pinks and oranges that painted the horizon. The break of the waves tumbled onto the shore, and the foamy white deposit it left in its wake made for a hypnotizing view. The car pulled onto a cobblestoned circular driveway, and Blythe marveled at the villa before her. The images she had seen certainly didn’t do it justice. The car stopped, and her door opened only moments later. She climbed out of the car and knew she probably looked like a tourist as she gawked at the gorgeous structure before her. The villa was more like a mansion, set right on the water. The sandy colored stone that made up the three story beach home was a few shades darker than the sand only a few feet away. Their driver, a tall, thin man going by the name of Francesco, had thinning wavy black hair and dark brown eyes. He talked quickly to Dietrich in Portuguese. The language was beautiful and haunting, and she felt herself get caught up in the melodic quality of it.
They followed Francesco up the wide front steps that led to the front door on the first level. Blythe let her hands travel over the wrought iron railing, the metal warmed from the sun. The first level housed a porch with dark brown patio furniture. The view was stunning even though the ocean was on the other side. Francesco pushed the all glass front door open, and she followed the two men inside. The chilled air from the air conditioner hit her, and she shivered. Her heels on the shined white granite beneath her feet sounded like a herd of elephants stampeding through. The two men started speaking quietly again, and Blythe took that time to walk around and get familiar with the home. To her left was a sitting room. The cream colored furniture and earthy tone décor complemented each other well, but it was the view that stole her breath. Every wall was made up of glass and made her feel as if she could reach out and touch the ocean. She walked farther into the sitting room and followed the small hallway to the right until she came across the dining room. Of course this room was gorgeous, too, but she ignored the expensive decorations and crystal chandelier and stopped in front of the glass French doors. She turned the brushed brass knobs, and the cool, ocean breeze hit her immediately when she pulled the doors open. A circular veranda was directly in front of her with an intimate al fresco sea view. To her left and right the walkway continued to what she assumed wrapped around the first level. Above her, another veranda wrapped around the third level. She stepped onto the stone outcropping and gripped the banister. Below her an infinity pool sat with a pool side gate that accessed the white sandy beach. She was in heaven, pure and simple.