Three and a Half Weeks(142)

Chapter 41




The plane slowly rolls into the next position in the queue for takeoff at the private airfield. Glancing at his watch, he figures it should only be a few more minutes. He rotates his neck and flexes his arms and legs, trying in various ways to relax but every nerve feels stretched like a taut rope, with zero slack. Daniel, he needs to speak to him. Somehow, over a very short period of time, Ian had begun to rely heavily on the other man’s judgment. For the first time perhaps in his life, he feels he has a friend whom he can actually trust.

While the jet sits waiting for clearance, Ian calls Daniel in New York. Though he might be mistaken, he gets the impression that Daniel is always up for a confrontation with a bad guy and Ian seems to have no shortage of them lately.

“Hey, Ian. What’s going on?”

“Daniel. I’m on a plane right now, on my way to New York. Are you in town?”

“I am.”

“Good. Are you in the mood for some face time with the Russian mob?”

“Always.”

Ian laughs. He knew he’d go for it. “I’ll call you when I touch down and we’ll meet. This matter pertains to our friend Phillips, of course.”

“I might have guessed. Call me when you get in and we’ll make a plan.”

“Good enough. Until then.” He disconnects, satisfied he’s found a kindred spirit in Mr. Butler.



Ian had told Ella he had a plan; that was a total lie. Truth was, he had no idea what to do, short of multiple murders. If he finagled to get Natasha and the rest of her clan deported, then what? He would give them even more reason to regroup and come at him again. What the hell could he do?

Thank God that Ella had no idea the brothers and Natasha were affiliated with the Russian mob. She was worried enough about him thinking they were just troublemakers. He hoped he didn’t let on just how agitated he himself was because he was direly conflicted about how to handle this provocative situation.

He leans back in the comfortable leather seat of his Gulfstream. Something begins to slip off his lap and he jerks up, just catching his iPad before it falls to the floor. Reminded that Ella had written him an email letter and compiled a playlist, he turns on the machine. As soon as he reads her words, his chest constricts with emotion, making him wish he could hold her right this minute. As he scrolls past to head to iTunes for her song compilation, his eye catches the books downloaded on his reader, one book in particular. With a devilish grin, he opens the one that snared his attention: Three and a Half Weeks, by Ariel Strong. Almost unbelievably, he never got around to reading it before. Maybe this flight wouldn’t be so interminable after all.



It was nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds before I could lock the doors to close the shop for the night when in walks a man in an espresso-brown business suit, the most gorgeous man who’d ever fallen to earth. Thus begins the story of my three and a half weeks with a tall, dark (emphasis on dark), handsome stranger (emphasis on stranger).



She has his full attention now. He continues to read the book she wrote, the “fictional” story about her three and a half weeks with a kinky man and a dungeon full of whips and toys.

He reads the whole book in four hours and by the time he puts the iPad down, he has a vicious hard-on. Damn, he’s going to have to either live with it or take care of it on his own. No wonder Ella’s book was a bestseller: she has a knack for making a scene come alive with hotness. He laughs, thinking of all the girls and women who got their panties wet while reading about his and Ella’s escapades over the course of that time. Three visits to his dungeon, yes, but there were many more nights in beds, his and hers. Yes, they’d made good use of their limited time together.

Limited. He lost her after that last time in the dungeon. For a long while the experience and its cost made him never want to use a whip again. Now, though, it was different. He and Ella were secure, engaged to be married—they were in love. Would she want to venture into deeper waters with him now? He wonders.

Ella had made light of that last scene in her novel: she’d obviously wanted to keep the book from descending into too dark or depressing a realm. Still, reading between the lines, her trauma bleeds through. When Rafe (his alter-ego) whips Gia (Ella’s alter-ego), she leaves him, too, but they reunite at the end. Did Ella wish for that conclusion all along? If so, he’s been playing by the book unwittingly.



Rafe was in a strange mood that day. Insisting we play, he enthusiastically escorted me to the dungeon and waited impatiently outside while I “situated” myself, as he euphemistically put it. In plainer language, I was to demean myself by stripping naked and kneeling in supplication to await his exalted presence. He could take one minute or a half hour to get to me. The suspense, so he told me, was all part of my fun.