Read Online Leopold: Part Four by Ember Casey, Renna Peak - Free Book Online
Authors: Ember Casey, Renna Peak
Ads: Link
as she climbs the steps in front of me—I’m supposed to be a gentleman, after all—but I don’t manage very well.
When we reach the cabin, she stops just inside the door.
I’ll be the first to claim that the interior of my personal plane is quite impressive. My father gave me this plane when I turned eighteen, but I’ve had the interior redesigned twice in the years since as my tastes matured. It’s currently decorated in a contemporary style. One side of the cabin serves as a lounging area—complete with modern cushioned chairs and a sofa that slides out into the most comfortable of beds, all upholstered in soft, pale gray leather. The other side offers many conveniences—a kitchen and bar, a large closet, and even a desk for those times I’m feeling particularly responsible. The walls of the cabin are a shade lighter than the sofa and chairs, and the carpet beneath our feet is plush and ivory in hue. I designed the whole thing to be modern but also inviting and tranquil—the sort of place that encourages you to kick off your shoes and sink into comfort.
Elle steps forward, looking around her. Her face is impassible, so I stay at the door, waiting to see how she reacts.
She walks slowly down the length of the cabin, every so often reaching out to touch something—brushing her fingers along the marble countertop of the bar, running her hand across the back of one of the lounge chairs. She pauses at the desk, where I left a couple of books I’d been attempting to read on the flight over. I’ve always enjoyed reading—though I admit I much prefer making my own adventures in the world—but even books couldn’t distract me these past few months.
She stops again at the small table near the far end of the room, where Matthias—on my orders—has left two dozen crimson roses and a chilled bottle of the finest champagne.
Finally, I can’t take it any longer.
“What do you think?” I ask her.
She turns slowly back toward me. Her lips open and close, and her gaze floats around the room once more before coming to rest on me again.
“I’m sure you’ve impressed a lot of women with this plane,” she says finally.
I take a careful step forward. “I don’t want to talk about other women, Elle. What do you think?”
She glances over at the sofa. “I’ve never been on a plane like this before. It’s interesting.”
Interesting. In most circumstances, that would hardly be considered an insult, but I refuse to let her see how much the word stings me. Her face still hasn’t betrayed a hint of emotion, and I take another step forward.
“Out of curiosity,” she says, “how many women have you had on this plane?”
This is not a line of questioning I intend to let her pursue.
“There is only one woman I’m interested in right now, Elle,” I tell her, taking another step forward. “And I don’t intend to talk about anyone else today.”
“It’s not that simple,” she says. “You can’t just show me your fancy plane and give me roses and expect me to forget about who you are or that you’ve done this for a hundred women before me.”
Another step. “That’s not my expectation at all. I’m giving you these things simply because I want to. Because you deserve to be treated to a day of luxury. You spend your entire life giving to other people—your patients, your brother, your past lovers—and yet you refuse to let anyone give anything to you.”
She frowns. “It’s too much. I’m not the sort of girl who needs roses and champagne.”
“Nobody needs those things.” Another step. “And that’s exactly why I want you to have them. They’re purely frivolous. Things to have and enjoy entirely for the pleasure of having and enjoying them.”
I’ve reached the closet, and I stop, reaching out to the door. Perhaps it is too much to keep lavishing her with gifts—considering she’s resistant to accept something as simple as roses—but on the other hand, I refuse to let her act
When we reach the cabin, she stops just inside the door.
I’ll be the first to claim that the interior of my personal plane is quite impressive. My father gave me this plane when I turned eighteen, but I’ve had the interior redesigned twice in the years since as my tastes matured. It’s currently decorated in a contemporary style. One side of the cabin serves as a lounging area—complete with modern cushioned chairs and a sofa that slides out into the most comfortable of beds, all upholstered in soft, pale gray leather. The other side offers many conveniences—a kitchen and bar, a large closet, and even a desk for those times I’m feeling particularly responsible. The walls of the cabin are a shade lighter than the sofa and chairs, and the carpet beneath our feet is plush and ivory in hue. I designed the whole thing to be modern but also inviting and tranquil—the sort of place that encourages you to kick off your shoes and sink into comfort.
Elle steps forward, looking around her. Her face is impassible, so I stay at the door, waiting to see how she reacts.
She walks slowly down the length of the cabin, every so often reaching out to touch something—brushing her fingers along the marble countertop of the bar, running her hand across the back of one of the lounge chairs. She pauses at the desk, where I left a couple of books I’d been attempting to read on the flight over. I’ve always enjoyed reading—though I admit I much prefer making my own adventures in the world—but even books couldn’t distract me these past few months.
She stops again at the small table near the far end of the room, where Matthias—on my orders—has left two dozen crimson roses and a chilled bottle of the finest champagne.
Finally, I can’t take it any longer.
“What do you think?” I ask her.
She turns slowly back toward me. Her lips open and close, and her gaze floats around the room once more before coming to rest on me again.
“I’m sure you’ve impressed a lot of women with this plane,” she says finally.
I take a careful step forward. “I don’t want to talk about other women, Elle. What do you think?”
She glances over at the sofa. “I’ve never been on a plane like this before. It’s interesting.”
Interesting. In most circumstances, that would hardly be considered an insult, but I refuse to let her see how much the word stings me. Her face still hasn’t betrayed a hint of emotion, and I take another step forward.
“Out of curiosity,” she says, “how many women have you had on this plane?”
This is not a line of questioning I intend to let her pursue.
“There is only one woman I’m interested in right now, Elle,” I tell her, taking another step forward. “And I don’t intend to talk about anyone else today.”
“It’s not that simple,” she says. “You can’t just show me your fancy plane and give me roses and expect me to forget about who you are or that you’ve done this for a hundred women before me.”
Another step. “That’s not my expectation at all. I’m giving you these things simply because I want to. Because you deserve to be treated to a day of luxury. You spend your entire life giving to other people—your patients, your brother, your past lovers—and yet you refuse to let anyone give anything to you.”
She frowns. “It’s too much. I’m not the sort of girl who needs roses and champagne.”
“Nobody needs those things.” Another step. “And that’s exactly why I want you to have them. They’re purely frivolous. Things to have and enjoy entirely for the pleasure of having and enjoying them.”
I’ve reached the closet, and I stop, reaching out to the door. Perhaps it is too much to keep lavishing her with gifts—considering she’s resistant to accept something as simple as roses—but on the other hand, I refuse to let her act
Similar Books
