“What’s this important acquisition you said you had coming up later this week?” Francesca asked once she was seated across from him on the plane and he bent to retrieve his computer from his briefcase.
“I’ve been wooing a particularly coy—well, actually, annoying-as-hell, to be honest—owner of a company for over a year now, and it appears that we’re finally getting to a compromise,” he said, opening his computer. “I’m not that interested in the company itself, but the deal includes a patent on a piece of software I absolutely require for this new social-media gaming venture I’m starting.” He glanced up at her and then apologetically at his computer. “Would you mind?”
“No, of course not,” Francesca said, meaning it. He may confuse and vex her, but she wasn’t so clingy that she constantly required his attention. He immediately plunged into work when they arrived on the plane, reading files, typing fleetly, and occasionally making a terse phone call.
Francesca learned from a message on her cell phone that Lin Soong had e-mailed her the “Illinois Rules of the Road” manual. When had Ian made the request of his assistant? Last night, while he’d been ignoring her after their romantic dinner?
Didn’t that mean he’d thought about her . . . even a bit?
And weren’t those precisely the kind of slavish thoughts a supposed submissive had, constantly gauging her world by whether or not her master was thinking about her, whether or not he was pleased by her?
Disgusted by the mere idea, Francesca determinedly turned her attention away from the compelling man who sat across from her. She e-mailed a warm thank-you message to Lin, then briskly asked Ian if she could borrow his tablet.
“Why?”
“To read something.”
“The ‘Rules of the Road’ that I had Lin send you?”
“No,” she lied without blinking. “A trashy novel.”
She gave a small smile at his dry glance. He handed her the tablet without hesitation or further comment.
Fortunately, Francesca could be nearly as focused on a task when she wanted to be as Ian. She diligently memorized each rule of the road on the flight home, oddly determined to get her driver’s license now that Ian had brought the issue to the forefront. The experience of being in control behind the wheel had exhilarated her. After a while, she forgot her irritation at Ian, feeling comfortable with his presence as they both attended to their separate concerns.
She napped for a while and used the restroom. In her absence, Ian had brought both of them a refreshment from the wet bar. She sipped on her chilled club soda and watched him for a moment as he worked. He really was a force of nature. If he could patent that intense focus of his, he’d be the wealthiest man on the planet.
He already is one of them, she reminded herself wryly with a shake of her head before she went back to studying.
When the pilot’s voice came through the intercom and told them they were beginning their descent into Indiana, Ian glanced up, blinking several times, as if seeing the world around him for the first time. He shut off his computer and raked his fingers through his short, stylishly mussed hair, making Francesca experience a sudden longing to have her fingers where his were.
“How did your studying go?” he asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse from not using it for so long.
“Excellent,” she replied, not at all surprised by the fact that he knew she’d been lying about the novel. Not much got past him.
“You say that with a great deal of confidence,” he said, sipping his ice water and eyeing her over the rim of the glass.
“No reason I shouldn’t.”
He put out his hand expectantly. She held his stare and handed him the tablet.
He began to question her on the material. Francesca rattled off the correct answers without hesitation. The pilot informed them to prepare for landing, and Ian closed the tablet, sliding it into his briefcase. His handsome face was impassive, but she had the impression he was pleased.
“I have meetings this afternoon and all of tomorrow at the office, but I’ll ask Jacob to take you out for some driving practice. Another time or two behind the wheel, and you’ll be ready to get your license,” he stated with confidence.
Francesca ignored the flare of irritation she felt—it was as if getting her license had been added to some kind of mental checklist that he planned to complete in methodical Ian fashion. Instead of commenting on that, however, she focused on something else that he’d said that surprised her.
“This afternoon? What time is it in Chicago?”
He checked his Rolex. “About the same time that we left Paris: eleven forty.”
“Wow, it’s like we transported.”
He flashed an unexpected smile. The plane dipped as they went in for a landing, amplifying the swooping sensation in her belly. That smile always made him more approachable. She had an overwhelming desire to ask about the woman she’d seen him with this morning, to ask him why he’d seemed so affected by the meeting . . .
. . . to demand that he tell her something that helped her understand the enigma of him.
But Ian had another agenda altogether.
“You mentioned being a financial disaster,” he said. Francesca stared at him, openmouthed. It was as if he’d just resumed a conversation they were having yesterday, without a beat. “What do you plan on doing with the money you earned for the painting commission?”
She gripped the armrest, jolting slightly when the plane hit the runway. Ian never blinked.
“What do you mean what do I plan to do with it? I plan to use it for my education . . . my future.”