The private jet was sleek, luxurious, and completely empty except for the two of us.I stepped aboard in a short, flowing white sundress that fluttered around my thighs, my long hair loose and my sunglasses perched on my head. At 20 years old, I was used to flying on my father’s jet, but this time it felt different.Captain Marcus Kane was standing in the cockpit doorway, checking pre-flight instruments.He was 38, tall and powerfully built, with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and the kind of quiet, commanding presence that made the air feel thicker. Dark hair, sharp jaw, and piercing grey eyes that always seemed to see too much.“Miss Voss,” he said, voice deep and professional. “We’ll be taking off shortly. Your father said it would be just you today. Make yourself comfortable in the cabin.”I smiled sweetly and walked past him, letting my shoulder brush his arm on purpose.“Thank you, Captain. I’ll try not to be too much trouble.”The flight was a long one — six hours to our privat
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