The Fiancé by Stefanie London
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ava
THATEVENING,I understand why my question had amused Daniel and encouraged another one of his annoyingly sexy half-smirk expressions. His private jet had been prepared for our flight. Of course he has his own damn plane.
If there’s any more proof required for me to fully understand that Daniel and I do not come from the same world, this is it. That fleeting thought I had of him looking attainable when he picked me up from my apartment? Poof! Gone. The moment we shared in his kitchen this morning where I thought I felt something real pass between us? A delusion.
And don’t even get me started on what happened in his bedroom. I don’t know what to call that.
Oh, and did I mention that he’s taking me to France? Actual France. Baguettes and champagne and Chanel France.
“Macaron pastry, Macron president.” I’ve been going over that for the last twelve hours so I don’t embarrass myself. I push the door of the limo open and step right out onto the airport tarmac. No long security lines, no pat downs, no shitty airport food. “Macaron pastry, Macron president.”
“What on earth are you muttering to yourself?” Daniel asks as Andy hands our luggage off to the crew. We walk toward the stairs leading up to a small but fancy-looking jet.
“Nothing,” I grumble.
I climb the stairs slowly, my flat sandals clacking against the metal steps. For a second, I feel like a heroine in one of those old romantic movies—hair billowing in the breeze, dress flapping around my legs. All I need to complete the look is a silk scarf tied around my neck and some big sunglasses.
That’s right. Concentrate on the fantasy, not on the fact that you’re about to be stuck in a tin can shooting halfway across the world with a man who’s watched you masturbate.
To make matters worse, I feel him behind me. His presence is a warm burn at my back. Even when he’s not touching me, my body is a radio tuned to his frequency, sensing him at all times. When I falter, my sandal catching on the edge of a step, his big hands go to my waist, steadying me. The feel of his touch—confident and sure—shoots my body temperature up a few billion degrees.
“Welcome, Ms. Matthews.” The flight attendant smiles and takes my denim jacket, which normally makes me feel cool, but now makes me feel like a little girl amid all this luxury. “Can I grab you a drink before we take off? Champagne, wine?”
“A water would be great, thank you.” I need to keep my wits about me. I’m feeling turned around and upside down and inside out. Daniel has me dizzy and spinning, and I’m not sure I’ll ever feel steady again.
“Absolutely.” The flight attendant turns to Daniel and gives him the same professional treatment.
God, even his plane is more impressive than my apartment. Not that I’ve ever seen a private jet before, obviously, but it’s even better than I imagined. There’s a cluster of seats to one side, two pairs facing a table, with a further two rows behind it. On the other side of the plane is a sectional lounge that looks to be made of buttery-soft leather.
“That turns into a bed,” Daniel says, coming up behind me. “So if you’re feeling sleepy later, I’ll have the staff do a turndown for you.”
A turndown. My brain goes straight to my pyjamas.
So thin I can see your nipples through it, and so short I’m almost salivating to find out if you’re wearing anything at all underneath.
His words swirl in my head. For some reason, thinking about Daniel watching me climb into bed, seeing those secret parts of me that I touched for him, sends a shiver down my spine. A dull ache gathers between my thighs, but I squeeze them together.
For a second, I have the sense I’m floating, looking down on myself in some kind of out-of-body experience. Am I really on a private jet about to fly across the globe? Am I really thinking about a guy who isn’t simply out of my league, but is basically another species?
“There’s only one bed,” I mutter, completely meaning to speak those words only in my head. But when a darkly amused chuckle comes out of Daniel’s mouth, I suck in a breath. Is he thinking about last night, too? “Just an observation.”
Smooth, Ava. Like forty-grit sandpaper.
“Yes, there’s only one bed,” he replies. His dark eyes glitter, as if his mind has gone exactly where mine has—straight into the gutter. “Don’t worry, I’ll be a gentleman.”
I wish you wouldn’t.
I clear my throat and whip around as though I have something very important to dig out of my handbag. “Good, well that’s...excellent.”
“I’ve got to get some work done,” Daniel says, settling in to one of the plush leather chairs and plugging his laptop in. “There’s a TV screen back there with movies and TV shows preloaded. I saw you’d raided my bookshelf, as well.”
Busted. I’ve stashed the rest of the Takeshi Kovacs series into my carry-on, along with two Philip K. Dick novels. “What can I say, you have a large collection.”
Large. Couldn’t you have used literally any other descriptor?
“I’m glad you appreciate my large collection.” His eyes sweep over me, and though I’m wearing a simple dress that keeps me perfectly covered, I feel like he can see every inch of me. “I’m rather proud of it.”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is bone-dry. “You should be.”
Daniel’s lip twitches, but he turns his attention to the screen in front of him, mercifully giving me a chance to die of embarrassment without his onyx eyes picking me apart. How have I been reduced to thinking about sex no matter how innocent the conversation?
I scurry to the sectional sofa and settle in, slipping a pair of headphones on and trying to find something to watch that won’t have my mind leaping to anything large belonging to Daniel. They must have kids on the plane sometimes, because there’s a collection of Disney movies. I pop Moana on and smile at the flight attendant as she delivers my water, along with a little plate of fruit and cheese.
I can do this. Spending a couple of days in France in complete luxury won’t be a hardship, and I know I should try to relax and enjoy the experience. This tension between Daniel and me is nothing more than animal instincts. He’s hot, single and we’re in close proximity. It’s not surprising there’s sexual chemistry.
But even as I think those safe, logical thoughts there’s a dark corner of my brain that whispers to me, telling me I’m wrong. That this is more. That Daniel lights up something inside me that nobody else ever has. When he got his sexy revenge for me watching him, the way it turned my body liquid, the almost forbidden nature of it... That was new.
Which means I am well and truly screwed. Or rather, I want to be.