His Off Limits Best Friend - Vivian Wood Page 0,39

What’s it like?”

“It’s paradise,” he said simply. The sun was fully visible, and with its rise it felt like they floated through the incredible violet sky.

Remember the contract, he told himself repeatedly as he watched her finish the drink as she took in the morning. You promised yourself you wouldn’t make a move. Why spoil a good thing?

“You should get some sleep if you can,” he said. “As soon as we land, we’ll stop by the hotel to freshen up, then it’s off to a night out.”

“How long’s the flight?” she asked.

“About nine hours. You’re welcome to go stretch out in the back if you’d like.”

She glanced toward the back of the plane, where the otherwise twelve-seater had been converted into six seats to make room for two sprawling beds covered with fluffy white down comforters. “You think of everything,” she said softly.

“I can’t take credit for this,” he said. “This was all my father. Only the best,” he said. Even he heard the twinge of hate.

“Are you going to sleep?” she asked.

“Maybe later.”

After an hour, she got up and spread out on her side on top of the comforter. The attendant offered a silk eye mask, but she declined. Connor took another cocktail—this one a scotch since it was past noon in Monaco, after all—and tried to bury himself in the news. It didn’t work.

Eventually he went to the other bed himself. “Mask, sir?” the attendant asked.

“No, thank you,” he said. “Do you mind some privacy?”

Without a word, she went to the front of the plane, pulled shut the privacy curtain, and it suddenly felt like just the two of them.

Connor half-shuttered the windows to allow in just a wisp of light. In the soft glow, he lay down and stared at the roof. His father had asked to have “galaxies overhead” and that’s exactly what the creative team had done. Just a few feet above them, it was a virtual show.

Sam moaned lightly in her sleep, and he looked to her. God, she was beautiful, even as she slept. Her face was relaxed, lost in a dream. She was the kind of vulnerable you only saw in adults when they were asleep, and it made him feel protective of her. How could it be that he didn’t even know her just a few weeks ago? And now here they were.

He felt drowsiness as it washed over him and fell asleep facing her.

Connor awoke with a dry mouth as the pilot announced their landing. He moved quickly to her bed and shook her lightly. “Wake up,” he whispered. “You should see the landing.”

Her eyes snapped open, those gorgeous green eyes alert and excited. “We’re already here?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Oh my God,” she whispered as the plane descended into Monte Carlo. “I get it now.”

“Get what?” he asked.

She looked at him with big eyes. “Why the Monte Carlo in Vegas was designed like it is. It looks like it would fit in here perfectly. All white and regal.”

He laughed. “I guess I can see that. I’ve never stayed at that Monte Carlo. I’m usually a Bellagio or Caesar’s kind of guy.”

“I’ve never stayed there,” she said. “But I won twenty dollars with just a quarter in a slot machine there once.” Her eyes were glued to the white sandy beaches and turquoise waters as they neared the little airport. “What do they speak here? French?”

“Oui, tu as raison,” he said. His French was rusty, and he’d always struggled to place his Rs in the back of his throat. Still, he’d persisted. It was good for business—and great for turning on women.

“Remercier Dieu pendant quatre ans de français,” she replied.

He looked at her, impressed. There were so many things he didn’t know.

“Four years in college,” she said with a grin.

He’d instantly hardened when she’d turned, so naturally, and that native-sounding French poured out of her mouth. Don’t let this get to you, he reminded himself. Her excitement, how the language sounded on her tongue, the romance of being in Monte Carlo—it would be easy to get swept up in it. Remember that we’re going back. And the money that’s between us. It’s a business arrangement. That’s all.

“Thank you,” he told the attendant and pilot as they departed, palming both of them a generous tip.

“Just renewed your passport?” the customs attendant asked Sam.

“Oh, yeah,” she said.

“Nice picture,” the small man said. “Belle femme,” he told Connor.

Parked with the engine running just past the small booth was the cherry red Alfa