The flight from the airport in Nice, France to Albuquerque, New Mexico took twelve hours on the private plane, plus two hours for a refueling pit stop on the East Coast of the US. But Albuquerque was eight hours behind France in time zones, so therefore, though they left France at midnight, they would arrive at the Albuquerque International Airport at six o’clock in the morning.
Dree nodded along while the senior pilot explained the time changes. She could calculate mg/kg dosages in her head with the best of the nurses at Good Sam hospital, but time zones stymied her. It was like magic. She just knew that they were trying to outrun the sun coming up behind them.
The pilot was a lean, grizzled middle-aged lady. In the event of an equipment malfunction, she could probably shimmy down into the fuselage, crawl out on the wing, and jerry-rig an engine with chewing gum and titanium knitting needles.
Considering they’d arrive at six in the morning, though, and allowing some time for getting situated and the four-hour-plus drive out to her family’s ranch, Dree figured they’d get there right about in time for lunch.
Thatwas important information.
In the meantime, however, Dree was cooped up on a flying cigar tube for over a half of one day of her life with three dudes whose arms and legs sprawled like tree branches and roots, growing all over everything. She tripped every time she tried to walk around.
And one of them kept snagging her, dragging her into little hideouts she hadn’t even noticed existed on the way from Nepal to Monaco, and kissing her and running his hands over her hips and ass like he’d already bought the cow.
Not that Dree was pushing Max off or anything.
Indeed, she’d loitered near the carry-on closet, clearing her throat for two whole minutes before Maxence had caught on, shoved her inside with him, and properly molested her for a few minutes.
After the plane had traveled for a few hours and they’d eaten their weight in meals and snacks, the two flight attendants transformed a couple of the reclining seats into single beds for Casimir and Arthur. Then they turned down the double bed in thebedroomlocated in the tail of the plane for Dree and Maxence.
Seriously, these royal folks werespoiled.
Dree hadn’t mentioned to them yet that, on her family’s farm, gentlemen visitors without wives slept in the barn for her sisters’ safety and modesty.
That might go over like a brick balloon.
She had the whole drive out to the farm to tell them about it, though.
After Maxence had closed the bedroom door behind them, Dree fretted, “But where will Malini and Ondina sleep tonight?”
“Near the cockpit, there are accordion walls that pull out, and there are single beds up there. The pilots can switch off, too,” Maxence said as he found his pajamas in his carry-on.
“This is so weird that somebody else packed my luggage,” Dree said, pulling an oversized sleepshirt out of her carry-on that matched Maxence’s. “Oh, they packed the one from the Four Seasons George V Hotel in Paris.”
“Is that all right?”
“Oh, yes, of course! I was just surprised to see it. It feels like it’s been a while.”
“That is the trade-off of having the valets pack your luggage. Unless you specify exactly what you want, they do their jobs, which means you have perfectly appropriate and proper clothes, if not exactly the ones you particularly wanted. When we do a tour with state dinners, we have consultations ahead of time to discuss attire, and there are fittings, of course.”
Dree was watching Maxence, waiting for him to take off his shirt to put on his pajamas so she could get another look at that tattoo of his to see if she had misconstrued what Max had said somehow, but Maxence went in the bathroom to change and brush his teeth.
Dammit.
After he came out wearing pajama pants and a light blue T-shirt that completely covered his back and shoulders, Dree went into the little bathroom and got ready for bed.
When she returned, Maxence was sitting up in the bed, checking something on his phone and frowning. When he was unamused like that, the middle of his lips pulled up a little bit and, the square of his jaw became even more pronounced.
Damn, the man was sexy.
“What’s up?” Dree asked, bouncing on the bed, which was surprisingly springy under her hands and knees, considering that it looked like a futon mattress at first glance.
Maxence looked up, and he must’ve decided to stop frowning because his eyebrows waggled as he blinked, like he was stretching away the frown lines between his dark, luminous eyes. “It’s fine. The Monegasque police were able to apprehend Matryona Sokolov within hours after the election and the coup attempt, but there’s still no sign of Kir Sokolov. Interpol has put out a bulletin for him. I’m sure he’ll be arrested soon.”
“I guess it’s a good thing we’re getting out of Europe for a few days,” Dree said. “Let the police do their job. By the time we get back, they’ll probably have everything sewn up.”
Maxence’s smile became a little more genuine, less like he was trying to cover up worry. “An excellent thought.” He spread his arms in welcome.
Dree clambered the last few feet across the mattress and flopped herself against his broad, muscular chest, her hand sliding around his waist and under the back of his shirt.
