Friday at 7:30 a.m. to Monday at 3:30 a.m. That’s how long this man wants to spend with me.
I fight the mom guilt that always hovers at the edges… and decide to lean in.
France.
Fucking France.
“Could I get you something to eat or drink?” the flight attendant asks. She’s warm, professional, and dressed like something out of a luxury travel magazine. The whole plane is like that—leather and crystal and soft white lighting. It looks like a palace in the sky.
“Oh,” I say, I think I’m okay.”
“Coffee? Fruit juice? Cocktail?” She persists.
“How about a ginger ale?” Spencer asks, and it's true. It is what I was just considering.
“That would be great.”
He is sitting across from me, facing me, watching, letting me feel everything without interruption. Just that quiet, steady gaze of his. The one that tells me he wants to be here. That I’m not imagining this.
He really meant it. He wants to give me something unforgettable.
But it’s notone unforgettable night.It’s a whole goddamn dream.
And it’s happening. To me.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
I nod. “Yes. Just... not sure I packed appropriately for... You know...Paris.”
He smiles, as if he’s pleased by my worry. “Well, I checked in with Laney,” he says, like it’s no big deal. “Asked a few questions. Got some hints.”
“Laney?” I say, already laughing. “You asked Laney to pack more clothes for me?”
“No. She just gave me some excellent intel,” he shrugs, grinning. “Anyway, a few things are hanging in the wardrobe in the sleeping cabin. Just some options. See what works, what you like. Take it all—or don’t. Whatever makes you happy.”
I hear the words. Ihearthem. But they don’t quite register all the way, not with the way he’s looking at me.
Then he stands and comes to me, taking my hand. Warm. Solid. Certain. And he kisses me. Slow and deep. Like hemeans it.
When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “I want this to be perfect. To be a dream. So just for these three days, Rhea—please. If anything crosses your mind, ask. I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
I swallow, my throat tight with emotion, but I manage a teasing smile. “Well then. I suppose I’d better go inspect the wardrobe you and Laney curated.”
He stands and offers his hand. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
The sleeping cabin is near the back of the jet, tucked behind a frosted glass sliding door. It opens with a quiet click.
The room is gorgeous. Soft recessed lighting. Cashmere throws. A full-size bed made up with hotel-luxury linens. It puts my bedroom at home to shame.
“This is... like a dream.” I say, and know it sounds stupid.
He steps closer again, voice low. “That’s the idea.”
And then I don’t care about the wardrobe anymore, I just wanthim.
He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead.
I can’t stop myself. I pull his head to mine and kiss him. Hungry. Needy. Urgent.
