She stared back at me, her expression filled with shock—probably because I was coming off like a right nutter.
And even though I already knew what her answer would be, my heart thundered in my chest, even louder and harder than it did on the descent.
So loud, I could barely hear her when said, “Okay, why not? I never do this. Never let myself just live. So yes. Yes, I’ll meet you at your hotel tonight. Let’s have ourselves a one-night stand.”
CHAPTER4
Mick
“This way, Monsieur Atwater, please.”
A French butler, decked out in a smart navy suit, flung open the doors to the Tourmaline Paris Étoile’s poshest penthouse suite with more flourish than I personally thought was needed for the occasion.
Especially since I had to hang back while the whole place got a once-over from the guard/driver the Paris Triomphe FC sent to pick me up at the airport.
Couldn’t say I blamed him for the extra vigilance. The Tourmaline was a top choice for celebrities and bigwigs with high-level security needs. But ultras—as we called the footie fanatics—could be crafty. The lasses, especially.
Been surprised more than once by a stark-naked girl waiting for me on the bed, like I’d ordered her up from room service. So, I was chuffed when the guard came back out to the hallway empty-handed. No “presents” from the fans—or, even worse, a “Greenie,” those special brand of ultras that worshiped at the altar of FC Greenwich.
That shite was the last thing I needed with Kayla due to rock up any minute.
Speaking of which…
“Oi, we all sorted for my special guest?” I asked the butler, whose name I’d already binned from my head.
“Oui, monsieur. I shall personally escort Madame Edwards here upon her arrival and refer to you solely as Monsieur Atwater, omitting any personal details, as per your request. Additionally, be assured that everything else you asked for will be ready to go as soon as you give the signal.”
If he was weirded out by my instructions, it didn’t show. His wrinkled face didn’t let on nothing as he confirmed everything I’d told him to do.
I gave him a nod, feeling chuffed. Maybe more than I ought of considering the last-minute arsehole tactic I’d pulled to make sure Kayla didn’t flake on our one-nighter.
But it wasn’t like she'd left me with a load of options, was it?
* * *
Kayla had saidyes to my indecent proposal when we touched down, but once the seatbelt light went off, she went fidgety and started up with all the “um… um… um…” business again.
That American neon-sign face of hers clued me in that something negative was going on inside her head. I could tell she was already talking herself out of the “okay, yes” she’d given me earlier.
Did I let on that I knew she was having second thoughts, though? Nah, not a chance.
I reached up to fetch her hand luggage down from the overhead for her, all considerate-like, acting like our plan was still a done thing in both her head and mine.
“I’ll be waitin’ here ’til everybody’s off the plane to disembark meself,” I told her, smooth as you like, handing over her bag. “But no worries, we’ll be seeing each other again later on at my hotel.”
She made a non-committal noise and gripped the handle of her luggage like it was some sort of lifeline. “Thanks for talking me down on the flight. I’m really glad I met you.”
Kayla put a note of finality in her voice, like she was saying her goodbyes.
She didn’t suss out who I truly was, did she?
Didn’t understand I wasn’t the sort of lad to let a lass like her slip away. Even when she got nervous.
But she’d find out soon enough.
“Remember, I’m over at the Tourmaline,” I carried on, grinning down at her like we were in full agreement. “Top floor. Penthouse suite. Only one of ’em at the Tourmaline, far as I know.”
“Okay, the Tourmaline…” She was practically retreating down the aisle toward the airplane’s entrance now.
