The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(27)

“I thought you were working?”

“Only tomorrow morning.” I hear ice tumble into a glass.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“At the hotel bar.”

“Trolling for your next victim?” I tease.

“Nobody here has what I want.”

I bite my lip as I listen to him.

“You have what I want, Claire.”

“You’re not going to get all sentimental and needy on me, are you?”

“I don’t do sentimental and needy.” He chuckles. “Down and dirty is more my thing.”

I smile goofily. “I don’t know if I can change my flights.”

“I’ll organize our jet to pick you up.”

“You have a plane?” I frown.

“Company plane.”

I stay silent as I think.

“Well?”

“Thank you for the roses,” I whisper to change the subject.

“That’s okay. They were being thrown out from reception, and I didn’t want to waste them. My good deed for the day.”

I smile at his appalling lie.

“Come on, Anderson; don’t make me beg.”

“Fine.”

“Fine . . . as in it’s a chore?” He scoffs. “At least act enthusiastic.”

“I can’t wait to spend the weekend underneath you, Mr. Miles.”

He laughs out loud. “That a girl. I’ll call you tomorrow with the flight times.”

“Okay.”

“Oh . . . and, Claire,” he says, as if it’s an afterthought.

“Yes.”

“Do your Kegel exercises tonight. I want that pussy nice and tight.”

I burst out laughing. “You are an idiot.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Goodbye, Tristan.” I smile.

The phone goes dead.

I throw my phone onto the stack of towels and put my hands over my mouth.

I was supposed to say no.

Oh jeez, that did not go to plan.





Chapter 7

The plane pulls up to a slow halt on the tarmac at the Paris airport, and my nerves are at an all-time high. I already know that this is the stupidest thing I have ever done, and I haven’t even done it yet.

Anastacia, the flight attendant, smiles warmly. “I hope you had a good flight?”

“Yes. I did, thank you.”

I look around to see if I’ve left anything. The plane is, in one word, ridiculous. Luxurious on all fronts, and if I had forgotten for one moment who Tristan is, I have been promptly reminded.

A Miles.

Heir to the most successful media empire and from one of the wealthiest families in the world.

And a week ago . . . I hated his guts . . . and maybe I still do.

But there’s something about him that makes me want more.

I feel foolish being here. All it took was a few jokes and a little pity, and I fell into his arms and did the unthinkable. If I wanted a future with him, I would leave and play a little hard to get.

But I don’t.

I know what this is—one weekend away from routine, a sleazy conference encounter. And that’s okay with me. The reality of the situation is actually more than fine.

It’s a relief.

I don’t have to impress him, I don’t have to believe anything he says, and I most definitely don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not.

He’s fun and comfortable, and surprisingly he fits like an old shoe. His sexual prowess is just an added bonus.

My stomach drops as a wave of guilt runs through me for being here, for being sexually active with another man.

For loving every hard inch of him and then craving more.

It was supposed to be just one night.

I think back to what Marley said to me before I left. Shouldn’t I be living life for Wade and me?

If it were me who’d died, I would never want Wade to be untouched and unhappy.

I would want him to be happy and fulfilled as a man.

After we go home to New York on Sunday night, Tristan and I will never see each other again, and I can go home reinvigorated with enough sex in the tank to last me another five years. To be honest, I’m kind of proud that I’m doing something for myself for once.

This is so unlike me.

“The car is waiting for you, Mrs. Anderson,” Anastacia says.

“Thank you.” I walk down the stairs and out onto the tarmac. A black car is waiting.

The driver smiles and opens the car door. “Merci,” I say as I get in.

He goes around to the driver’s side, gets in, and pulls out.

Tristan called earlier, and he couldn’t pick me up because his meeting ran late. He’s meeting me at the hotel. I smile as I think back to taking his call when I was sitting with his groupies, and none of them had any idea that he and I had hooked up.

It all feels so naughty.

So not who I am.

I clutch my handbag on my lap with white-knuckle force. My breath quivers as I try to calm myself down.

This is the craziest, most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done.

Half an hour later we pull into the hotel, and I peer out the window at the sign.





FOUR SEASONS HOTEL GEORGE V


Jeez, looks fancy.