Marcel’s pursed lips didn’t indicate any agreement on his part.
I waved my hand in the air like it didn’t really matter. “Anyway, the theme continues into the casino. The dealers are dressed in—”
“If you say hibiscus, we’re turning this plane around,” he interjected sternly.
I bit my lip. “Well, I’m not sure what kind of flower their Hawaiian shirts have on th—”
“No.” He leaned into the aisle and raised his voice to get the flight attendant’s attention. “Excuse me. Brent, was it? I’m going to need to talk to the pilot.”
Brent’s eyes darted to mine, and I shook my head. “He’s joking,” I assured him.
Marcel pulled his slim legs up onto the seat and began unzipping his ankle boots. My eyes followed every move like I was going to be tested on it later.
Circumference of his ankle? Delicately slim.
Condition of his toes? Perfectly pedicured.
Presence of nasty foot stank? Nonexistent.
I let out a sigh by accident. He really was very lovely. And this was a definite upside to having him as my not-actually-a-personal-assistant because if he were a real PA, removing his footwear in front of his, albeit temporary, boss might be just a teeny bit unprofessional.
But then again, so would the bare midriff and tiara.
I glanced at his midriff… just to… see if it was still… bare. Yes. Yes, it was. Beautifully bare. And upon closer inspection, I could see a tiny little paw print tattoo over one hip.
Fascinating.
I needed to know if there were more under his waistband.
“Why do you keep sighing?” Marcel asked. “Is this a sign of your exhaustion? Jillian has told me stories of you being hospitalized for exhaustion. If you think I’m playing nursemaid this week on top of helping you avoid spending two hundred fourteen million dollars on a whack-a-doo resort concept, you’re mistaken. I don’t do hospitals, so shake off the malaise, Mr. Bernardi, because you’re going to need superhero energy for the shopping I have planned.”
For the first time in my entire life, I wondered if I might enjoy shopping for clothes.
“I told you to call me Luca. And I’m worried about Jillian’s broken leg,” I said with a sniff, as if I hadn’t been sighing over his delicious ab muscles.
Marcel stretched his legs out and wiggled his toes, almost brushing my knees with his feet. “Much better. Those things were killing me. It’s the pointy toe I can’t stand, but will I ever learn? No.” He swiveled enough in his seat to rest his legs on the chair next to mine. “As for Jill’s poor leg, did it ever occur to you she’s faking the whole thing so you’ll give her a damned break for once?”
I blinked at him as my jaw dropped. The audacity of this man! “I beg your pardon? I was with her when she was hit by the car. I held her in my lap until the ambulance came.”
“Babes, Luca, I was kidding. Of course the broken leg is real. I’m only implying—”
“You’re not implying anything! You’re saying it outright. And, might I suggest you don’t know me at all? How dare you come here and tell me I overwork my employees? Jillian has worked for me for half a dozen years. Don’t you think she would have left by now if she felt abused and overworked? She’s one of the best personal assistants in the city. And, I might add, with a reference from the Bernardi Group, she could write her own ticket.”
One side of Marcel’s stupid mouth quirked up. “There we go. The hibiscus has teeth. I love it.”
Was he joking? Did he want to get thrown out of this airplane? “Why are you like this? How is it possible you work for Grey Blackwood, of all people? Surely he wouldn’t stand for…” My voice trailed off as I remembered this wasn’t a real PA. He was a sex PA.
And I would stand for a lot from someone as beautiful and exciting as Marcel.
I set my jaw.
“Come with me to the bedroom,” I said sternly, standing up now that we were at altitude.
I didn’t wait for his response. I simply moved to the back of the plane where the single bedroom was located.
And waited.
4
Marcel
Had any other employer demanded I follow him to his bedroom, I would have scoffed and given him a very strident piece of my mind followed by a lovely view of my backside as I walked the fuck away from him.
But… Luca Bernardi wasn’t exactly my employer. And he was unexpectedly pushing all of my buttons.
Hard.
Also? I was a smidgie-poo stupid. I’d been known to get myself into a spot of trouble from time to time, and this seemed no different. Besides, wasn’t there some kind of rule about things that happened in Vegas staying in Vegas? Surely we could extend the parameters of such a rule as to encompass private plane flights to Vegas.
So I followed him. Not to actually do anything, I told myself. Just to see what he wanted. Simple curiosity.
Yeah, you’re simply curious about what his ass looks like out of those chinos.
The man I saw when I entered the small, luxurious bedroom was noticeably more nervous than the one who’d sternly demanded my presence in this room only thirty seconds earlier.
“How does this work?” he asked, wringing his large hands.
My heart went mushy for him without a second thought. He was adorably awkward with me despite being a highly respected businessman known for his successful hotel investments all over the world.
Jillian had told me plenty of stories of his crack shot negotiation skills and keen intelligence on the job. Supposedly, this wishy-washy thing only happened when dealing with close friends and family members. That was when Jillian was expected to go into bulldog mode to keep him from overcommitting himself.
I glanced at the bed, which was almost the only item in the room. There was also a small desk built into the wall, but since there was no computer on it, I could only imagine he meant to indicate the bed.
“Pull back the covers and get in,” I said. “Then close your eyes and think lovely thoughts. Eventually this puppy will put you right to sleep. It’s truly that easy. Lie down on it. That’s the sum total of how it works.”
“But then what do you do? As my, you know… assistant?”
As his assistant? I blinked. “Did you… want me to tuck you in and read you a bedtime story?” Jillian definitely hadn’t mentioned that.
He ran a hand through his wavy hair. “No, I mean, like… if I wanted you to give me a, um… blow job or something.”
I stepped backward instinctively and banged my elbow on the narrow doorframe. “Ow, fuck. Shit.”
Luca stepped closer to me. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. I don’t know what I’m doing. Was that rude? Was I supposed to… use some kind of code word? Is your elbow okay?”
Could there possibly be such a thing as a dorky, endearing sexual predator? And would it count as a “Me Too” violation if I was sort of… into it?
Because I could almost feel his meaty cock on my tongue. And part of me wanted to make this sweet bumbling idiot feel good. But definitely not as his assistant.
“I’m okay,” I said, rubbing my elbow. “But I have to admit to being a little surprised at your, er… request.”