Page 38 of Most Likely to Deny Love (Yearbook #2)

JACK

I clicked Mia’s seatbelt into place, enjoying the way the simple motion gave me an excuse to lean close to her. She looked up at me through her lashes, that mix of amusement and exasperation I’d come to know well playing across her features.

“You know, I’ve been buckling my own seatbelt since I was five.”

“I’m aware.” I pressed a kiss to her lips, letting it linger a moment longer than necessary. When I pulled back, I caught the faintest flush on her cheeks. “But where’s the fun in that?”

I settled into my seat beside her, stretching my legs out as much as the first-class cabin allowed.

Eight hours and twenty minutes until we landed at Charles de Gaulle.

Every fucking minute would test my patience.

Being close enough to Mia to touch her, to breathe in her scent, to kiss her, but not do anything else.

But still, she was finally mine for a full four days. No interruptions from work. No hiding in the shadows. No stolen moments between meetings. Just us, Paris, and everything I’d planned for her.

The cabin lights dimmed as the plane rolled away from the gate. In the darkness, I reached for her hand, savoring the freedom to openly intertwine our fingers.

She turned toward the window as we lifted off, her face illuminated by the scattering of city lights below.

The anticipation coiling inside me was almost unbearable.

After weeks of stolen moments and restrained touches, I’d finally have her to myself, But I didn’t want to rush it the moment we landed.

I wanted her rested, wanted to give her a taste of the city first, wanted our first time to be perfect.

The merest whisper of the idea of having her sent heat coursing through me.

If I wasn’t careful, I’d be dragging her to bed the second we entered the suite.

I shifted slightly, as my body reacted to the visions rolling around in my head. Maybe Mia sensed it, because she turned her head, her eyes questioning in the dim light.

“What are you thinking about?”

Everything. You. How you’ll look bathed in the golden light of Le Meurice’s suite. How you’ll sound saying my name as I take you against those floor to ceiling windows. How you’ll feel beneath me on silk sheets. How you’ll taste of French wine and pure sin when I kiss you at midnight.

“The view from our suite.” Not a lie. Just not the complete truth. “It’s going to be incredible.”

The glow in her eyes made my heart squeeze.

“I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Neither could I, sometimes. What had started as a calculated offer to help her navigate family pressure had become something far more consuming. The woman beside me had unraveled my careful control, made me want things I’d long convinced myself I didn’t need. Didn’t want. But now…

Those were dangerous thoughts, so I was glad when the plane leveled out, and the seatbelt sign dinked off. The flight attendant approached with the dinner menu, and I ordered for both of us. Coq au vin for Mia, steak for me. A bottle of Bordeaux to share.

The meal concluded, the cabin lights dimmed further for the overnight flight and Mia went off to the bathroom to change.

When she came back out, our seats had been converted into fully flat beds, covered with blankets and plush pillows.

“Holy fuck. This is nothing like the economy flights I’ve taken before.”

I smiled at her expression. “That was the point. In you get.”

She climbed in, scooting closer to the wall and stretching out. I never would have believed that flannel pajamas would be such a test for my self control.

“A girl could get used to this, I swear.”

“Enjoy it,” I told her, easing in beside her, doing my best to put some space between us. “You deserve every bit of luxury this weekend.”

She rolled onto her side to face me, her eyes reflecting the dim cabin lights. “Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“This trip is totally crazy. You know that, right?”

“Sure.”

“But thank you anyway.”

I reached across the small space between us to trace the curve of her cheek. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Her laugh was low, intimate, making my blood hum.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Both.”

I claimed her mouth, tasting the wine on her lips. When we broke apart, I held her gaze for a moment, then shifted to make room on my bed. Without hesitation, Mia slid over, fitting herself against my side like she belonged there. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.

“Mm, very nice,” she sighed, settling her head against my chest. Her hand came to rest over my heart, warm and perfect.

I wrapped my fingers around her hand, murmuring into her hair, “Just to be safe. I remember what happened last time we fell asleep together.”

She giggled, shifting against me, snuggling even closer. I let my hand drift from her waist, over her hip and lower until it rested possessively on the curve of her ass.

Mia let out a small gasp. “Maybe I should be the one holding your hands still.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll see who needs restraining in Paris.”

“Hmm.”

Mia’s breathing gradually slowed, her body relaxing against mine as sleep claimed her. I stayed awake longer, savoring the feel of her in my arms, the scent of her hair, the rightness of this moment.

As my own consciousness began to drift, one thought remained crystal clear: Tomorrow in Paris was going to be absolute fucking torture, until I could finally get Mia exactly where I wanted her.

Customs and immigration flew by with surprising efficiency. The private car I’d arranged was waiting as we emerged into the mild Parisian morning, our luggage already collected and loaded.

As we headed closer to the center of Paris, Mia pressed herself against the car window, speechless, drinking in the city as it unfolded around us.

Historic buildings in their distinctive cream limestone.

Cafés with their chairs facing outward toward the street.

The occasional glimpse of the Seine between buildings.

“We’re just passing the Tuileries Gardens,” I told her as we drove alongside the manicured grounds. “And that—” I pointed as the iconic tower came into view, rising above the cityscape, “is just your first glimpse.”

Her gasp told me exactly what she was feeling. Her hand found mine, holding tight while she gazed wordlessly out the window. No matter what happened from here, this moment, right now, made everything worth it.

The car pulled up in front of Le Meurice, its Belle époque elegance immediately drawing Mia’s attention. A doorman in an impeccable uniform approached as we stepped out, and a valet whisked our luggage away on a gleaming brass trolley.

“Jack,” Mia’s voice was barely audible as she stared up at the ornate entrance. “This place is...”

Words failed her as we stepped into the lobby, with its polished marble floors, soaring ceilings, and crystal chandeliers that refracted the morning light into scattered rainbows. I guided her to the discreet reception desk, keeping a hand at the small of her back.

The check-in process was seamless. Mia stood beside me, taking it all in with that same stunned silence, her eyes darting from the fresh flowers in massive urns to the antique furniture arranged in intimate seating areas.

“Your suite is prepared, Mr. Sullivan,” the concierge informed me with a slight bow. “Jean-Philippe will escort you.”

“Merci.”

A uniformed bellman led us to a private elevator. Mia’s reflection stared back at us from all angles, her face a mixture of wonder and disbelief. I watched her watching herself, savoring her reactions.

The elevator opened directly into our suite, and the bellman discreetly arranged our luggage before departing with a murmured “Merci, monsieur” and the softest click of the door.

Only then did Mia seem to find her voice again, as she turned in a slow circle to take in the spacious sitting room with its silk-upholstered furniture, the dining area with fresh flowers and champagne already chilling in a silver bucket, and beyond it all, the massive windows framing a view of the Tuileries and, in the distance, the Eiffel Tower.

“Um, Jack?” She finally broke her silence, her voice slightly strangled. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, my eyes on her face rather than the view.

“Exactly how rich are you?”

I studied her face, trying to decide how to answer. Wealth was complicated for me. Always had been.

“Rich enough that I don’t have to think about money,” I finally said, moving toward the window where she stood. “But not so rich that I don’t work. My family has money—old money, investment banking, that sort of thing. But I’ve made my own.”

She watched me carefully, missing nothing. “And you don’t like talking about it.”

“No,” I admitted. “Money’s always been..

. contentious in my family. My father thinks I’m wasting my potential doing corporate rescue work instead of joining the family business.

My trust fund sits mostly untouched.” I shrugged, surprised at how easily the words came with her. “I prefer earning what I have.”

“So this,” she gestured around the opulent suite, “is your money, not family money?”

“Yes. But it’s just a hotel room, Mia. A nice one, but still just a room.”

She laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Just a room? Jack, this place is bigger than my entire house. The bathroom probably has its own zip code.”

I moved closer, drawn to her like a magnet. “You deserve nice things.”

Her smile softened, vulnerability flashing in her eyes. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

That simple confession twisted something in my chest. I closed the remaining distance between us, cupping her face in my hands.

“Then they were all goddamn idiots.”

I kissed her then, a kiss meant to erase every doubt, every insecurity, every moment anyone had made her feel less than extraordinary. She melted into me, her body soft and pliant against mine. My hands slid from her face, down her neck, over her shoulders, itching to explore further.

With superhuman effort, I pulled back before I could forget all the plans I’d made. Her breathing was as ragged as mine, her lips slightly swollen from our kiss.

“As much as I’d like to continue this,” I managed, my blood already humming, “I promised to show you Paris.”

“Paris will still be there later,” she countered, her hands fisting in my shirt.

Christ, she was making this difficult. I pressed my forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her.

“Put on comfortable shoes,” I said firmly, mostly to remind myself of my own plan. “I want to show you the city properly before I take you to bed and make you forget your own name.”

Her sharp intake of breath was almost my undoing. “That’s playing dirty, Sullivan.”

“I never claimed to fight fair.” I stepped back before my resolve crumbled entirely. “Shoes. Coat. Five minutes.”

The look she gave me as she moved toward her suitcase promised that tonight would be worth every second of waiting. Paris had better be fucking spectacular today, because unless it literally took my breath away, all I’d be thinking about was getting Mia back to this room.