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Most importantly, there are only six seats, all plush armchairs that are spread out across the plane. Without the rows of tightly-packed seats, the windows are far more inviting, actually accessible for views.
“This is crazy,” I whisper.
Declan comes up behind me. “Do you like it?”
“Do I like it? It’s insane. Of course I like it. I just—” I laugh, somewhat nervously. “This is crazy.”
“You haven’t asked me where we’re going yet,” he points out.
“Okay. Where are we going?”
There’s a gleam in his eyes. “How does Paris sound?”
My eyes practically bulge out of my head. “Are you for real? You’re taking me to France?!”
“Well,” he says with a shrug, “it is a traditional place for romance, after all.”
He guides me over to one of the chairs and sits me down. It’s a far cry from the uncomfortable fabric seats in the economy section. The leather is soft and supple, and I feel like I’m sinking into it.
Declan leans down to kiss me, then takes the seat next to mine, smiling at me.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“I-I don’t know what to say,” I stammer. “Thank you. This is… this is the most extravagant thing anyone’s ever done for me. It’s….”
I shake my head, at a loss for words.
“I told you last week, I want to make a big deal out of it. Out of you.”
“God, Declan… thank you,” I repeat, overwhelmed.
“We haven’t even gone anywhere yet,” he points out, clearly amused. “Just you wait.”
We get settled in. I don’t have any luggage with me aside from my purse, which I point out to Declan, a little worried.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Spitfire. You didn’t need to pack for this trip. Trust me.”
I’m not sure what that could possibly mean, but I’m certainly willing to trust him. Everywhere I’ve gone with this man, things seem to go best when I let myself roll with it. Declan cuts his own path, and there’s little point trying to pump the brakes.
And why would I want to, when it takes me to places like Paris? I should’ve seen this coming when he told me to make sure I had my passport with me today—although part of me was pretty sure he was joking about that.
Clearly, he wasn’t. Good thing I actually did bring it with me.
Once I’m comfortable in my seat, I turn to look at Declan, wide-eyed. “Is it a long flight? I’ve never been to France before.”
He leans toward me, and there’s a flicker of heat between us.
“Long enough,” he says, his voice low with desire.
Declan’s driver closes the door to the plane, leaving the two of us alone in the cabin. The engines fire up, and the jet begins to taxi across the tarmac—just like that. No long wait, no huge line. The second Declan is ready to go, it’s wheels up.
Declan leans even closer to me, his fingertips caressing the side of my face. He kisses me, and I melt under his touch.
“You a member of the mile high club?” he murmurs, a dark mischief in his gaze.
I scoff. “Uh, of course not. You don’t exactly get a lot of privacy on a commercial flight to LaGuardia.”
“How about we fix that, hm?”
