The Ruthless Billionaire’s Redemption. Sandra Marton
herself to read it. But the print blurred before her eyes. She heard the rustle of paper. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was absorbed in the news.
Danielle stared at the book again, trying to get the jumbled letters to make sense. What on earth was the matter with her? The man seated next to her was good-looking, yes. But she’d seen good-looking men before. And he was flirting—she was certain of it. Well, so what? Men had flirted with her before. Sometimes, it was even fun to flirt back. Just a little, of course: a smile, perhaps even a brief conversation, and then you both went on your way.
But there was something different about this man. He was nothing like the men she knew back home. He was more worldly, she could see that at a glance. And then there was the way he looked, that taut body and hard, handsome face and—
‘Are you taking the non-stop to Nice?’
She looked up. He was smiling politely, and his words were polite, too. But there was something else in those blue eyes, something that made her breath catch. Danielle touched her tongue to her lips which felt, suddenly, as dry as the desert.
‘Yes,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Me, too. Are you on vacation?’
‘Yes.’ Was this one stilted word all she could manage?
‘Have you been to the Riviera before?’ She shook her head and he smiled. ‘You’ll love it. It’s crowded this time of year, but there are some out-of-the-way spots the tourists haven’t found yet.’ His eyes swept over her face. ‘Where are you staying? Perhaps we could—’
‘No,’ she said quickly. His eyebrows rose and, to her horror, she felt a blush spread across her cheeks. ‘I mean, I’m not really on vacation. I—I’ve promised to do some work while I’m away, and…’
Oh, God! He was laughing at her. Well, why wouldn’t he? She was making a fool of herself, dammit—or he was. Yes, that was it. He knew he was making her uneasy and it amused him.
Enough is enough, she thought, drawing herself up, and from some inner reserve she dredged up a cool smile. ‘Excuse me,’ she said politely, ‘but I’d like to finish my book.’
She looked down at the book as if she were about to do just that. She couldn’t read a word, of course, she was too frazzled. But at least she’d managed to silence him…
He laughed softly. ‘Can you really do that before our flight is called?’
Danielle blinked, then stared at the book in her lap. She had it open to the first chapter, but the book was easily three hundred pages long.
Heat rushed to her face again. OK, she thought, OK, that was it. There was another half hour to go before boarding, and she wasn’t going to sit here and provide sport for some jaded jet-setter.
She looked away from that smug twinkle in his eyes and slipped her shoulder bag over her arm. Carefully, she tucked her book into the pocket of her carry-on, then rose from her chair. All she had to do was walk across the lounge, and—
‘Miss?’
She jumped as his hand fell lightly on her shoulder. How had he moved so quickly? And so silently. But here he was, standing beside her. He was still smiling, but now it was slow and sexy and very, very knowing.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you. But I thought—’
‘You thought wrong,’ she said. Her voice was cold, despite the sudden race of her heart. ‘Now, if you’d step aside…’
His smile became a grin. ‘No problem,’ he said easily. ‘Except that you’ll have a tough time getting on the plane without this.’
Danielle stared at his outstretched hand. ‘What is…?’
‘I think it’s your boarding pass.’ He laughed at the look on her face. ‘Go on, look at it and see for yourself.’
She hesitated, then took the envelope from him and peered at it. He was right, it was her boarding pass. But how—?
He smiled. ‘You dropped it when you stood up,’ he said, as if he’d read her thoughts.
Danielle swallowed. ‘I didn’t…’ Their eyes met, and she swallowed again. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.
‘Thank you? Is that all you can manage after what I’ve done?’
She stared at him. ‘What—what do you mean?’
He smiled again. ‘I won’t feel thanked until you have a drink with me.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I—I can’t. My flight—’
‘Our flight won’t be boarding for another half hour. We’ve plenty of time.’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks for the offer, but—’
‘Coffee, then. Or tea.’
‘No. No, I—I don’t want anything, thank you. I just…’ This was ridiculous, she thought. He’d reduced her to sounding like an idiot. ‘Goodbye,’ she said, and before he could answer she hurried past him, pushed open the door, and stepped into the corridor.
She let out her breath as the door swung safely shut behind her. Her knees felt like jelly, and she sagged back against the wall. What a stellar performance that had been! She’d acted like a schoolgirl. No, not even that. The giggling teenage girls in her senior French class would have handled themselves better than she’d just done.
With a sigh, she gathered up her things and made her way through the terminal to the public lounge. She’d felt out of place in the VIP lounge, that was the trouble. The stranger had belonged there, not she. This wasn’t a good beginning, she thought glumly. If she felt out of place now, what was going to happen when she got to France? Here she was, off to spend the summer with a bunch of people she had about as much in common with as—as she had with that man.
God. It was going to be a disaster.
There was a vacant seat at the far end of the lounge, and she sank into it and put her carry-on at her feet. ‘Be sure and send me a postcard the minute you get to Nice,’ Ginny had said, but why wait that long? She could compose the card in her head this very minute.
Dear Ginny, I’d like to strangle you for talking me into this.
Danielle sighed wearily. Be honest, she told herself, it wasn’t Ginny’s doing any more than it was anyone else’s—except her own. Oh, she’d protested a lot. But the truth was that her fate had been sealed five days before, when Val had first telephoned. Her cousin’s offer had just been too hard to resist.
The phone had rung in the middle of the night, awakening Danielle from deep sleep. The test papers she’d marked and left on her night table had slid to the floor as she groped groggily for the instrument. When she’d finally found it and brought it to her ear, the tinny voice on the line was almost drowned out by the heavy crackle of static.
‘Hello?’ she said hoarsely. ‘Hello? Who is this?’
‘Danni? It’s me, Val. Can you hear me?’
Danielle sat up quickly, as wide awake as if she’d been doused with cold water. She switched on the lamp and stared at her bedside clock. Five a.m., she thought, and her stomach knotted with alarm.
‘What’s wrong, Val? Has Aunt Helen had another attack? Did Uncle John—?’
Impatience coloured her cousin’s voice. ‘For goodness’ sake, Danni, don’t be so melodramatic. Mom’s fine. Does something have to be wrong for me to call you?’
Danielle sank back against the pillows. ‘It’s five in the morning,’ she answered. ‘The last time I heard from you was—what? Four months ago? Six? You sent me a card from Majorca, I think it was.’ Her voice grew dry. ‘You can hardly blame me for being a little surprised.’
‘I just