Luca & Marcel (Hostile Takeover 0.50)

“Oh,” I said, except it came out super high-pitched like a mouse jacked up on laughing gas at the dentist. “That’s… reassuring?”

“Mmhmm. So just relax,” Marcel continued, leaning back in his seat. “You’re in good hands.”

I glanced at the hands in question as he gripped the water bottle. His fingers were long and slender. Maybe he’d been a famous pianist in a previous life.

I opened my mouth to say something dashing and clever about long fingers, but suddenly my brain began silently barking prostate, prostate, prostate, so I clamped my jaws shut instead.

Okay, so possibly Jill had a point about me being sexually frustrated.

Marcel side-eyed me as he took another sip of his water. “I think you’re not all that great at the relaxing thing, are you?”

I plucked at my shirt. “I have hibiscus.”

We stared at each other while my stupid comment clunked around the interior of the luxury airplane cabin.

“You certainly do,” he said as if to a wayward child. “And I would urge you with the power of a thousand hypnotic suggestions to allow me to take care of that little problem for you.”

“Maybe,” I allowed. “But first, we have to go out to the site and let my cousin Curtis give us the tour of the resort concept. That might be relaxing on its own.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s called Sunnies. The entire thing is fashioned after a resort in the Caribbean. There’s sand beaches, steel drum bands playing, tropical drinks on demand, and even ocean waves. Well… one of those pools that mimics ocean waves. But with the sound of the ocean piped in too.”

Marcel didn’t look impressed. “Mm-hm.”

“Won’t it feel good to put our toes in the sand?” I offered.

“It’s a hundred and fifty degrees in Vegas this week. Pretty sure I’m going to need a skin graft after stepping in any sand.”

Huh. He wasn’t wrong. I wondered what they did about that. “Maybe it’s air-conditioned somehow,” I said lamely.

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.”