The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

I’d made a conscious effort not to dress too sexy, but when his sunglasses came off, it looked as if I’d failed.

Shit, I wanted him.

And he stared back like he wanted me, too.

The tension between us grew until it became unbearable, and I broke, turning to watch the driver of the car pull my suitcase from the trunk. I would have offered to help, but I doubted he’d let me, plus it was one tiny bag. I hadn’t a fucking clue what to pack for this trip, and when I’d told Vance, he’d said not to worry. He’d handle it.

Whatever that meant.

I jammed my hands into the pockets of my jacket and tried not to look awkward as Vance finished his call.

“I don’t know, Royce.” His tone was sharp with irritation. “Probably when I get back. Look, I need to go. Emery’s here.” He paused as he listened to his older brother, then pressed a hand to his chest and grinned. “I had no idea you cared so much about my love life. I’m touched.”

Once he said goodbye, he slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and strolled toward me.

“Wow, you look hideous.”

I froze. “What?”

Breath hung in my lungs, but I had no idea if the cause was what he’d just said, or how he leaned in and brushed a kiss on my cheek. The warmth of his lips on my skin remained even after he straightened away from me. He gauged my reaction and tilted his head, delivering a playfully stern look.

“You’re going to have to do better than that to convince people you like me. You know there will be media there, right?”

I resisted the urge to touch the spot on my cheek that continued to heat from the presence of him. “You just told me I look hideous.”

His smile was full of sin. “Yeah, because I’m not allowed to say you look hot.” He jerked his head toward the stairs of the plane. “Come on. We can try again once we’re on our way.”

Oh, hell.

When we reached the base of the stairs, he held out a hand, gesturing for me to go up first. I latched my fingers around the metal railing and began to climb, keeping my mind focused on the steps rather than the billionaire heir I wasn’t supposed to entice.

The interior of the plane was even nicer than I imagined. Spacious pairs of seats were wrapped in creamy white leather, and the partitioning walls were rich mahogany. I took the first available chair by a window and pretended flying on a private jet was as normal for me as it was for him. I didn’t look around or marvel at how comfortable the seat was.

I had to fake that I lived in his world now, so he’d see me as an equal.

He dropped down into the seat beside me, nodded to the flight attendant when she handed us both glasses of ice water, and then turned his full attention on me.

“I forgot to ask,” he said. “How was your trip?”

I set my glass in the cupholder of the chair’s armrest. “It was good.”

Two days after Jillian’s memorial, Sovereign had sent me out to California. One of their clients had lost everything in a wildfire . . . everything except what was in their fireproof Cunningham safe. “It was quick. The internals weren’t damaged, so I was able to manipulate the open without having to drill.”

The door to the plane was pulled closed with a heavy thud.

“Did you get to see what was inside?”

I nodded. “Some documents, a few guns, some family photos. It was an older couple, and they both cried. It was a nice change of pace.” He shot me a dubious look, prompting me to clarify. “Tears of relief for once, instead of disappointment. I try not to look, but a lot of the time there’s nothing inside, or at least nothing of value. That’s hard for some people.”

“You’ve never cracked one full of gold bars or stacks of cash like in the movies?” he teased.

“If it counts, I’ve done a few high-end jewelry store vaults. It’s amazing how many people, in our digital age, scribble the code on a Post-It note and then lose it. That’s a really expensive lesson to learn.”

The flight attendant had to interrupt to confirm the catering with Vance and then gave us the safety briefing. Afterward, she took her seat behind the partition at the front, and my heartrate ticked up a notch. I was nervous. Not just about the flight, but the whole trip, and hoped to distract myself by keeping the conversation going.

“Probably the most memorable open I’ve done so far was in Chicago,” I babbled. “This wealthy Russian guy had died, and his last will and testament was locked in the safe. I flew in the afternoon of the funeral, and the family asked I come straight to the house. No one trusted anyone else, so they all demanded to be in the room—with their lawyers—while I worked.”