The Wrong Gentleman - Page 53

“More so now that I’ve left the army.” He grinned. “He’s a good guy. Settled down now. Never thought I’d see it.” He frowned as if he were putting pieces of a puzzle together. There was always more going on under the surface with Landon. I wondered if anyone knew his every thought. Or even a fraction of what went on inside his head. “But he’s happy. That’s the most important thing.”

“Maybe,” I said, staring out of the window.

“You’re not convinced? If happiness isn’t what’s important, then what is?”

“Surviving. Having food in your stomach, a roof over your head.”

Silence ticked between us.

“Is not having those things something that worries you? Here in the South of France on board a luxury superyacht?”

“Only every day,” I replied.

Before he could question me any further, I caught sight of the familiar restaurant through the front window and the cab pulled to a stop.

“So I was right about the fancy lunch,” he said, pulling his wallet out of his shorts.

“Hey, I’m paying for the cab.”

He frowned. “No, you’re absolutely not.”

I pulled open the front pocket of my bag. “I absolutely am.”

He thrust fifty euro into the hand of the driver before I had my wallet open.

“Landon, no. This is my day.”

Ignoring me, he got out of the cab. I followed, rounded the trunk, and held out a fifty-euro note.

“Put that away. It’s a cab, Skylar. I didn’t just buy you the car.”

“This is my day to entertain you. I didn’t offer to pay for the hotel room, did I?” I hated people doing things for me. I always worried I’d get used to it. It was much better to only rely on myself.

“I didn’t book the room for us. I booked it for me.”

“Yeah, which is weird. So don’t get me started on that.”

“Why is it weird?”

“It doesn’t fit with the whole soldier thing—wanting that kind of luxury when you’re used to . . . whatever you’re used to in the army.”

He smirked and pulled my bag from my hands.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“This is heavy; what the hell’s in here?” he asked.

“I thought you were used to carrying six-million kilograms through the desert.”

“I’m not saying it’s too heavy for me. Jesus, woman, do you just love to argue?” He hitched the bag over his shoulder and knocked his sunglasses from the top of his head onto his nose. “Where are we going?”

“We’re not going anywhere until you give me my bag and accept this money.”

“Skylar, I’m paying for the cab and carrying your bag. Get used to it. We can stay here all day. Doesn’t worry me.”

“But I don’t need you to pay—”

“But I need to.”

Tags: Louise Bay Erotic
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