Page 71 of The Cruiser
ChapterTwenty-Five
Waitingfor the Delmars to join us at the Yacht Club, I can’t help but tease Morgan. “I hope you enjoyed it. For as long as it lasted.”
He swirls the deep orange of his Negroni with a straw, refusing to be egged on. “I will enjoy inflicting more punishment on you.”
“You started it.”
“I know. But had I known…”
That elegant jawline of his sets, and I take the hint. His displeasure has a teensy bit to do with me not coming clean about the breakfast order. (Like he even gave me a chance!) But it has more to do with being blue-balled while we scrambled to make ourselves presentable. It has a whole lot to do with how we slunk out of the kitchen guilty as thieves, me barefoot, a single Jimmy Choo in my hand, the blush on poor Sylvie’s face deeper than the ones on ours.
The fact I find it amusing surprises Morgan more than it does me. Mind you, I don’t have a close connection to the hotel or a general manager as a family friend. And while Morgan might think Vandana Hillman is not the type of lady to do unspeakable things in the kitchen of a luxury hotel, it’s the furthest thing from the truth. Back before I was the put-together Vandana, the perfect princess, that was me most of the time. The exhibitionist courting the thrill of being caught. I wanted him so badly this morning, I almost suggested he protect himself using the industrial-sized roll of Saran Wrap on the counter.
Surely it’s been done somewhere.
Morgan’s phone lights up on the table with an incoming text and reading it, his brows knit together. “Now what?” he mutters.
“Who is it?”
“Olivier.” He snatches up the phone, reads and responds, agitation evident in his keystrokes. “I wanted him to meet you today, but he’s had some kind of accident.”
“Oh, no. I hope he’s okay.”
He blasts off another text before setting down the phone with a frown. “I don’t know what’s going on with him these days.”
“Is he not performing?”
“He is, but…” He sits back, fingers steepled against his chin in thought.
“There they are! Hi, lovelies!” Dorothy waves enthusiastically from across the patio. She swans over in an emerald-green caftan with a matching scarf tied around her head, and Frankie brings up the rear in near identical clothing from the first night we met. We run through the usual greetings and take a seat.
“How did the Ferrari hunt go?” Morgan asks.
“Great,” Frankie says. “I’m looking to add to my collection. We saw a nice one, right, hon? A vintage California.”
“They were all red and nice, Bubs. Like the others in our garage.” She lowers her sunglasses at him and winks.
“And how about the villa shopping?” I inquire. “Any luck?”
“Talk about everything looking the same.” Frankie elbows his wife good-naturedly, getting a loving glare in return. I like their rapport. Fun, with a healthy dose of ribbing. No doubt being billionaires adds to their joie de vivre, a term Morgan explained to me the other day.
“The properties here are to die for,”Dorothy swoons. “We saw two that we like. One in Cap Ferret.”
“That’s where my parents live,” Morgan says.
“Really?” She clasps her hands together, atwitter with the reveal. “How swish. Maybe we’ll all be neighbors. Have you been?” she asks me.
“We’re going to his parents place for dinner tonight, actually. It’ll be my first time in the area.”
Frankie eyes both of us warmly. “Meeting the parents, huh? Wedding bells in the future?”
In the slight pause, Morgan reaches for his drink, leaving me flat-footed and floundering under the very interested gaze of these two. “No, um … just dinner.”
Dorothy’s mouth twitches into a smile. She’s clever, this one. Good at reading people and situations. “Well, we had the best realtor experience. She knows everyone.”Touching Frankie’s arm she says, “Prince Khaled referred her to us, is that right?”
“You know the prince?” Morgan asks.
“He’s a dear friend. He and Frankie are like this,” she says, crossing her fingers. “Oil and oil.”
