Never in a million years did I believe I would be flying in a private jet to go anywhere, let alone with an older man who pays me to be his arm candy. I had to work a shift at Penthouse, so Enzo sent Charlie to take me to the airport. We pull onto the tarmac where the plane awaits with its lights illuminating the windows. Enzo is already inside, and from my vantage point, he's wearing thick-rimmed reading glasses. My stomach does a little flutter. They suit him and somehow make him appear more suave.

Wind from the bay swirls my hair, and I'm still wearing my uniform, so it sends a shiver up my bare legs while climbing the metal steps into the jet. The flight attendants greet Charlie and me with refreshments when we enter. I thank them and grab my complimentary water, and that's when Enzo spots me. He removes his glasses upon standing and I can't help but smile.

"Let me take your bag," he says, kissing my cheek. "I bet you want to get out of your work uniform. There's a bathroom at the end of the aisle and a change of clothes for you."

"Change of clothes?"

"Just something comfy for you to wear on the flight." He winks.

"Thanks."

"Are you hungry?" He guides me to our seats. "There's food available. I can grab you a menu."

"I ate at the club," I say through a yawn.

"You must be tired. I've got a blanket and a facemask for you." He plucks a gift bag from the seat, and rifles through it. "There's a pair of slippers, a toothbrush and toothpaste, ear plugs, a neck pillow..."

"You got all of this for me?"

"Yes, of course. I want you to be comfortable."

I chuckle, "The attendant said the flight is only an hour and forty minutes."

"I still want you to be comfortable."

"Thanks." I take the bag, and kiss his cheek, allowing my lips to linger for a few seconds to inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne.

His hands slowly slip away when I excuse myself to the bathroom, but I can still feel the impression of his touch when I shut the door behind me. I blow out a breath. It's going to be a long weekend with his polite caresses stirring desire in me.

But, I already know Enzo is too much of a gentleman to make a move, which is partly why I keep entertaining Kyle.

Deep down, I just want to be loved.

◇◇◇

Thanks to the velvety pajamas, fluffy slippers, and warm fleece blanket, I fall asleep shortly after takeoff, but it goes by in a blink as Enzo taps me awake. I yawn and stretch, and say a muffled hello, which prompts a smile from him as he removes his reading glasses. 

"Have a good nap?"

"Yes." I give a sleepy grin. "The best."

"Good." He tucks the lenses inside the duffle bag next to him. "The pilot just announced we'll be landing soon."

Enzo has been reading ever since I showed up, but until now, I didn't notice what had his attention, and it's a mystery novel, like the kind you can find in airport kiosks. I would have assumed he was deep in business stuff, like a contract for a client, but instead, he's been... relaxing. Why does this make me like him more? I can easily picture him sitting in front of the wall of windows at his apartment, flipping through pages of a book, with a glass of cognac in one hand. 

This is also the first time I've seen Enzo in more casual attire. However, it's not completely laid back, but the cashmere sweater and slacks are a nice change of pace from the suits he wears. Not that I hate the suits. In fact, a man has never looked better in a tux than Enzo, but I would love to see him in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt one day. 

When we land, the desert heat causes sweat to instantly pepper my forehead, and the velvety pajamas to cling to my legs in a way that makes me want to peel them off. How is it still blazing hot in the middle of the night? Thankfully, a car is waiting for us and takes us straight to the hotel. 

But it's not just any hotel.

It's the Bellagio, which I've seen on TV because of the famous fountain pool, but never imagined I could afford to stay.

As we walk through the lobby, I marvel at the marble surroundings, pointing at things like a tourist. Enzo simply nods and smiles. He's been here before, so it's nothing new for him, but I like that he indulges me by agreeing with how nice everything is. However, none of it compares to our room. When he opens the door to the suite, I almost collapse in awe, but maintain my cool, so I don't embarrass myself. It's not some room the average Joe stays in. No, it's a penthouse suite that might as well be a swanky apartment with a kitchen, a dining area, a living room, a gorgeous view of the fountain, and... two bedrooms.

On opposite ends of the suite.

My shoulders sag. 

I imagined us sharing a bed, and having the kind of weekend shown in movies where the characters become lovers, and there's a montage of them prancing around town, falling in love.

"Pick whichever room you like, and I'll sleep in the other," Enzo says.

"I guess this one is fine..." I plop my bag onto the faux fur throw blanket spread across the crisp white bedspread. 

"Alright, well, I'm pretty tired and I have an early start tomorrow. So, I'm turning in for the night, but we'll chat more in the morning." He winks. "Sweet dreams, Mara."

"Night, Enzo."

He closes the door behind him, leaving me in the middle of the bedroom feeling completely wired after assuming we'd share a bed. To cool off, I take full advantage of the spa-like bathtub and wash my disappointment away.

By morning, my eyes flutter open as the rich aroma of brewed coffee coaxes me awake. The room is still dark thanks to the blackout curtains, but the clock on the nightstand says it's eleven AM. I bolt upright. How could I sleep in so late? Did Enzo need me to go somewhere with him, and did I miss it? 

Scrambling out of bed, I grab toiletries and jump into the shower, then get dressed. Whatever we're doing today, I can let my hair air dry while scarfing down breakfast. However, when I exit the bedroom, Enzo is in the living room reading as if he's completely relaxed and in no hurry. Today he's dressed in khaki pants, and a white button-down shirt with short sleeves, which is delightfully more casual than the sweater and slacks from yesterday. If he keeps it up, I might see him in jeans after all.

"Good morning." He smiles, looking up from his book. 

"Or... afternoon?" I grimace. "Sorry for sleeping in late."

"It's fine." He sets the book down. "I already went to my meeting and now we have the afternoon to ourselves."

"Oh." I bite back a smile and head into the kitchen.

Why does having the afternoon to ourselves cause my stomach to go nuts with flutters? Spending a few hours with him on dates is one thing, but an entire weekend? An image of us tangling in the sheets all afternoon hits me.

"I made fresh coffee for you," Enzo says. "I figured you'd need it for the activities ahead."

"Activities?" I pause from reaching for a cup.

"Yes. We have a business dinner to attend later, then tomorrow a poolside lunch, and on Sunday we have brunch before we leave, so I thought it might be fun to find you outfits for these occasions while acting like tourists."

"Alright." I grin. "What time is dinner?"

Enzo glances at his watch. "Six. That means we have a lot of time to kill. Hungry? I can order room service. They have a great menu."

"Sure." I bounce my shoulders and can't stop smiling.

After my late breakfast, Charlie drives us around the strip, looking for places to shop and sightsee. We pop into a store with a name I've never heard before, but Enzo says it's well-known in Europe. The air smells luxurious when we walk inside, and imaginary dollar signs go cha-ching in my head. My instinct is to search for the clearance rack, but Enzo walks up to a mannequin wearing a flowy, ethereal, running-through-a-meadow-of daisies, type of dress. I'm pretty sure I've seen it on a Gucci runway at New York Fashion Week. 

"This is pretty," he says, rubbing the material between his fingers. "You'd look beautiful in it for Sunday brunch." He turns to one of the women working in the store. "I'd like Mara to try this on." 

The woman bows her head, and asks for my size, then zips off to grab it. Another woman begins making suggestions to Enzo and takes him by the elbow to escort him around, but he laughs and pivots to me.

"She's the one you want to talk to. Get Mara whatever she wants."

"Of course." The woman bows her head. "Would you like me to start a dressing room for you, Ma'am?"

"Yes, please," I say.

"And a bottle of champagne on ice," Enzo adds.

"Right away, Sir."

The woman disappears into the back room, followed by giggling and whispers. If the employees are anything like me, they must think Enzo is hot. So, I turn to him, grinning.

"I think they like you."

"They like my money." He pulls out another dress and studies it. 

It's thigh-length, but elegant in a simple, black dress sort of way with a boat neck. There's something about it that feels rich when I touch the fabric. I doubt any of these dresses are made from polyester like the ones I buy to go clubbing with the girls. He turns the garment around and the entire backside is completely sheer. 

"Oh, it's a business in the front and party in the back kind of dress," I laugh.

"Looks like something for a funeral, not a dinner." Enzo stuffs it onto the rack, and pulls out another dress, then shakes his head. "You know what?" He grabs several more. "Try all of them."

"Enzo!" I laugh when he piles them into my arms. 

"You'll need a bathing suit too..." He whirls around, searching for options, and hurries toward the opposite end of the store. I race to catch up.

"A bathing suit?"

"For the poolside lunch tomorrow." He rubs his chin, staring at the bikinis on display.

The women return, and one has the champagne on ice like Enzo requested, while the other gestures for the pile of dresses in my arms. 

"I can take those to your fitting room, Ma'am." 

"Yes, please," Enzo says. "And I'd like you to show Mara more bathing suit options." He waves at the mannequins like he's swatting a pesky fly. "None of these will do." 

 "Of course." The other woman bows. "Any other requests?"

"Shoes," I say.

"Right. Can't forget heels to complete these outfits." She winks at me. "Anything else?"

Lingerie crosses my mind, and how sexy it would be to try them on for Enzo. However, I shake my head, and the woman dismisses herself with the heap of dresses.

About forty-five minutes later, I'm wiping sweat off my brow, and sliding into another dress. So far, none of the ones I've tried have hit the mark for tonight. Each time I step out of the dressing room, Enzo gets to his feet, walks over, and studies me in the mirror while telling the women what kind of adjustments would need to be made to make the dress perfect. One would think he was a fashion designer tailoring his latest inspiration. Then he ultimately says, this won't do. Let's see the next one.

At this point, I've tried on at least fifty dresses, and I'm losing hope. This shopping spree is quickly deflating like a balloon as it goes from an exciting adventure to a laborious endeavor. So, I take a deep breath, then step out of the dressing room for the umpteenth round of rejection.

However, this time, Enzo's eyes brighten, his posture straightens, and he nearly misses the side table as he sets down his champagne glass.

"Mara..." he says breathlessly and walks over, his hands going to my waist.

Heat fills my cheeks, and I look down so he doesn't see how his touch affects me, but when I peek back up, Enzo is too busy admiring my reflection in the mirror to notice. Off to the side, the women exchange triumphant glances.

"This color." He brushes his fingertips up my arms and to my shoulders where he rests them on the thin straps. "It's gorgeous on your skin."

"You think so?" I smooth my palms down the satin fabric. "It's not too bright?"

"No. I think chartreuse is your color, and this neckline..." He caresses my bare collarbones.

"We can have the draping adjusted!" one of the women blurts.

"No." Enzo shakes his head and continues to admire me. "The draping in the chest is perfect. In fact, everything about this dress is perfect."

"I like how the length is shorter in the front," I say.

"Mara, give us a spin, and check out the back." Enzo smiles.

So, I do and catch a glimpse of the women staring proudly after finally picking a winner. However, it's Enzo's expression that almost causes me to stumble. He studies me the same way he did that night at Penthouse when I flexed my ballet moves and he came over to ask me what they were called. That night, I was a curiosity to him—an exhibit he needed to explore and learn every detail. He stares at me the same way now. So, I do a pirouette, causing the dress to flare out, just for him.

His eyes brighten.

The back of the dress has more draping, which exposes my shoulder blades and waist, but stops just above my butt. I feel like a Greek goddess with it highlighting my curves in a sexy, yet elegant way. But it's mostly how Enzo looks at me that lets me know this is the one.

I spin again, and the women clap.

"Tiny dancer," Enzo whispers, grazing a line down my spine with his fingertips before resting his palm on my hip. I inhale a quiet breath at his intimate touch. "You'll need jewelry."

One of the women snaps in excitement. "We have a perfect set with peridot gems to go with that dress!" 

"Good. Let's see it," Enzo replies.

We spend the rest of the afternoon shopping and each time we exit a store, our hands find each other's. Enzo's touch also becomes more and more intimate. When we stop to look at something, he rests his palm on my hip or pulls me closer by the waist. There's even a moment when I'm tucked into his side with his arm around my shoulder, and our eyes meet, and I'm positive he's about to kiss me. His gaze drifts to my mouth, causing my heart to cartwheel, and the magnetism between us begs for us to kiss.

But Enzo looks away to check his watch, releasing a lament-filled sigh as announces it's time to head back to the hotel to get ready for dinner. 

My soul cries. It's going to be a long night.