Page 193 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

‘Of course,’ he said, brushing raindrops from his shoulders, as if everyone had a private jet that could double as a palace. ‘There’s a dining room, bedroom and shower room on board too.’

‘So where do I sit?’

‘Up front for take-off and then anywhere you like. Feel free to explore once the seat belt sign goes off. I have work to do. The flight time is around seventeen hours although we’ll have to stop to refuel along the way.’

She was glad he had work to keep him occupied. He’d been on the phone endlessly this morning, seemingly engaged in more negotiations, words like ‘contract’ and ‘conditions’ and ‘terms of agreement’ being bandied about, swirling around the suite. He’d barely communicated with her other than to acknowledge her existence with a nod while she’d taken breakfast at the dining table. He hadn’t smiled. After last night’s disastrous dinner date, she hadn’t expected him to.

But at least if he was busy she’d be spared another prying twenty questions session.

The wide leather seat proved as comfortable as it looked, the leather buttery soft.

Outside the rain splattered hard against her window, while inside, the cabin attendant offered them a pre-take-off drink. Dom waved away the champagne, selecting sparkling water. Mari elected for the champagne—she didn’t have to work and she was going to enjoy every little luxury going so she could recount each and every one of them to Suzanne when she returned home—and sipped it while watching the rivulets of rain run down her window. She certainly wouldn’t miss Melbourne’s changeable weather. It would be a pleasure to be somewhere warmer for a change.

The plane took off and Mari watched as the city shrank below, before the view was swallowed up by the clouds. Across the aisle Dom was already intent on whatever he was working on. Mari had seventeen hours to fill. Time for a movie or two before she could do some research of her own. A few hours later, she pulled out her laptop and opened a real estate site and started searching. She knew what she was looking for, a home with wide doors and passageways, enough bedrooms for Suzanne and any live-in carer, a big shower room and a kitchen with low benches and cabinetry—although she might have to get that custom-built. And no steps throughout—step-free was a must.

If she could get all that not far from her present location, just a few minutes away from Mari, that would be perfect.

‘Shopping for a new house?’

Mari jumped. She’d been so focused she hadn’t noticed Dom’s approach. She closed her laptop. ‘Just browsing.’

‘You probably don’t feel like sleeping but you might want to take a nap. We arrive in Las Vegas in five hours—it’ll be eight a.m. there, and we’ll hit the ground running. We’ll need to be back on the plane by two p.m.’

‘What about you?’

‘Are you offering to share?’

‘No!’ she said, feeling her cheeks flare.

He smirked. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, and headed back to his seat.

Dom went back to his seat thinking about what he’d seen on her screen. She’d been looking at real estate—and not bargain-basement real estate either. She sure wasn’t wasting any time working out how to spend her millions. She didn’t even have the money yet and she was looking to spend it. She’d be able to set herself up nicely with a sum like that.

Then again, it would be her money, she could spend it how she liked. Why should he care how she spent it? He opened his laptop and just as quickly closed it again.

Sure, she could spend it how she liked, but the money thing grated. Marianne had never seemed bothered about money. He remembered her wanting the simple things in life—that was one of the things that had attracted him to her. She was so unlike the society women he knew back in Spain—so unspoilt and carefree.

But that was twenty years ago and the girl he’d known then had clearly changed. The girl he’d known then had seemed as far away from accountant material as you could get.

It was a shame. That Marianne had been fun.

The bedroom boasted a queen-sized bed with its own toilet and separate shower room. Seriously, a shower room in a plane? Luxury. She wasn’t really tired but the bed did look inviting.

She hadn’t thought to pack nightwear in her carry-on, so she stripped down to her silk camisole and underwear, slipped between the covers and dimmed the lights. The sheets were whisper-soft, the duvet like a cloud, what little sound the engines made more a white noise that settled any concerns about what she was doing.

Bliss.

The chief steward advised Dom the plane would be landing in forty-five minutes—did Señor Estefan wish him to advise theseñora?

‘No,’ Dom said. He could do with a stroll; he’d been sitting for hours. ‘I’ll do it myself.’

He rapped softly on the bedroom door. There was no answer. He knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer.

He snicked open the door. ‘Marianne?’

The room was dimly lit, the shutters down, and Marianne was asleep in the bed. Her arms were flung out wide, her head turned towards him, her lips parted as she slept, her hair spilling across the pillow.

She’d tossed back the duvet at some stage, exposing her chest. She was wearing some kind of silk slip in a soft green and that gently rose and fell with her chest.

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