Page 80 of Scandalous Games

“My old one is my favorite, okay?”

My pulse skyrockets when his calloused fingers grip my small wrist. One small tug and I’m plastered against his side. I’m too stunned to mutter a protest when he nestles me in the crook of his arm and shoulder while draping my left leg over his until I’m lying halfway on his warm and shockingly comfortable chest.

“Here, cuddle me.”

For the longest of seconds, I’m still as a statue and concentrating on my rapid pulse, like my heart is in my throat. I’m grateful for the darkness so he can’t see my blush forming on my cheeks. Every hard ridge and texture—it molds and fits against my curves.

I’m about to call him out for touching me when the tip of his finger traces up and down my spine teasingly while the other palm caresses the back of my thigh with his thumb. It is so soothing and pleasant that my eyes begin to feel heavy.

“So you’re a cuddler, Dash?” I mumble, halfway close to passing out.

“No, I hate it. Now, go to sleep.”

He denies it, yet holds me so tight that our heartbeats sync and beat the same rhythm. The desire to pull away doesn’t even penetrate my mind. Instead, I curve my arm around him until I fall into a dreamless slumber.

Chapter Twenty-six

BIANCA

Remember when Dash said he was going to buy me an engagement ring?

Well, he forgot to mention one tiny detail—that it will involve an eight-hour trip in a private jet across the world. Because here I am in the capital city of fashion and romance—Paris, France.

I forgot the number of times I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Or hallucinating. Or gone plain crazy.

Yesterday, all I received was a simple text saying to pack my bags. It was easy to assume he was flying me to his home since he mentioned in passing I would need to attend charity functions and social gatherings with him after the news of our engagement broke all over the country. After Nova and Rosalie, we’re the next “it” couple and everybody wants private details of our whirlwind romance.

It’s been an overwhelming experience, to say the least.

One editor of a top magazine wouldn’t stop hounding me for an exclusive interview despite me refusing several times. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her now. I don’t know how Rosa does it, honestly.

Throughout our flight, Dash smartly evaded my prying questions about our adventure with a knowing smirk on his face. The controlling asshole had even paid the crew members to not reveal our destination.

The maddening part—I couldn’t even yell or complain at him under the crew’s watchful gaze because, to the public, we’re a head-over-heels-in-love couple. A fact my dear fake fiancé took full advantage of by sitting me in his lap, with intimate caresses that left my cheeks flaming and squirming on his thighs.

It was distracting, tantalizing, and sinful agony.

And no, I didn’t secretly revel in it.Lies.

However, it was satisfying to see shock contour his ravishing face when I played along and called him darling breathlessly until I was certain he was going to fuck me then and there. The primal and salacious expression full of savage lust left me floored and winded.

Then to punish me for my secret rules holding him back, he marked the column of my throat by biting me savagely. He did it where everyone could see and sat back with a satisfied smirk for the rest of the flight, stealing possessive glances at the hickey.

He must have been a predator in his past life, because the man is obsessed with marking me with his teeth like a savage.

However, my anger had all but evaporated the second we landed. I stepped out and was greeted by the driver in a French accent saying, “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

I swear I staggered in my heels when I learned we were in Paris. The beautiful city I’ve always dreamt of visiting when I was young and smitten with after binge-watching Hallmark romance movies. I would fantasize about walking on the bridge over the Seine with the love of my life and follow the tradition of love locks.

What can I say? The young Bianca was a hopeless romantic. Utterly naïve and trusting.

A faint memory of me confessing this to Niall assaults me.

There’s no way Dash could know, right?Because when I peered at him, as always, his face was a veil of secrecy. Obscure and unfaltering.

Though at the moment, it’s staring at me in soft wonderment, a faint smile on his mouth.

“I can’t believe you brought me to freaking Paris,” I yell for the hundredth time, still unable to believe it. I sound like I’ve never been on an international trip before.

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