My eyebrows shoot up. “Paris? As in France?”
“Yes. I’m on my way to the airport. I just wanted to stop by and update you.”
“You’re going to fly to Paris? Right now?”
“Yes,” he says, his eyes locking on mine. “I’ll go and sort this out.”
“OK. Give me a chance to change and pack. I’m coming too.”
He frowns. “That won’t be necessary.”
I take a step closer to him, my hands on my hips. “Axel, I’m not sitting here twiddling my thumbs while you play detective in another country. I’m coming with you.”
There’s a pause, that slow, calculating look of his, and I know he’s weighing the argument. Finally, he exhales and shrugs.
“Fine,” he says. “Half an hour. We leave in half an hour. Get packed. If you’re not in the foyer in exactly half an hour, I am going without you.”
I practically fly from the vault through the mansion and up the stairs, my mind racing with excitement and nerves. A change of clothes and a frantic shove of essentials and enough clothes for two or three days into a weekend bag later, I’m ready. Axel is already waiting in the foyer when I dash down the stairs withone minute to spare, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You actually did it,” he says, his tone teasing but warm. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Are you kidding? I’m not about to let you have all the fun. And besides … I need to see Paris.”
He lifts an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his green eyes. “I was right. You’re stubborn; you know that?”
The flight passes in a blur. This is now my second time flying on a private jet, and I am still far from used to it. We spend the flight on a combination of planning our approach to the dealer, having occasional discussions about who the dealer might have sold the painting to, although that’s more out of curiosity than anything, and silent moments where our shoulders brush, and I have to bite back a shiver. Axel pretends not to notice, but I know he too can feel the pull between us intensifying with every glance.
When we arrive at the airstrip, the hotel is only a quick taxi ride away. It is only as we stand outside of the hotel that Axel hesitates slightly.
“I deliberately chose a slightly seedy hotel so we appear a little shady. Unfortunately, my PA only booked one room,” he admits. “As you know, the original plan was for me to come alone. Unfortunately, when my PA called back to see if she could get a second room, she was informed that they were fully booked. So… we either share the room, or we find you a room in a different hotel.”
For a moment, anger flickers inside of me. Why the hell didn’t he tell me this sooner? But then an idea comes to me. Everything happens for a reason. The anger fades away as heat spreads through me. I don’t want to have a room in a different hotel. Play it cool, Jo, I warn myself in my head.
“Well,” I say. “It’s not a big deal. We can share without it being a major thing. After all, we’re not here on a holiday. We’re on a mission to catch a thief.”
A flicker of relief, maybe even admiration, crosses his face. “Good. I was hoping you wouldn’t overreact.”
Inside, though, a small irritation lingers. I don’t like the way he just assumed I would react badly to the news. Still, though, my anger is tempered by a strange, growing sense of closeness. He trusted me enough to let me come, and that counts for something. I decide not to start this trip off on the wrong foot by being all butt-hurt and proving Axel’s point.
He goes to the reception desk to check us in while I hang back looking over a map of the city that is pinned on one wall. When the check-in process is done, I follow Axel to the elevator and up to our floor – floor six. We enter the room and I flick the lights on. The soft electric lighting clashes with the orangey toned light from the Parisian streetlights outside that is spilling in through the glass door that leads out onto a balcony. Axel sets our bags down by the dresser, and I pull the drapes across the balcony door.
I look at the time and see it’s almost two a.m. Axel sees me checking the time.
“It’s too late to do anything now,” he mutters, half to himself, half to me. He looks up at me. “Unless you’re hungry? I’m sure there will be somewhere open for a takeaway.”
“I’m still stuffed full,” I say. We were served a full, restaurant-standard-three-course meal on the plane.
“Me too. We should unpack and get an early night. Start fresh in the morning,” Axel suggests.
I nod, though my pulse is already racing, not just from the day, but from the energy between us, and the thought that I am about to share a bed with Axel Rhodes. As we start unpacking, casual conversation turns into playful banter.
He smirks, tossing a folded black T-shirt at me. “You brought five pairs of socks? Are we hiking the Alps or something?”
I snort out a laugh and throw the T-shirt back to him, and then I start hanging up my clothes. “You never know. Paris could get chilly.”
“You really brought three sweaters for a weekend?” I tease, holding one up and laughing.
He leans a little closer to me, brushing past me as he grabs something from his bag. “One was for you.”