Epilogue

"You"re probably feeling like one smug bastard right now," Max leaned over to say halfway through the reception as wewatched Sunny getting dragged onto the ballroom floor by her mother and her two bridal attendants, Pru and Tony.

A sasha x kasha song played overhead, and a crowd of showgirls and young Vegas heiresses gathered to see who would catch Sunny's bouquet now that she was officially taken.

Max was trying to needle me, but all I could do was grin as I told him, "In my entire time as the CEO of Benton Worldwide, I can confidently say The House has never won bigger."

On the other side of me, Lobo muttered something in Spanish. While his eyes relentlessly tracked Carly Reyes, who was also being tugged onto the floor by her sisters, Stella and Lucia, who"d served as our flower girl.

Lobo and I had never been one to discuss personal business, but I felt compelled to ask, "You okay over there, Lo?"

Lobo"s dark-brown eyes glittered with rage, even as he said, "Everything"s fine."

I might have believed him if he wasn"t gripping his glass of tequila so tight. Or if he"d taken his eyes off Carly while answering me.

"What"s this tall tale Grandma was telling me about you taking three weeks off work?" Max asked, drawing my attention back to him.

And suddenly, my smile returned. "Yeah, Sunny and I booked a little honeymoon bungalow on a small island in Tahiti during her winter break from Manhattan University."

She"d taken out her IUD as an early Christmas present, and I"d already thought of several creative ways to punish her for daring to make me so happy. I had a feeling my grandmother would definitely have her wish for a great-grandbaby fulfilled soon.

"Sounds boring as fuck. Three weeks on an island with no party scene?" Max threw back a shot of some trendy Chinese baijiu he"d been trying to convince me to sell in Room B, the Benton"s onsite nightclub. "Me and Andy are meeting up at my club in Greece."

"Andy? You mean the A.M Volcano, that soccer player with the anger management issues?"

"And one of my last friends standing who still hasn"t settled down. But, me personally? If I had a baddie like Sunny, I definitely wouldn"t be wasting her on some boring-ass?—"

I cut my brother short with a narrowed look. "Don't make me regret letting you be my best man, Max."

Max shrugged. "You only did it because you needed to balance out Sunny"s numbers. Or did she give you that whole speech about this being the first step in mending our broken relationship, too?"

He tilted his head back in a gesture that looked like he was rolling his eyes and being electrocuted by boredom at the same time.

God, he needs to grow up.

I set my own glass of Glendaver Bourbon down. "Speaking of relationships, I've decided Grandma might not have been so wrong about the benefits of marriage after all. You have a year."

Max scrunched his forehead. "A year for what?"

"To settle down and get married," I answered. "Otherwise, I'm cutting you off. No more salary for doing absolutely nothing, and I'll exercise Grandma's option to buy your shares in the company at their original value. So you'll only get what they were worth when Grandpa died, before I took over."

Max stared at me. Then he burst out laughing. "Okay, you got me, bro. That was a good one. I didn't even know you were capable of making jokes. Sunny's really made you different."

I grinned back. It was true. Ever since I'd made the temporary move to New York to be with Sunny while she pursued her accelerated graduate degree, I'd been smiling and laughing more than I ever had before. I was even occasionally known to make a joke.

Max's face lit up. "Hey, your hottie wife's hottie bridesmaid just caught the bouquet. What's her name again?"

"Prudence," I answered. "But everyone calls her Pru."

"Yeah, Pru," Max said with a wink. "Better go congratulate her."

Max grabbed the glass of champagne Sunny hadn"t finished and loped off to make his move on Pru.

"He thinks you"re kidding," Lobo said, turning his attention back to me now that Carly had returned to their seats toward the back of the room with her sisters.

"He"ll figure out soon enough," I answered before standing to greet my wife when she rejoined us at the main table after having done her bridal-bouquet-passing duty.

"You're smiling! What were you two, um..." She threw a nervous glance toward Lobo. He still set her on edge, and Sunny was still not a good enough actress not to show it. "What were you two talking about?"

"How lucky I am," I answered truthfully.

Sunny chuckled and whispered in my ear, "I don't know about that. You told me to get a lace gown, and I got this silk sheath instead. Oops!"

My smile grew even bigger, thinking of Sunny lying across my bed, begging me all night to do with her exactly as I pleased, and I made a mental edit on an old Vegas standard.

Luck would definitely be a Sunny tonight.

* * *

keep reading for an excerpt of

KAYLA IN PARIS!

"Ooh,look who's a lucky passenger today!"

The first-class cabin's British flight attendant squeezed the top of the empty seat next to mine with a congratulatory wink. "I'd actually pay pounds to trade places with you right now, Ms. Edwards!"

No, you wouldn't. You so, so wouldn't. She had no idea why the seat beside mine was paid for but sitting empty. If she did, she'd probably pay pounds not to be me right now.

I glanced at the pretty gold band on her left hand. Heck, I would probably offer her money to trade places right now.

But it wasn't her fault I was flying alone to Paris on an all-expenses-paid luxury trip meant for two. No need to drag down her mood with the empty seat's sad backstory.

I opened my mouth to answer her congratulatory wink with a simple (and situation-appropriate) "thanks."

But before I could get the word out, she waved a hand above her head and called down the aisle, "Right this way, Mr. Atwater! You're in seat 1B!"

Seat 1B.

Wait. That was the empty seat beside mine!

My heart lurched. I'd thought I was safe!

The seat next to me had remained empty on the first leg of my flight from Los Angeles to London's Heathrow Airport, thanks to Dwayne's unclaimed ticket, and the pilot had already made the takeoff announcement—in both French and English.

I figured Tourmaline Airlines must have a policy when it came to passengers who didn't show up for their first-class flights. I'd even fastened my seatbelt with the assumption that I'd be continuing the trip the way I'd started it. Alone.

But no….

Somebody was headed this way. To sit in the seat I'd so carefully chosen for Dwayne. Back when I thought I'd be flying to Paris as his girlfriend and coming back as his fiancée.

But now, the seat I chose for him groaned under the weight of some stranger.

Don't cry! Don't cry!I turned my face to the small window and squeezed my eyes shut. What was that British saying? Stiff upper lip.

Well, I clamped both of my lips, curling them under my teeth to keep the waterworks at bay. But it didn't work. Hot droplets of emotion broke free from my closed eyelids and spilled down my cheeks.

Those bitter tears cared not a fig that I was sitting in a luxurious first-class cabin next to a stranger who did not deserve to be stuck with a crying woman on their way to the City of Lights…. Or that Dwayne Thornhill wasn't worth a single one of my tears.

Hadn't I been humiliated enough by my NFL player ex?

He wasn't even that great of a football player—a second-string kicker known more for the showy dance he did on the rare occasion he made a field goal than his actual skills at playing the game.

He hadn't been that great of a boyfriend, either. Always broke because most of the money he made went to clothes, flashy cars, and going out to places where he'd be seen by the "right people."

I never did quite figure out who the right people were. Only who they weren't.

I wasn't the right people, which is why we could never just stay in and chill with Netflix. The right people also weren't my family, judging from the way he'd sigh and roll his eyes through my father's monthly cookouts. And the right people definitely weren't my boss and best friend, Suzie.

"Don't you think it's kind of weird that you spend so much time outside work with your boss, doing single-mom shit when you don't even got a kid?"

That had been his response when I told him I couldn't accept his last-minute invite to an award show after-party because I already had plans to attend the City of Lights PTA fundraiser Suzie had spent months planning for her ten-year-old son.

I had told Dwayne about these plans. I even asked him to donate something to the raffle and come with me to the gala. He hadn't accepted my invite… or donated a single thing to the raffle… or taken it well when I'd chosen the event I'd already committed to over his thing. He"d just sent me another annoyed text:

"K. See ur choosing Suzie over me again."

He also hadn't answered any of my texts after that until I told him I'd won the fundraiser's grand prize—an all-expenses-paid trip to Paris for two! He'd come around then and even hinted that he was working with the team's PR department to create a super-special reel for the L.A. Suns' social media account.

I'd been so excited, thinking about getting proposed to in Paris.

I'd never won anything in my life before that. And for a few months, while we waited for the end of the football season to take our possibly life-changing first trip abroad together, it felt like I was the luckiest woman in the world.

But look at me now…. Darkening the eggshell-colored armrest of my first-class seat with tears as we rose into the air at a 45-degree angle before settling into a straight line.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I know sittin' next to me is overwhelmin', but this is too much."

What the…

My new seatmate's oddly cocky assumption stopped the tears I previously couldn't control like a faucet flipped down into the off position. In a flash, I went from crying inconsolably to glaring at?—

The rolled white towel that he suddenly shoved into my eyeline before I could get a look at him. "Here, take this. It will help calm you down already."

My disgruntled frown lifted a little. Apparently, the flight attendant had handed warm towels out while I'd been crying, and he had gotten one for me.

Okay, thoughtful. But still, I had to ask, "What makes you think my crying has anything to do with you?"

He snorted. "You tryin' to tell me it's just a coincidence you started blubberin' on right when I had me a sit down next to you?"

"Not a coincidence exactly—" I started to say before stopping myself.

It wasn't like the real story was any less embarrassing than what the stranger was imagining.

Instead of explaining, I snatched the towel, pressed it into my face with both hands—and immediately forgave the cocky stranger for everything.

"Oh my God, you are you so right!" I admitted as the towel's heat seeped into my skin, loosening all the muscles I'd tightened during my crying fit. "This feels amazing!"

"Yeah, that heated towel's mint, that, ain't it?"

My new seatmate had an English accent, but not one of those nice, posh ones the British judges on American reality competition shows always seemed to have.

He'd dropped the "h" on "here" and "help," and just about all the "g"s on any word ending in -ing. His voice also had a gruff quality to it, one that didn't at all match the sophisticated dulcets I'd heard coming off the other English passengers in first class.

The cocky-but-thoughtful stranger's accent made me think of less of British judges who thought they knew everything and more of English crime shows featuring violent gangsters.

"So why all the tears, then, if it's not cos of me?" he asked. "You got a hate on that bad for planes."

I sacrificed the soothing towel for what was supposed to be a glance—just a quick peek to see who I was even talking to.

But then I couldn't tear my eyes away.

I thought the stranger in 1B only spoke like he could star in one of those violent British gangster shows. I didn't expect him to look like he could, too.

He wasn't bald, but his hair was shaved extremely close to his head. And even though he didn't appear to be that much older than me, his brutal face told a story of way more life experience. He had a crooked nose that had obviously been broken at least once, I could only assume in a fight. And his piercing black eyes locked onto mine with unnerving focus. I also noticed he wasn't dressed nicely, like the other mostly European men in first-class. He wore a simple gray tee and black jeans.

However, none of this made him unattractive. Other than the nose, his face was composed of sharp symmetrical lines. And I couldn't help but let my eyes roam over the biceps that hilled underneath the cuffs of his plain t-shirt before rolling into his forearms, both of which were heavily tattooed and roped with muscle.

No, he might not be dressed as nicely, but his strong, muscular build outdid every other man in first class.

Yeah, yeah, I saw it now.

Why the flight attendant had called me lucky when he showed up at the last minute to be seated next to me.

This guy oozed potent masculinity, and now I completely understood why he'd assumed I'd been so overwhelmed by the sight of him that I had burst into tears.

"Um, no, I actually like planes," I answered, awkwardly trying my best to recover—not just from the embarrassing crying jag but also from the sight of him.

He gritted his jaw and glared toward the window beside my seat. "Well, I don't like 'em. Don't like to be driven 'round by other people 'less I'm on the ground, and a lot of times not even then. And don't even get me started on takeoff and landin'."

He rolled his shoulders back. "Fuck, we both need a drink, don't we?"

It was technically a question, but his gruff voice made it seem more like a command.

I glanced nervously at the security notifications lit up above our seats. "Um, I don't think they can serve drinks before the fasten seatbelt lights go off."

"Naw, we're a'right." He waved down the flight attendant who'd called me lucky earlier and made a flipping motion with his hand, pantomiming throwing back a drink.

And I guess we were alright. What couldn't have been even two minutes later, the flight attendant came over to our seats with two glasses of champagne for us. And they were not only delivered with a smile, but also with a sexy wink for my seatmate, despite her wedding ring.

"You're happier now, right?" he asked after we'd both drained our flutes.

I thought about his question, blinked, and found myself realizing out loud, "Yeah.... Yeah, I actually feel a lot better."

"All fixed, then." He set the champagne glass aside like a judge pounding a gavel. "My job here is done."

I couldn't help but laugh. "So, you're one of those guys that's good at fixing things?"

He paused and squinted at me.

"I just… I just mean… I was such a mess a few minutes ago. And you seemed to know exactly what to do...."

I trailed off, heat crawling up my neck. Years of trying to wedge myself into the role of football player's girlfriend, and I still couldn't make small talk to save my life. Though, to be fair, neither Dwayne nor any of the other players on the L.A. Suns were as brutally hot as the guy currently squinting at me.

"I happen to come from a long line of electricians." He turned all the way sideways in his seat to face me with a grin that only lifted one side of his mouth. "Five generations for the power company, includin' me dad, me granddad, and all me uncles."

"Oh… wow. That's so cool." I let out the awkward breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "It's so nice that you've followed in their footsteps—and that I got to meet someone else in first-class who also isn't filthy rich."

A long pause. Then he turned his head and muttered something that sounded a lot like, "American. Should've guessed."

"Oh wow, I'm so sorry. Did I…?" The cheek-burning embarrassment came back for round two as I dipped my chin to ask, "Did I do or say something to offend you?"

Already?I silently added.

All the other folks in the Suns' payroll office who'd been to Europe had given me a long list of "Ugly American" things not to do. That was pretty much the only reason I'd opted to wear a skirt and a casual blazer instead of pair of leggings and my favorite yellow hoodie in first class.

I scoured my mind, trying to figure out what I'd said to make my British seatmate mutter under his breath. Maybe it was the comment about not being filthy rich? Yeah, that had to be it. I inwardly cringed, remembering how far Dwayne had gone to make it appear like he had way more money than he did. Ugh, I should have known better.

But then, instead of telling me off, he leaned in and rested his strong forearm on our shared armrest. "So, say you had something sparkin' off in your flat, somethin' that would be dangerous for you to manage by yourself. You could ring me, and I would come 'round, and yeah, love, I'd fix it. I'd fix whatever you wanted me to handle, whenever you needed it."

Wait, is he…

My thoughts faltered. Then canted to the side.

Was this brutally hot guy in first class flirting?

With me?

No, it couldn't be. Guys who looked like him didn't flirt with women who looked me. I mean, guys, in general, didn't come on to me. Ever.

I'd been the one to shyly offer to show Dwayne around L.A. four years ago because he said I reminded him of the girls back in his hometown of St. Louis after I helped him sort out a problem with his first paycheck.

That was what I was. All I was. A nice, helpful girl. Wholesome to my core.

So no, this obvious bad boy with a skin-fade haircut and what looked like a permanent five o'clock shadow couldn't possibly be flirting with me.

Could he?

As if to answer my question, 1B leaned even farther forward. So close his masculine scent filled my nose. Aggressively just soap and nothing else.

"Why were you askin' after my background, then, love? You got somethin' that needs fixin'?"

Okay, even I couldn't deny that sexual innuendo.

"No, I don't have anything that needs…" Forget my cheeks. My entire face was burning now. "I wasn't trying to… I was honestly just asking because, quite frankly, I don't belong here. I won this trip, you see. And since you appear… appear to not belong here, either, I was just wondering about your background. That's all."

He dragged his eyes up and down my face, obviously not convinced.

Then he just stared at me in a way that felt like getting completely dissected. But for the life of me, I couldn't bring myself to look away from his black gaze.

Luckily, the flight attendant chose that moment to reappear with more champagne. This time on a tray filled with flutes for everyone.

The stranger in 1B shifted his intense gaze away from me to accept another glass of bubbly from the flight attendant, and I could finally breathe again. Honestly, it felt like getting released from some kind of hypnotic trance.

"Yay, more champagne!" Trying to shake off the feeling that 1B had just straight-up stared into my soul, I all but snatched the flute of liquid courage from the attendant.

However, this time, instead of knocking back the alcohol, I leveled my voice and my rampaging thoughts enough to say, "Cheers. I'm Kayla, by the way."

Another long pause. Then: "You can call me Mick." He clinked his plastic flute against mine. "And yeah, cheers. Here's to movin' on."

I took a sip, but then had to ask, "Moving on?"

"That's what you're doin', right?" He leveled that direct gaze of his on me again. "Movin' on from the last guy? Why else would you be cryin' into your window if you don't bloody hate planes like meself."

I hesitated. The smart, practical payroll administrator inside of me was sending up all sorts of warning flares about getting too personal with some guy I"d just met on a plane.

But why not?I thought. The champagne felt nice and warm in my stomach, and I'd probably never see Mick again after the plane landed.

"Something like that," I admitted. "I was stupid enough to date a football player."

He regarded me with a confused squint. "You say you were datin' a football player, then?"

And I remembered, "Oh, you guys call soccer football. I forgot. I meant I was stupid enough to date an American football player. Do you know anything about American football?"

"Only that I'm bollocks at it," he answered.

"Well, I work as a payroll administrator for this American football team called the Los Angeles Suns."

Again with that up-and-down look. "You don't look like any money person I ever met. Guy who does up the money where I work has a pocket protector and a terrible hairpiece. Looks like a raccoon decided to make his final home up there. Know what I mean?"

I laughed. "We have a guy that looks exactly like that in our payroll office, too! It's actually a pretty unglamorous job. The only difference between our office and yours is that fifty-three of the employees we cut checks for happen to be football players. That's how I met my ex."

"The wanker who made you cry." His expression tightened in a way that reminded me of the old Clint Eastwood Westerns my dad loved to watch.

"Yeah, the wanker who made me cry." I couldn't help but laugh again.

"You said you won this trip to Paris." His expression softened. "Let me guess, it was a trip for two, and I took his seat. That was why you were cryin', right? Not because you were given the grand prize of gettin' to sit next to me for an hour plus."

I didn't know whether to laugh or ask him if he was being serious about assuming a grown woman would burst into overwhelmed tears just because he'd sat down next to her. Like, had that actually happened to him?

Though, if we're keeping it real, I wouldn't have been surprised if the answer to that question was yes. He'd only flirted with me a little, and I could barely keep it together. Imagine how someone—anyone from a less glamorous city than L.A.—

would have felt.

In the end, I decided to just answer Mick's question honestly. "No, it wasn't because of you. I don't even know you. But I was with my ex for four years. I thought we'd take this trip, and he'd finally propose…."

The memory of Suzie calling me into her office during her lunch hour three days ago rose up like a shadow in the back of my mind at the same time I decided to tell the stranger in 1B the entire bitter story.

* * *

"When's thelast time you talked to Dwayne?" Suzie asked as soon as I dropped down into one of her guest chairs after closing the office door behind me.

I blinked. Suzie always watched the latest episode of Scuzz on TV from 1:00 to 1:30 pm every weekday. She even had it blocked out on her calendar, just in case one of her staff got it in their head to schedule a meeting she'd have to attend at that time. I'd assumed she'd called me in to give me some breathless piece of gossip. But no...

"Not for a couple of weeks," I answered. "He's been super busy trying to secure investors for this nightclub idea of his during the off-season…."

I trailed off when the implications of Suzie's question—and the unusually grave look on her face—caught up with me. "Wait, why are you asking? Did something happen to Dwayne? Is he in trouble?"

"Look at you, worried about Dwayne first things first." Suzie shook her head. "You are too damn nice. I mean, just the best. And, girl, I do not want to be the one to show you this. But you're my best friend, so…"

She turned around her computer monitor to display the video of the Scuzz.com newsroom, where their television show took place. Then she pushed play on the keyboard.

"So, Suns kicker Dwayne Thornhill narrowly avoided getting traded this season, but it looks like he decided to make a trade of his own…." One of the young reporters on screen was gossiping with Scuzz.com's much older editor in chief. "According to my sources, he'd been dating the same girl for, like, four years. Her name's like Katie or Kim or something…?"

"She famous?" The older editor cut off the young reporter before he could look up my name.

"Nope."

"Then her name doesn't matter." The editor in chief made a dismissive hand motion over the bill of his trucker hat. "What's going on with Thornhill? Get to it."

"Well, here's Thornhill last night at the Celebrity Weekly after-party for the Stadium Awards.

The headline HOT NEW COUPLE? appeared over footage of Dwayne walking out of the party arm in arm with a heavily made-up woman. I immediately recognized her as one of the stars of Sunset Sisters—that reality show about four Hollywood socialite sibs who almost exclusively dated pro athletes.

"Hey, that's not Kim Nobody—that's Karly Kazian!" the editor in chief exclaimed over the footage.

My heart sank a little, but then I shook my head and reasoned, "This is probably just a publicity stunt."

"Oh, honey." Suzie's eyes filled with pity.

Still, I rushed to defend Dwayne. "No, no, seriously. He's looking for investors right now. He was probably pitching his club to her. I mean, they're just walking out of a party. It's not like they're actually?—"

All of my justifications were interrupted by more footage—this time of Dwayne tonguing down Karly Kazian in the front seat of his sports car. The sports car I'd help him pay the bill on the previous month because he'd "miscalculated" some expenses.

And that's how I found out my trip to Paris would not include an engagement ring.

Or Dwayne.

* * *

"I was such an idiot,"I told Mick as I remembered all the pitying glances I'd gotten from my fellow Suns coworkers during the days leading up to my now solo vacation. "And I feel like even more an idiot for crying—in first class, of all places!"

"Yeah, you should feel like a right idiot for cryin'." To my surprise, Mick regarded me with a serious, completely unsympathetic look. "That wanker's not worth any of your tears. You know that. Don't you?"

Yes, I did know that. I mean, I even told myself the same thing earlier, before my crying jag. But somehow, when Mick said it, I understood the truth of how stupid it was to cry over Dwayne, to my core.

"You're right. You're totally right." I swallowed down the last of my champagne. "And even more importantly, I've learned my lesson. No more liars—and no more football players!"

I looked to Mick for another rough affirmation of what I already knew. But instead of agreeing with me again, he shifted in his seat, and a long, uncomfortable silence followed my declaration.

Aw, geez. My cheeks heated with the uncomfortable realization that I'd been going on and on about my ex for way too long. Like, I'd told him the whole drawn-out story in excruciating detail. What was I thinking? This probably wasn't his idea of good—or even decent—conversation.

I reset, and this time, I was the one who turned to fully face him. "Enough about me, though. How did you come to be in first class, listening to me whine about my ex-boyfriend?"

He gave me a considering look before answering with a proud smirk. "Guess I won a trip, too. All expenses paid, including a room at the Tourmaline Paris. But I only got four days and three nights, so I won't be in Paris as long as you."

"Wow, the Tourmaline! That's one of the most expensive hotels in Paris, right? I had to use points to get my coach flight upgraded, and they're putting me up at a Benton Budget."

I let out a totally jealous sigh. "But you won, like, a truly luxurious trip. And you're choosing to take it alone? No girlfriend or bestie? I would have dragged my mom or my best friend, Suzie, along with me if I could have. But Mom couldn't get the time off, and my best friend has a ten-year-old son."

Mick shrugged. "Never been one for travel companions anyways. Learned to value alone time early in life, guess you could say. I'll probably spend most of the trip in front of me laptop, catching up on Coronation Street and whatnot."

I stared at him, at a total loss for what to say.

"That's an English drama," he explained, obviously mistaking the reason for my confused look. "I think you call 'em soap operas or something like that."

"But it's Paris. I can't believe you'd want to waste such a nice trip watching stuff on your computer. In fact, just the thought of you spending four days inside your hotel room makes me feel really sad for you. I mean, it's the City of Lights! There's so much to do. Think of all the sights you'll be missing."

He crooked his head to the side, and half his mouth lifted into something between a grin and a smirk. "Only sights I want to see in Paris are right in front of me and currently all covered up."

I stared at him for few seconds and then snorted. "Oh, I get it now. You're not serious, right? You're just playing with me."

I felt a little rude for laughing, but c'mon. Things like this just did not happen to me.

Yes, I was cute with some work. I knew that. Dwayne had been forever on me about how good I could look if I just tried harder.

But even at my most made-up, I didn't look like the kind of woman a guy like Mick would want to see naked.

He had to be joking. More giggles rose up like champagne bubbles in my chest. I mean, he had to be. Right?

"I'm not kiddin', Kayla." The grin disappeared from his face, and his voice suddenly turned serious. Very, very serious.

Oh…. wow….

My laughter died abruptly, replaced by shock and something else that had me raising my hand to my throat with a sudden wish for pearls to clutch.

"But we only just met," I whispered.

"Tell you what." That intense look reappeared in his black eyes. "You got four nights in Paris. Agree to spend the first one of 'em with me, and I'll make it memorable. I promise you that, Kayla. I'll rock your world. I'll rock your entire universe, if you let me."

My mouth parted on a silent gasp. My entire universe?Is he serious?

"I'm completely serious, love." He answered my question as if I'd spoken it out loud. He leaned in again, and those black eyes of his kept mine magnetized with frightening ease. "One night. That's all I'm askin'. All you have to do is say yes."

Will Kayla say yes???

Find out what happens next in

KAYLA IN PARIS