anything wrong?”
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I lied glumly even though my stomach immediately let out a silent but tangible grumble of protest.
A look of disappointment crossed over his face. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who can’t eat in front of a man.”
I made a face. “You’ve seen how I eat.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s because you’re eating too little,” I admitted helplessly. “You make me feel like a glutton--” I stopped speaking at his grin.
“Is that the only thing bothering you?” At my mournful nod, he said, “Will it help then if I told you that on the way here I went for a drive-thru and ate two Big Macs? And for breakfast, I had double pancakes and a hash?”
I thought about it and finally smiled. “Yes.” I picked up my fork and knife again.
Constantijin burst into laughter, and so did George.
“What?” I wailed, but I was smiling, too, mostly because it had been a long time since I saw Constantijin acting this carefree.
After our meal, the three of us agreed to meet by the pool an hour later. Or rather, George and Constantijin made the arrangements and I sort of found myself nodding in agreement. But all my doubts returned in full force after Constantijin walked us back to our suite.
“I’ll be a hundred dollars richer by the end of the weekend,” George crowed.
“He’s just flirting with me,” I said, trying not to let George’s optimism get to me. “It’s nothing serious. He doesn’t have anything to do, doesn’t have anyone to talk to---”
He snorted. “Do you really expect me to believe that? One: he’s a billionaire. Why is he spending his vacation here in Vegas when he could have afforded to go to Ibiza, Maldives – or even the freaking North Pole?” He flicked his second finger. “Two: I’m not blind, Yanna. I’ve seen how he looks at you. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you two had totally played footsie---”
I tried my very, very best not to blush.
George let out a strangled gasp.
I so totally failed.
“OMFG, you did that already, haven’t you? You are so bad !”
“It’s not what you think,” I protested even as I blushed harder at his sly gaze.
George doubled over in laughter. “Oh, you so did.” Wiping tears of amusement from his eyes, he murmured, “He likes you, Yanna. Trust me.”
I threw myself on the bed, bouncing on my back as I did. “You don’t understand, George. Have you forgotten who he is? Alyx told me he’s Netherlands’ #1 playboy.”
“So?”
“He’s one of the Three Pussketeers.”
“So?”
I growled, “He can’t be serious with me, that’s so!” Peeking at George, I was shocked to see that he didn’t appear worried at all.
“Yanna,” he said patiently, “that may all be true, but it just means one thing. You simply have to work harder to make him serious with you.”
Easier said than done, I thought with a silent grumble as the two of us went down to the poolside half an hour later. He was Constantijin Kastein – a man who might as well have descended from Helen of Troy, with a face that could launch a freaking thousand 747s. And I was just Yanna Everleigh, a twenty-four year old hopeless romantic who had been recently introduced to the illicit pleasures of (almost) sex.
If someone was going to do some convincing, it would no doubt be Constantijin, tempting me to forget all
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I lied glumly even though my stomach immediately let out a silent but tangible grumble of protest.
A look of disappointment crossed over his face. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who can’t eat in front of a man.”
I made a face. “You’ve seen how I eat.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s because you’re eating too little,” I admitted helplessly. “You make me feel like a glutton--” I stopped speaking at his grin.
“Is that the only thing bothering you?” At my mournful nod, he said, “Will it help then if I told you that on the way here I went for a drive-thru and ate two Big Macs? And for breakfast, I had double pancakes and a hash?”
I thought about it and finally smiled. “Yes.” I picked up my fork and knife again.
Constantijin burst into laughter, and so did George.
“What?” I wailed, but I was smiling, too, mostly because it had been a long time since I saw Constantijin acting this carefree.
After our meal, the three of us agreed to meet by the pool an hour later. Or rather, George and Constantijin made the arrangements and I sort of found myself nodding in agreement. But all my doubts returned in full force after Constantijin walked us back to our suite.
“I’ll be a hundred dollars richer by the end of the weekend,” George crowed.
“He’s just flirting with me,” I said, trying not to let George’s optimism get to me. “It’s nothing serious. He doesn’t have anything to do, doesn’t have anyone to talk to---”
He snorted. “Do you really expect me to believe that? One: he’s a billionaire. Why is he spending his vacation here in Vegas when he could have afforded to go to Ibiza, Maldives – or even the freaking North Pole?” He flicked his second finger. “Two: I’m not blind, Yanna. I’ve seen how he looks at you. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you two had totally played footsie---”
I tried my very, very best not to blush.
George let out a strangled gasp.
I so totally failed.
“OMFG, you did that already, haven’t you? You are so bad !”
“It’s not what you think,” I protested even as I blushed harder at his sly gaze.
George doubled over in laughter. “Oh, you so did.” Wiping tears of amusement from his eyes, he murmured, “He likes you, Yanna. Trust me.”
I threw myself on the bed, bouncing on my back as I did. “You don’t understand, George. Have you forgotten who he is? Alyx told me he’s Netherlands’ #1 playboy.”
“So?”
“He’s one of the Three Pussketeers.”
“So?”
I growled, “He can’t be serious with me, that’s so!” Peeking at George, I was shocked to see that he didn’t appear worried at all.
“Yanna,” he said patiently, “that may all be true, but it just means one thing. You simply have to work harder to make him serious with you.”
Easier said than done, I thought with a silent grumble as the two of us went down to the poolside half an hour later. He was Constantijin Kastein – a man who might as well have descended from Helen of Troy, with a face that could launch a freaking thousand 747s. And I was just Yanna Everleigh, a twenty-four year old hopeless romantic who had been recently introduced to the illicit pleasures of (almost) sex.
If someone was going to do some convincing, it would no doubt be Constantijin, tempting me to forget all
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