It All Began in Monte Carlo Read Free Page B

take slugs of, but what the hell Prince Charming wasright.
Eleven hours was a long time. Eleven hours without Mac. Eleven hours alone . . . oh God . . .
    â€œWhere did you get that tan?” Once again the words flew right out of her mouth. She should not have asked such a personal question; he was a stranger and obviously meant to keep it that way.
    He held out his glass, touched it to hers in a silent toast; took a sip. “Actually, Tahiti. A week on a beach.”
    â€œAlone?” Shit, she’d done it again. But his words had brought to mind the image of a long white sugar-sand beach, a tranquil blue bay, the small thud of tiny waves, the gentle heat of the sun, the smoothness of bodies glistening with lotion and the sweet smell of sweat and sex. It had just jumped into her overstressed mind.
    â€œPrincess,” he said, “I will confess to you. Yes, I was alone.”
    For the first time Sunny realized that Prince Charming had a slight accent. He was definitely not American. “By choice?” she asked, bolder now.
    â€œDefinitely by choice.”
    Sunny was silent while the steward served their first course. “The red won’t go with the smoked salmon,” she said, eyeing his plate.
    â€œThen I’ll have to taste your white.”
    He was looking into her eyes, his glance intimate. And she was staring straight back. Jesus! Was she crazy? What was she doing!
    He smiled. “I won’t put you to that test,” he said, calling the steward over and ordering the white wine.
    â€œHow do you know you’ll like it?’
    â€œIf you approve, then so will I.”
    Sunny’s smile finally emerged. “You know something?” She leaned over, touched her hand on his shirtsleeve, a blue fine-cotton shirtsleeve, rolled to show a tanned forearm with a dusting of golden hair. “I like you,” she said. And they both laughed.
    Prince Charming said, “Actually, I’ll confess something else.”
    Uh-uh, now he was going to spill the beans, tell her everything; he was just a flirt after all, coming on to her. Sunny cut a small pieceof the smoked salmon, chewed it slowly, then forced herself to swallow. She
had
to ask him though. “What?”
    â€œWhat, what?”
    â€œWhat are you going to confess now? That you are an ax murderer? A movie star? A rock legend I’m too young to have heard of?”
    His laugh boomed out causing the couple in front to turn their heads. “Actually, I was going to confess that I’m in love.”
    Sunny looked down at her unwanted food. What did it matter to her if he was in love? He was simply a fellow traveler, trapped next to her on an eleven-hour flight. She said, “Who with?”
    â€œYou mean ‘with whom’?” Prince Charming finished his salmon. He put his knife and fork carefully on his plate at the correct angle, then took a sip of the white Burgundy. He pushed back his dead-straight, slightly too-long dark blond hair and leveled his eyes at her again.
    Sunny lifted a shoulder in an exaggeratedly indifferent shrug. “So okay, with
whom
?”
    â€œActually, I’m in love with Paris.”
    â€œYou are?”
    â€œDefinitely.”
    â€œ
Actually,
definitely.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt’s just that you say
actually
a lot.”
    He nodded. “
Actually,
I’m sure I do. It’s a habit, but this time it seemed to fit the occasion.”
    The steward cleared their dishes, poured a little more wine, brought extra bottles of Evian, smiled at them, asked if they had everything they needed, were they comfortable.
    After he’d gone, Sunny, with a strange flutter of relief, asked Prince Charming,
why
Paris?
    â€œBecause it’s simply the most beautiful city in the world. Especially at Christmastime, sparkling in the dark and the cold, like a woman wrapped in sables, and glimmering with diamonds.”
    â€œSo you’re a