wanted to argue, but she wanted to get to Paris more. It was night. She and Trent were both tired. They’d undoubtedly fall asleep for the entire seven-hour flight. When they woke in the morning, he’d be in a tux and she’d be in jeans and a shirt, suitably dressed to find Pierre.
Before Trent could buy proper clothes for a morning in the city, she’d be at Pierre’s apartment, telling him about the baby. He’d undoubtedly say he didn’t want to be a dad and she’d say that was fine. She’d just thought he had a right to know he was about to be a father. Then she’d go back to the airport to fly home.
There was no point in arguing with Ziggy because she could make the timing work for her.
“Fine. Come to France with me, but all you’ll be doing is sleeping on the jet. We won’t even talk.”
“I know the drill. I always fly at night.”
“Great.” Without another word, she walked to her bedroom to throw enough into an overnight bag to get her through a flight and a day in Paris.
When she returned to her main room a few minutes later, Ziggy stood by the wall of windows, staring at the twinkling Manhattan skyline. He’d removed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows, revealing strong forearms peppered with black hair. He’d also taken off his bow tie and opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Now he was just a guy in black trousers and a white shirt. He could go with her to Pierre’s condo.
It didn’t matter. Even if he begged, she wouldn’t take him to Pierre’s. Surely, he could keep himself busy for a few hours in the most glamorous city in the world.
He took her overnight bag. “Ready?”
She slid the strap of her purse over her arm. “Ready.”
She’d chosen jeans and a peach-colored T-shirt with brown wedge-heel sandals for the flight and had combed out her long hair. Because of the curls of the up-do, it flowed in gentle waves to her shoulders.
Ziggy’s gaze traveled from her hair down her T-shirt and along the line of her jeans to her sandals. When his eyes met hers, a little jolt of electricity zapped her.
Now she knew what was going on. She was attracted to him. Sort of. The man was good-looking. But electricity? Sparks? She didn’t believe in those. Never had.
Forcing herself to ignore the firestorm rolling across her nerve endings, she smiled her most professional smile at Ziggy and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”
“Sure.”
They drove to a private airstrip and boarded the jet. The front of the cabin had four cream-colored leather seats. Behind those were two rear-facing blue leather recliners angled toward an enormous TV. It wasn’t the kind of luxury she was accustomed to. Her family’s biggest plane had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a formal dining room. But Ziggy’s little jet was obviously expensive with plush carpeting, lush leathers. And it was convenient. With no unnecessary bells and whistles, it was almost cozy.
“All the seats recline.” He pointed to a cabinet tucked behind the television. “Blankets are in there.”
She tossed her bag into one of the empty chairs and got herself a blanket. “Great. I’m exhausted.”
“Me, too.”
But when she sat on one of the pale seats, he walked back to the blue ones in front of the TV. Glad he hadn’t sat beside her—she didn’t care to feel the crazy jolt of electricity she got when he was too close—she reclined the seat, snuggled into her blanket and almost instantly fell asleep.
She slept deeply and eventually dreamed she had twins who sometimes morphed into triplets, and every time she took them to the park, Ziggy followed her, walking a big, furry dog on a leash that sometimes got caught in the wheels of her babies’ stroller.
The chaos of it jolted her heart. She woke with a start to discover they had landed in Paris, and decided her dream was an extension of Ziggy’s following her around all day at the wedding. With a long drink of air to wake herself completely, she rose from her padded seat, grabbed her overnight bag and turned to go to the private area of the small aircraft.
Rushing to the door in the back, which she assumed was a bathroom, she didn’t look right or left, not wanting to accidentally make eye contact with Ziggy. Or worse, wake him. The sooner she got out of here, the better her chances of leaving alone. All she needed to do was change her shirt, refresh her makeup and maybe take a minute to think about what she’d say to Pierre—
She opened the bathroom door and gasped.
Standing in the middle of the compact room, wrestling a shirt over his head was Ziggy—Trent.
A broad chest with well-defined muscles that led down to six-pack abs?
That was Trent. Adult. Sexy. And oh, so male. She’d never be able to think of him as her brother’s college friend Ziggy again.
She spun away, her heart doing something that felt like a samba in her chest. “Sorry.”
“No, wait. I’m done.” He slid out of the room into the main cabin and tossed a duffel bag onto one of the empty seats. “Didn’t want to be wearing a wrinkled tux around Paris.”
“How’d you get an overnight bag?”
“There’s always a go bag in my office. Had one of my assistants bring it to the plane while you were packing.”
She worked not to glance down at his chest, now covered by a gray T-shirt. But the vision of his pecs and abs was firmly planted in her brain. “I didn’t think you would be going to Pierre’s apartment with me.”
“I told you. You’re my best friend’s sister. I’m not going to let you go to some guy’s house alone and tell him you’re pregnant. God knows how he’ll react.”
“He’s not going to hit me.”
“You’re damned right, he’s not. I’m not going to let him.”
The electricity she’d felt the night before came back with a vengeance as his dark eyes held hers. It took all the strength she could muster to keep her breath from stuttering when she said, “No. Really. You can’t come with me. This is private.”
“Oh.”
The disappointed expression on his face knocked the electricity off her nerve endings but it tugged at her heart. This was a man who took his responsibilities seriously.
“Look. It’s okay. He’s going to say he doesn’t want to be a dad. And I’m going to say fine, then fly back to New York and raise my child alone.”
He gaped at her. “You don’t want your baby to know his dad?”
“I do want my child to know her dad. But Pierre’s not going to want to be a big part of her life. I won’t be cruel. Pierre can visit anytime he’s in New York. But I doubt that he will.”
His forehead puckered. “He’s not going to want his child?”
“Pierre’s
