“Patience has its virtues, Ms. Long,” he replied, picking up our pace to my chagrin.
Several steps later, I could hear music. A familiar song, one of Madame Paulette’s favorites. “Toi et Moi” sung by Charles Aznavour.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Zander. I have been looking forward to seeing you again.”
A Frenchman’s deep, jovial voice sounded in my ears. We must be at our destination, I thought.
“Bonsoir, Claude. Are we set to go?”
“Oui, monsieur. Up, up, and away. You and zee beautiful mademoiselle can board tout de suite.”
My stomach bunched up with nerves. Was he taking me on a private plane? Or on a helicopter? Or a hot air balloon? Flying in an airplane was bad enough, but a chopper? That flimsy whirling flying machine? Even worse…a hot air balloon that could hit a power line and explode in mid air. I bit down on my lip. Oh, God. Is that what he had in store?
“I’m afraid of flying!” I gasped. My hand grew cold and clammy in his.
Jaime yanked me unceremoniously away, I assumed, in the direction of the aircraft; I resisted, clumsily tripping a couple of times in my heels along the way.
“Relax, Gloria. You’re going to be flying all right but not the kind you have in mind.” He led the way. “Watch your head and your step.”
Too late. Instead of ducking, I banged my head hard as I climbed over some mysterious threshold. I let out a loud “OW.”
“Are you okay?” asked Jaime. There was humor in his voice, like he was holding back laughter. Insensitive jerk!
“Yes,” I grumbled, rubbing the already forming bump with my free hand. I hesitantly took a few more steps.
“Sit,” he commanded, pressing down on my shoulders.
I slowly lowered my butt to a hard, lightly cushioned surface and then explored my surroundings with both hands like a blind person, tapping, touching, and absorbing everything around me. I was sitting on some kind of bench, surrounded by glass. Was I in some kind of elevator? Enough with the blindfold! But when I raised my hands to my head, Jaime grasped them midway and stopped me. He was definitely sitting across from me.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he chided playfully. “Don’t make me tie you up. I’ve got another lace binding right here in my pocket. It’ll only take me seconds to wrap it around those lovely hands of yours.”
“Sorry,” I said meekly. Asshole!
“Promise you won’t undo the blindfold?” He squeezed my hands so tight I yelped.
“Promise.” Why did I continue to submit to his little sadistic power games? Damn it. Why? The answer was simple: I was still crazy in love with him.
“Enjoy your ride,” said Claude.
I heard two gliding doors slide closed. Clink!
“Where are we going?” I asked anxiously.
“You’ll see soon enough.” Despite being blindfolded, I could see the smirk on his smug face.
Suddenly, we jerked. I jolted. And then swoop! My stomach fluttered. We were going up! Up and around! Holy fuck! The butterflies inside me multiplied as we rose higher and higher. The spinning sensation was familiar. I had an idea of where I was. My heart began to race, and sweat seeped out of my pours. I was having a panic attack.
Sixty long seconds later, the spinning came to a halt. Jaime yanked off my blindfold.
“Open your eyes, Gloria,” he commanded, his voice deep and sultry.
I flicked my eyes open and gasped. I was suspended high in the air, seated opposite a very smug Jaime Zander. My heart pitter-pattered. Oh my God! I was trapped in a cabin with this gorgeous god on Paris’s famed Ferris wheel, the Grande Roue. At a standstill at the very apex—as high as the wheel could go.
I was at a loss for words. A combination of terror, outrage, and pure awe consumed me. Surrounded by glass on all sides, I took in the twinkling lights of Paris—The City of Light—below. The view took my breath away.
I finally found my voice. “How did you manage this?”
Jaime’s lush mouth curled into a proud, cocky smile. “My client. She’s the head of the French Tourism Bureau. The advertising campaign I created for her last year resulted in a fifty percent spike in tourism. She was beholden to me and told me she owed me. Anything I wanted… and voilà, Mademoiselle Long, here we are.”
The cabin suddenly rocked. I let out a frightened gasp. Jaime clasped my hands in his. “Relax, Gloria. This is going to be fun. The thrill ride of your life.”
“I don’t do well with Ferris wheels,” I gulped. Like airplanes and high-speed elevators, they were one of those things that made me feel out of control. When I was a teenager living close to Brooklyn’s Coney Island, I had once ridden the amusement park’s famed Ferris wheel, and it had gotten stuck, leaving me helplessly trapped in the swinging open-air carriage on the top. The memory of that dreadful experience made me tremble.