The guy deserves a standing ovation for his performance as a perfect gentleman. Like seriously, where did he study acting? I wouldn’t believe he’s the same man I’ve worked for the past three years if I didn’t know better. Head pounding, body aching, and heart fluttering, I follow right behind Miller, who’s holding my hand firmly. I ignore how well our hands fit together. I’m definitely not checking out his firm ass. Nope, that’s not why my eyes are focused on his jeans pockets.

“Thank you for flying with us,” the flight attendant says and squeezes my shoulder as her voice lowers, “He’s a keeper, honey. Don’t let him escape.”

Looks can be deceiving, honey.

He’s a great actor.

I turn to look at Miller, Mr. Archer, Milo, or whatever it is people call him, asking myself, why did I agree to be his plus one?

Right, the villa in Tuscany. He did say he’d pay for my vacation—wherever I choose—with my friends.

It has nothing to do with his charming personality or how much I actually enjoyed talking to him.

I suck in a breath when he kisses my hand. My knees weaken and my heart skips a couple of beats. He’s taking this a little too far, isn’t he?

“Thank you, sir,” he says to the pilot. “For delivering my precious cargo safely.”

For a moment, I’m captivated by his grin and loving words. No one ever has called me their precious cargo. My last boyfriend never kissed my hand. In fact, the last time I saw my ex kissing someone, it was one of his colleagues.

Cheating bastard.

I should be careful with Miller. He knows the right words and gestures to make a woman fall.

He’s a player, Claire, be careful. 

Pfft, careful with what? I’m immune to the charm of arrogant assholes.

“That was a cheesy line,” I mutter, once we’re walking toward the gate.

He stops and winks at me without saying a word.

“Are you practicing your role before we meet your family?” I ask him.

“What do you think?” he retorts.

I tap my chin a couple of times and scan him from head to toe. “You might want to keep it short and sweet. Women don’t buy laying it on overly thick.”

“So, you don’t like it thick?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

I huff. “Size is irrelevant,” I answer to his double meaning. “No guy can deliver the whole package.”

“Baby, this package is thick and long. If I delivered it to you, you’d enjoy every inch of it,” he says.

My eyes glance at his crotch, and for one second, I crave to touch him. When I look back at him, the desire turns into rage. I want to erase his cocky smile because...he’s making me hot, damn it.