Page 80 of Sinful Lies

“Lazzio.”

He didn’t look up, but I saw the faint twitch in his jaw.

“Is that a yes or no on the mile high club? Just so we’re clear.”

The phone lowered slowly, and those cold, dark eyes met mine with a promise.

Not the kind that came with roses and chocolate—the kind that came with blood and bruises.

“Miss Whitenhouse.” His voice was quiet,tooquiet. “If you don’t shut up, I will throw you off this plane. At thirty thousand feet.”

Yep. Silence it was.

I plastered on my best fake smile and stood, making sure to drag it out just enough to irritate him.

I sauntered to the bedroom at the back of the jet, my heels clicking against the polished floor, the sound echoing in the quiet cabin.

The door shut behind me with a soft click, and I flung myself onto the oversized bed, releasing a sigh that was half frustration, half surrender.

After everything—and having to deal with him—I figured I’d earned a nap.

And if I just happened to dream about a certain someone with dark eyes and a sexy Italian accent being thrown off the plane without a parachute, well, that would be a little secret between me and my devilish subconscious.

Aspen in November? It felt like stepping into a snow globe made of fairy lights and overpriced hot cocoa.

The snow, the twinkling lights, the trees—I half expected some poor town guy to show up and sweep me off my feet. He’d beg me to leave the city and marry him, promising a cozy life in a cottage surrounded by animals. Every Christmas, we’d kiss under the mistletoe where we’d first met, with our twenty-something kids trailing behind us.

Honestly, I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or swoon at the thought.

After sleeping through the whole flight—apparently, dealing with Lazzio’s constant bad mood had drained me—I woke to the stewardess gently shaking my shoulder.

“We’re about to land,” she said softly.

I dragged myself to the restroom for a quick refresh: a touch of makeup, a swipe of gloss, and I was ready. Back at my seat, I buckled in, ignoring the weight of Lazzio’s gaze drilling into the side of my face.

The jet landed smoothly, and as we stepped off, workers were already loading our luggage into a sleek black Range Rover.

Lazzio opened the rear door, giving me a look that screamed,hurry up.

I slid inside without a word, and he followed, immediately absorbed in his phone.

“Hello, sir. I hope you had a pleasant flight,” the driver greeted warmly. He was middle-aged, bald, and had the kind of smile that could disarm even the most jaded traveler.

“Good to see you, Thomas,” Lazzio muttered without looking up.

I rolled my eyes.Asshole.

“Hi, Thomas,” I said, leaning forward with a smile and offering my hand. “I’m Jade, Mr. Lazzio’s COO. Thanks for picking us up.”

His handshake was firm, and he returned my smile with genuine warmth.

Unlike some people, I wasn’t about to let my bad mood spill over onto everyone else.

As Thomas steered us through Aspen’s snow-blanketed streets, the city glowed with lights. Couples strolled hand in hand, their laughter muffled by the snow. Kids dashed around, building lopsided snowmen.

It was all disgustingly wholesome.

“Enjoy the view,” Lazzio muttered. “We won’t have time for it later.”

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