Chapter 5

RUBY'S POV

I had read about how the upper echelon of New York lived, but nothing quite prepared me for the sheer, unapologetic opulence of Alexander Ray's private jet.

It wasn't just a plane; it was a flying penthouse. The interior was lined with rich, cream-colored leather, polished dark mahogany wood, and brushed gold accents. There were no cramped rows of seats—only plush, oversized captain's chairs and a velvet-trimmed sofa that looked more comfortable than my bed back home.

As the jet leveled out at thirty thousand feet, I tried my best to look completely unfazed. I sat by the window, the heavy hardcover book I had been reading on the porch the night before resting in my lap. I was wearing a simple, comfortable cream knit sweater and matching trousers, my long ginger hair pulled back into a loose, messy clip.

I was supposed to be reading. But my eyes kept betraying me, drifting across the narrow aisle to the man sitting opposite me.

If Alex looked intimidating in a tailored three-piece suit, he was downright lethal in a casual setting. He had discarded his suit jacket the moment we boarded. His crisp white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the strong, tanned forearms and the dark hair dusting them. A heavy silver watch caught the dim cabin light as his fingers flew across the keyboard of his laptop. He had a glass of scotch resting on the small table beside him, occasionally lifting it to take a slow sip, his piercing blue eyes never leaving the screen.

He looked focused. Ruthless. And entirely out of my league.

Remember the rules, Ruby, I reminded myself, forcing my eyes back down to the black ink of my book. We are friends. This is for show.

"You've been on the same page for twenty minutes," a smooth, baritone voice cutting through the hum of the jet engine shattered my thoughts.

I choked slightly on my own saliva, my head snapping up. Alex was staring at me. His laptop was half-closed, and a dangerously amused smirk was playing on his lips.

"I have not," I lied automatically, my cheeks instantly flaring a brilliant shade of crimson.

"You have," he countered, leaning back into his leather chair, crossing one leg over the other. He swirled the scotch in his glass, the amber liquid catching the light. "Unless you've suddenly developed the ability to read upside down, considering you haven't flipped a single leaf since we crossed the Atlantic border."

I glared at him, trying to channel every ounce of defiance I had. "It's a complex plot, Alexander. I am absorbing the subtext."

Alex let out a low, deep chuckle—a sound that vibrated straight through the floorboards and directly into my chest. "Subtext. Right. Is that why you keep staring at my shirt?"

"I was not staring at your shirt!" I gasped, entirely offended by how accurately he had caught me. "I was wondering why a billionaire doesn't know how to button himself up properly. It's a miracle you don't catch a cold."

His smirk widened, his blue eyes flashing with a wicked spark. "If you want me buttoned up, Ruby, you're welcome to come over here and do it yourself."

My breath hitched. The air in the cabin suddenly felt incredibly thick, entirely devoid of oxygen. The playful banter had shifted into something else entirely—something heavy, magnetic, and completely terrifying. I opened my mouth to fire back a sharp reply, but before the words could leave my tongue, the entire jet violently shuddered.

The warning lights flashed overhead as the plane suddenly dropped several feet in a pocket of severe turbulence.

"Ah!" I gasped, the book flying out of my lap as my body lifted slightly from the seat.

Before I could even register the panic, a massive, warm hand shot across the aisle, gripping my wrist with absolute authority. In one fluid, powerful motion, Alex pulled me forward just as another violent jolt shook the cabin. I lost my balance entirely, slipping from my seat and tumbling directly into his lap.

His other arm instantly locked around my waist, pulling me flush against his rock-hard chest.

Silence descended on the cabin, save for the steady hum of the engine as the turbulence immediately smoothed out. But my heart was hammering so loudly against my ribs I was certain he could hear it.

I was completely trapped against him. My hands were planted firmly against his chest, right over his heart, feeling the steady, rapid thudding beneath his white shirt. The scent of him—expensive cologne, cedarwood, and a faint hint of scotch—enveloped me completely.

Slowly, I lifted my gaze.

Alex was staring down at me, his face mere inches from mine. The amused smirk was completely gone, replaced by a raw, dark intensity that made my stomach do a violent flip. His fingers were pressed firmly into the fabric of my sweater at my waist, his grip so tight it felt possessive. His eyes darted down to my lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto my green eyes.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, sounding rough and breathless.

"I..." I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry. "I'm fine. The plane..."

"The plane is stable," he murmured, but he didn't let go. His thumb unconsciously brushed a slow, torturous circle against my hip. The heat of his touch cut right through my clothes, sending a dangerous, electric shiver straight down my spine.

We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. The rules we had made on the porch felt a million miles away. There was nothing friendly about the way his chest rose and fell against mine, or the way his gaze was tracing my features like he wanted to memorize them.

Realizing I was on the verge of completely melting, I forced myself to blink, breaking the spell. "Alex... you can let me go now."

A flicker of something like regret crossed his features before his expression smoothly masked itself back into his usual cool detachment. He loosened his grip, allowing me to awkwardly scramble off his lap and back into my own seat.

I immediately looked out the window, my face burning so hot I was sure it could light up the cabin. Alex didn't say another word for the rest of the flight. He opened his laptop back up, but I noticed his fingers weren't moving across the keyboard anymore. He was just staring at the screen, his jaw tightly clenched.

Eight hours later, the jet touched down in Nice, and a private chauffeur drove us deep into the heart of the French Riviera.

By the time the car pulled through the massive, ornate iron gates of the Ray estate, the sun was setting over the Mediterranean Sea, painting the sky in breathtaking shades of violet pink, gold, and deep purple.

I pressed my face closer to the car window, an involuntary gasp escaping my lips. The villa was a masterpiece of classic, old-world European architecture. It was built from pale, sun-kissed stone, with sprawling arched windows, cascading ivy climbing up the walls, and a massive stone terrace that overlooked a cliff dropping directly into the shimmering, azure sea.

"It's incredible," I breathed, temporarily forgetting the awkward tension from the plane.

"It belonged to my grandmother," Alex said quietly from the seat next to me. His voice lacked its usual sharp edge, sounding almost heavy with memory. "She hated New York. She said France was the only place a person could actually breathe."

Before I could ask him more, the car stopped, and the villa's staff immediately gathered to open our doors and grab our luggage.

As we walked into the grand foyer—complete with sweeping marble staircases and crystal chandeliers—Alex immediately turned to the head housekeeper, an elegant older French woman named Monique.

"Monique, please show my wife to the east wing," Alex instructed smoothly, his voice dropping into that cold, business-like tone that always made my defensive walls snap right back up. "Put her things in the master suite overlooking the gardens."

Monique blinked, looking slightly confused. "And your things, Monsieur Ray? Shall I place them in the adjoining room?"

"No," Alex replied firmly, not looking at me. "Put my luggage in the west wing study. I have a lot of corporate work to catch up on during this trip. We will be occupying separate quarters."

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the foyer. Monique nodded politely, though her eyes lingered on us with suspicion before she gestured for me to follow her.

I didn't move. I stood my ground.