in that at all.
The bottom line? He’d been tired, grumpy and bad tempered. She’d been desperate, overeager and short-fused. Not a good combination under any circumstances, and in these particular circumstances, it had led to her being insulting and him being no better.
It was, he’d decided, an honest assessment and once he’d made it, he’d risen to his feet and headed toward the rear of the plane.
“Something I can do for you, Your Highness?” the eager flight attendant had said as soon as she saw the direction he was taking.
“Yes,” Draco had said crisply. “You can stop calling me ‘Your Highness.’”
He’d softened the words with a quick smile as he moved past her. Then he’d walked and walked and walked, going from first-class luxury to business-class efficiency and, finally, through what he’d tried not to think of as a sardine tin until he’d figured he might just end up in Oz.
And then, at last, he’d spotted her. Her sun-kissed hair was like a beacon. And when her eyes opened, her lips parted, he almost smiled, imagining how delighted she would be at the sight of him ….
Maybe not.
She was staring at him as if he were an apparition. If he’d given it any thought, and he hadn’t, he’d have known his sudden appearance would take her by surprise.
Well, it had.
But the look on her face, the shock and amazement, told him that she was a woman people rarely took by surprise.
That he’d done so was a bonus.
He could see her struggling for words. That was nice to see, too. She certainly hadn’t been at a loss for words earlier … except when he’d kissed her ….
And that kiss had as little to do with this as the color of her eyes. This was a matter of human decency. Nothing more and nothing less.
“Sorry to have awakened you,” he said politely.
She sat up straight and tugged down her skirt, which had ridden halfway up her thighs.
They were good thighs.
Actually, they were great.
Firm. Smooth. Lightly tanned to a sort of gilded bronze. Was she that color all over? Her hips. Her belly. Her breasts …
Damnit, he thought, and when he spoke again his tone had gone from polite to brusque.
“I said I’m sorry to have—”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
Probably not. Who could sleep, jammed between a woman who looked like a ticking time bomb’s worth of neuroses and a guy with a look about him that reminded Draco of some movie character he couldn’t place.
“And what are you doing here?”
Draco cleared his throat. This wasn’t going quite the way he’d anticipated.
“I, ah, I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?”
Dio, was she going to make this difficult?
“About the seat. If you want it, it’s yours.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Her tone was flat. Sarcastic. Was she playing to their audience? The guy to her right and the woman to her left were both watching him with the intensity of people viewing an accident on a highway.
So much for doing the right thing, Draco thought grimly, and met her slitted stare with one of his own.
“Why?” he snapped. “Because, fool that I am, I thought you might still prefer a first-class seat to—to this!”
“What’s wrong with this?” the woman next to her demanded, and Draco threw up his hands and started back up the aisle.
“Wait!”
The cry carried after him. It was her, the blonde with more attitude than any one person, male or female, could possibly need.
A smart man would have kept walking, but Draco had already proved to himself that he wasn’t being terribly smart tonight, so he stopped, folded his arms, turned …
And saw her hurrying toward him, that ridiculously lumpy briefcase swinging from one shoulder.
Despite himself, his mouth twitched.
What had become of all her crisp American efficiency?
The heavy case had tugged her suit jacket askew in a way he suspected Giorgio Armani would never approve; her golden hair had slipped free of its clasp. A shoe dangled from her fingers. In her rush to go after him, she’d apparently lost one of those high heels, which she’d managed to retrieve.
Those incredibly sexy high heels.
The thought marked the end of any desire to laugh. Instead, his eyes grew even more narrow. It was an indicator of his mood, and would have made any of his business opponents shudder.
“Well? What is it?”
“I—I—”
His gaze, as cold as frost on a January morning, raked over her.
“You what?”
It was, Anna thought, an excellent question. How did you admit you’d made a mistake? Not in judging this man. He was as cold, as self-centered, as insolent as ever—but that wasn’t any reason to have rejected his offer.
Never mind that she couldn’t think of a reason he’d made it, or that sitting next to him all the way to Rome would be the equivalent of choking down more humble pie than any one human being should have to consume.
Only an idiot would refuse gaining access to a spot where she could plug in her computer … and, okay, incidentally combine that with a seat that lacked the psycho bookends.
“I am waiting,” he growled, that accent of his growing more pronounced by the minute.
Anna swallowed. Hard. The first bite of crow did not go down easily.
“I—I accept your apology.”
He laughed. Laughed, damn him! So did someone else. Anna looked around, felt her face blaze when she realized their little drama was proving more interesting than books or magazines to what looked like this entire section of the plane.
“I did not apologize. I will not apologize.”
She drew closer. He was inches away. Once again she had to tilt her head to look up at him, the same as she’d had to in the lounge an eternity ago. It was just as disconcerting now as it had been then, and suddenly she thought, He’s going to kiss me again, and if he does—if he does …
“What I did was offer you
