gently on her flesh.
“Alexandros?” she’d have whispered, as she had that night they’d spent together, as she had just a little while ago, when he’d put her to bed, and he’d have said, Yes, it’s Alexandros. Say my name again, Maria. Touch me with your cool hands. Open your mouth so I can taste your sweetness …
That was when he’d shot from the bed.
A cold shower. A change of clothes. Then he’d left the room without a backward glance because he hadn’t trusted himself. He’d waited weeks for this. He wasn’t going to take her now, when she was exhausted and sick and only half aware of him.
He wanted her wide awake when he possessed her, wanted her eyes on his as he took what she had only pretended to give him that first time.
His flight crew, of course, had asked no questions, nor had Thalia when he’d told her to inform his guest that they’d be landing soon.
“Is Ms. Santos awake?” he’d asked brusquely, when Thalia brought him coffee.
“Yessir. I gave her your message.”
Alex looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes had gone by. What was taking her so long? Did she think she could stay locked in the bedroom? That she could put off what would happen next?
The hell she could.
They’d land soon, his car would be waiting. He would drive to his apartment in Ellos and take her to his bed.
He looked at his watch again. He was weary of playing her games. He put down his coffee cup. Blotted his lips with a linen napkin. There was still time to assert his possession now…
The door at the rear of the cabin opened. Maria stood framed within it; her eyes met his. He saw her take a breath and then she started toward him. The ugly sweats and boots had been replaced by a pale gray long-sleeved sweater that fell to her hips, black tights and pale gray ankle boots. Her hair, still damp, tumbled around her shoulders.
His gut tightened. By God, she was beautiful. And composed.
He had not expected that. The fact was, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Tears, maybe. Pleas that he send her home. He’d judged wrong. The look on her face was a study in self-assurance.
“Good morning,” he said, and rose to his feet. He gestured to the chair opposite his. She took it, plucked the napkin from under the heavy silverware and spread it in her lap. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry about last night—”
“That you slept curled in my arms?”
“That I got sick,” she said quickly, but the tiniest bit of color crept into her face.
So. Perhaps she wasn’t as self-confident as she appeared.
“I’m just happy a night’s sleep helped. I tried not to disturb you when I left the bed,” he said, pouring coffee for her. He glanced at her, to see what effect his deliberate use of the word ‘bed’ had made. None. None at all. Her expression was impersonal again. “You were curled so tightly in my arms that I had to disentangle us.”
There it was again. That little rush of color. She shot him a look, then buried it in a sip of coffee. She swallowed, looked up. The tip of her tongue peeped out; she swiped it over her lips. To his annoyance, he felt his body stir.
“I was sure I’d wake you when I took my arm out from around your shoulders.”
She looked straight at him. “I thought your stewardess said we’d be landing soon.”
“A change of subject, agapimeni?” His tone was pure silk. “Did you want to discuss something other than the fact that you slept with me last night?”
“We shared the same bed,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m sure you know the difference between that and what people mean when they say they slept together.” Her lips compressed. “Besides, I didn’t know I rated a change of subject. I thought mistresses were expected to comply with the wishes of their masters. That is what I will be, isn’t it? Your mistress? I mean, isn’t that what one calls a woman who warms a man’s bed?”
Damn it! He was the one who could feel his face filling with heat. What a hell of a little speech, and had she deliberately waited until Thalia was in earshot? His stewardess had been with him for years; if asked, he’d have said nothing could rattle her but hadn’t her eyebrows just taken a surprised lift?
Alex tossed his napkin on the table and got to his feet. Two could play at this game of control—but only one would be the winner.
“We’ll be on the ground soon,” he said coldly. “And then there’ll be plenty of time for me to make my wishes clear—and for you to make absolutely certain you comply with them.”
The last time Maria had come to Aristo, the only time, had been in early December, the start of the Mediterranean winter.
The plane had taxied to a jet way; she’d disembarked along with scores of other travel-weary coach passengers and sleepwalked through the terminal to a luggage carousel where she’d waited for her suitcase to thump its way toward her. Then she’d headed outside and waited in line for a taxi.
Arriving in the kingdom with a prince of the Royal House of Karedes was very different.
Alex’s jet landed and taxied to an area far from the busy terminal. Two men wheeled a staircase to the door. The captain and co-pilot left the cockpit and saluted as she and Alex moved past them; Thalia dropped a little curtsy to Alex and smiled at her.
“Enjoy your stay, miss.”
Alex slid his arm around her waist. “I’ll see to it Ms. Santos enjoys every minute.”
Was she the only one who heard the ironic undertone in his words? She couldn’t tell; Thalia’s face showed nothing but Maria felt a tinge of heat wash into hers.
No, she told herself fiercely, no! She would not let him take control again. Determinedly, she shrugged free of his encircling arm and went down the stairs.
In December, the Aristan skies had been a brilliant blue and the day unseasonably warm. Now, in early February, the air held a distinct chill. Just as chilling was the sight of the uniformed chauffeur standing at attention beside a black limousine even more imposing than the one that had ferried them around New York.
A shudder went through her, and Alex immediately took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“I don’t need that,” she said, trying to shrug it away, but he clasped the collar, brought the edges together and, in doing so, drew her closer.
“But you do, agapimeni,” he said, smiling though the smile never reached his eyes. “Besides, didn’t you just tell me the first rule a mistress must follow is compliance?”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Maria said coolly. “I’m not your mistress yet.”
His eyes grew darker than midnight.
“You will
