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 the empty seat beside mine.” His mouth twisted. “The one you groveled for a little while ago.”
“I did not grovel. I would never grovel. I—I—”
Anna fell silent. She didn’t know where to look. There was nowhere that was safe, given the choice between his dark, hard eyes and the attentive faces of their audience.
“Jeez, lady, are you nuts? You tell him you’ll take the seat or I will,” a male voice said, and somebody snickered. “Yes or no, lady? Last chance.”
Anna glared. It was a toss-up who she despised more—her father for putting her in this untenable position or this … this arrogant idiot for putting her in this situation.
“You are,” she said, her voice shaking, “a horrible, hideous man.”
His eyelids flickered. “I take it that’s a yes,” he said, and he swung away from her and headed briskly up the aisle.
Anna did the only thing that made sense.
She fell in behind him and followed him to the front of the plane.
An hour later Anna turned off her computer, closed it and put it away.
So much for going through the document file.
She’d read and read, switched screens and made notes, and she still didn’t have a true grasp of what was happening.
No.
She had a grasp, all right.
She was about to step into a pile of doggy-doo, two centuries old and a mile high.
There was a piece of land somewhere in Sicily that either belonged to her mother or belonged to a prince. None of the papers Anna had seen proved ownership; none even hinted at it.
Unless the papers written in Italian said something different, the documents Cesare had given her proved nothing beside the fact that her father had sent several letters to the prince.
The prince had sent only one that really mattered.
It was a note written by one of his lackeys on a sheet of vellum that weighed almost much as her computer, and it took half a dozen paragraphs to say, basically, “Go away.”
The one certainty was her father’s insistence that the royal House of Valenti had stolen the land in question. And how could that be possible? Anna asked herself tiredly. She didn’t know much about what her father called the old country, but she knew enough to be certain that peasants didn’t argue with princes.
For all she’d learned, she might as well still be back in coach, without access to her computer.
And without access to the man seated on the aisle seat beside her.
Anna gave him a covert glance.
Access was the wrong word to use. He had not looked at her or spoken to her since they’d sat down. He had a computer on his lap, too, and it was the only thing that claimed his attention.
That was fine.
The hell it was.
Calmer now, she could look at him and admit that he was a beautiful sight. That chiseled, masculine face. That hard body. Those strong-looking hands, one lightly wrapped around his computer, the other working its touch pad …
She knew what his hands felt like.
Back in the lounge, he’d grasped her shoulder. Here, he’d put his palm lightly on the small of her back, guiding her into the window seat. His touch had been impersonal then.
What if he touched her differently?
Not that automatic, you-first thing men did, but a stroke of those long, tanned fingers. A caress of that powerful hand.
Anna frowned, shifted in her seat.
Such nonsense!
He wasn’t her type and she wasn’t his. He’d like girlie women. Pliable in nature, eager to please, the kind who’d do whatever it took to make a man happy.
She was none of that.
“Prickly,” a guy she’d dated a couple of times had called her.
“Difficult,” another had claimed.
“Tough as nails,” her brothers said, with pride.
Yes, she was.
How else did a woman get to make it in a world dominated by men, or endure growing up in a household where your mother walked two paces behind your father? Metaphorically, of course, but still …
Back to peasants and princes. And the man next to her. And the simple fact that in this situation he was the prince. Not because of their different seating arrangements but because he’d done something gracious and she …
She had not.
Would a simple thank you have killed her?
No. It would not have.
Was it too late to say the words now? It’s never too late to say something nice, she could almost hear her sister, Izzy, saying. Okay. She wasn’t sweet like Iz—she never would be—but she could try.
“Finished already?”
She blinked. He was looking at her, a hint of a smile on his lips.
Anna cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Didn’t find what you wanted on your computer?”
She shook her head. “I only wish.”
“Same here.” He closed the cover of his and put it away. “I’m going to a meeting that will almost surely be a complete waste of time.”
“Sounds like my story.” She gave a little laugh. “Don’t you just hate that kind of thing?”
“I despise it,” he said, nodding in agreement. “There’s nothing worse than having to sit across the table from a guy who can’t figure out he’s absolutely not going to accomplish anything.”
“Exactly.
