had no choice but to sink back with him. “Now close your eyes and rest. We’ll be at the airport soon.”
Rest? She’d won a competition that had been the goal of the world’s best jewelry designers—and handed her life over to one of the world’s most gorgeous, sexiest men. How could she possibly rest? Surely, the man holding her had his choice of women, a different one every night if he wished, and yet he wanted her…
Her lashes drooped.
She couldn’t rest. Or sleep. Or…
Maria sighed, burrowed closer against him, and tumbled into sleep.
Alex felt the tension leave her. He looked down, saw the dark shadow of her lashes against the sculpted curve of her cheek.
The woman was impossible. Argumentative. Prickly. Sharp-tongued.
She was also beautiful and fragile and…
And, he reminded himself, she was a manipulative liar. The sooner he had her in his bed, the better. She would not spin lies to him there; he would not permit it. He would make love to her until she sobbed his name, until her need for him was real, and that would happen as soon as he had her, alone, on his plane.
But when they reached it, he carried a still-sleeping Maria through the big cabin, to the privacy of his bedroom. Sat her on the edge of the bed. Took off her jacket and her boots. Took off his jacket and soggy shoes, as well.
Her eyelids fluttered but did not lift. “Alexandros?” she murmured.
She had called him that the night they’d made love. That was the only name he’d given her, just ‘Alexandros’. “Alex, if you prefer,” he’d added, but not the rest.
Not that she’d needed it, he thought grimly. She had known his identity; she had targeted him.
“Wake up,” he said coldly as he lay her back against the pillows. She didn’t. He looked at her again. Even in sleep, she looked exhausted. And incredibly lovely.
He lay down next to her. Drew the cashmere throw from the foot of the bed over them both. Maria sighed in her sleep and turned toward him. What else could he do except gather her into his arms?
MARIA awoke in total confusion.
Her heart thumped with terror. Where was she?
Everything about this room was wrong. The bed. The faint light stealing in through the window. Even the feel of the silk bed linen under her cheek, the whisper-weight of the blanket…
The pillow beside hers. Indented, as if someone’s head had rested on it. A faint scent. Clean. Crisp. Male.
“Ohmygod,” she whispered, and shot up against the pillows. A bad move. Her stomach did a slow roll. She bolted from the bed, looked around wildly, saw the bathroom and barely got there in time.
She retched until the muscles of her diaphragm ached. Shaken and shaking, she closed her eyes and sank down on the cold tile floor.
Easy, she told herself, just take it easy.
Seconds later, she stood, washed her face, unscrewed the top from a small bottle of mouthwash and rinsed her mouth until the bottle was empty.
Boneless, on legs that seemed to be made of over-cooked pasta, she sank down on the closed commode.
She remembered it all. Alex’s arrival. The royal commission. The awful visit to Luz, the humiliation of being sick afterward…
Most of all, the unbelievable proposition Alex had made—and she had accepted.
Was this a hotel room? As if in answer, the floor seemed to give a gentle dip. Not a hotel room. This was his plane. They were somewhere over the ocean and she couldn’t even remember getting on board. Her memory took her as far as being sick in the snow. Alex cradling her in his arms. The warming swallows of brandy.
Maria groaned and buried her face in her hands.
Had she slept with him? No. Heat flooded her body. Definitely, no. If Alex had made love to her—Correction. If they’d had sex, she’d remember. Besides, except for her jacket and boots, she was still dressed in the ratty outfit she’d worn last night.
Somehow, the thought that she’d slept between silk sheets and beneath what was probably a cashmere blanket dressed like this made her want to laugh.
God, she was coming apart! Aches where she’d never had aches. Laughter that could just as easily turn to tears. Nausea when she least expected it. Joaquin was right. She’d been working too hard. Stress could do terrible things.
She rose to her feet. There was a stall shower. A big terrycloth robe hanging from a hook. Shampoo and soap and—
And Alex, just outside the bedroom door.
How was she going to face him? What was she going to say? Could she ask him if he’d slept with her? Well, not with her. In the same bed. Not that it mattered. He had the right. Hadn’t she agreed to share his bed, and not just for sleep?
It was a miracle he hadn’t held her to that unspoken agreement already, but then a woman who tossed her cookies at a man’s feet wasn’t exactly a turn-on. Not that she wanted to turn him on. Not that she wanted him to undress her, touch her, carry her to his bed and do more, much more than sleep next to her…
Someone knocked at the door. The knob rattled. Maria swung around and stared as if it were a live thing about to launch an attack.
“Ms. Santos?” A woman’s voice. “Ms. Santos?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes?”
The door opened. A pleasant-faced woman of about fifty smiled at her.
“Good morning, Ms. Santos. I’m Thalia. The stewardess. The prince asked me to tell you we’ll be landing in a couple of hours. He asks that you join him for breakfast.”
Maria felt her face heat. “Thank you.”
“I’ve left your bag at the foot of the bed.”
Could her cheeks get any hotter? “Fine. Thank you again.”
Thalia smiled, stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her. Maria flew to it and turned the lock.
How could she face anyone? She’d all but died of humiliation just now and there were other people to deal with. The pilot. A co-pilot. Half the kingdom of Aristo, for all she knew. So what? the logical part of her said. Common sense assured her that Prince Alexandros had a long tradition of having women travel with him and share his bed.
The knowledge would come as no shock to anyone.
Yes, but it came as a shock to her. She had never been a mistress before.
The fact was, she had never been with a man before that night two
