the flight was smooth. Although I have nothing to compare it to. This was my first time.”
A gleam stole into those dark eyes. “So…You are no longer a virgin—” Two beats later he added, “Flier.”
That, too. She’d never slept with a man, either. Many had been willing to be her first, but she’d been unwilling to participate. She didn’t believe there was a faithful guy out there, let alone one who could sweep her off her feet. An unfortunate characteristic of the hopeless romantic was the yearning to be swept away, which put her idealistic and rational selves in constant conflict. She wanted a completely romantic meltdown that would prohibit logical thought and just let her feel. So far she’d come up empty on all counts.
Although the way her stomach had dropped when he’d kissed her hand made her feel like she was still in the air and the plane hit a downdraft. Imagine if he kissed her for real—on the mouth. Darned if her lips didn’t tingle at the thought. This so wasn’t the time to abandon logical thinking. What had he just asked? Her journey. Right.
Time to cleanse the virgin remark from the air and turn the conversation to the mundane. Make that nonpersonal because there was nothing ordinary about this guy or the royal jet. “This plane is amazing. It’s like a flying living room.”
“There is a bedroom as well,” he said, suggestion in his tone adding to the gleam in his eyes.
So much for nonpersonal communication. “I noticed.”
“You found the bed comfortable?”
More comfortable than the way he made her feel. It was like every nerve ending in her body had received a double dose of adrenaline.
“I found everything perfect.”
“Excellent. There is a car waiting. I will escort you to the palace.”
“The palace?” She knew her eyes grew wide, and tried to stop, but couldn’t, what with her heart pounding so hard.
“Is there somewhere else you wish to go?”
Yes, she wanted to say. And no. “Going to the palace” didn’t fit into her frame of reference even after reading her mother’s letter. She remembered the handwriting, as familiar as if it were the day’s grocery list instead of the last thing her mother had written ten years ago. The words still made her heart hurt. I know I did everything else wrong, but it wasn’t wrong the way I loved you. Since then, Jess had read the message over and over but still couldn’t grasp that she was distantly related to Bha’Khar’s royal family.
“I’m sure the palace is fine, but—” Fine? It so wasn’t fine. She wasn’t a palace kind of person. She was burgers and fries, sweatpants and sneakers.
“But?”
“I was sort of hoping I’d be meeting my family.”
“And you will,” he promised. “Arrangements are being made. In the meantime, permit me to make you comfortable.”
Comfortable? What did that mean? And how could she be comfortable with strangers, however distantly related, who were royalty?
As he started to turn away, she put her hand on his arm and felt the material of his suit jacket. “Wait.”
Concern that seemed to be genuine slid into his eyes. “Is there a problem?”
The problem was the material just felt like material to her. It was probably expensive material, but she had no frame of reference for that any more than she did for a palace. Most little girls grew up playing pretend princess, but the fantasy was usually limited to the great gowns and a tiara or two. Not living under the same roof as the king and queen. This was a fear she’d never felt before.
“Maybe it would be better if I stayed at a hotel.”
He looked puzzled. “The king and queen would be disappointed.”
How did she explain this? “There’s a saying in my country—it’s better to look stupid than open your mouth and prove it. This is kind of like that.”
“I like this saying. But you do not look stupid so I am unclear on your point.”
“They’re certain to be disappointed in me, but staying at the palace—I’m bound to do something that will let them down for sure,” she explained.
He shook his head. “You need only be yourself.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“There is no cause for fear.”
“Yeah, there kind of is. This is a perfect example.” She held out a hand indicating the plush plane interior. “I grew up in a run-down, one-bedroom apartment on Stoner Street in Los Angeles. That was until the state of California took over. I wouldn’t know a shrimp fork from a forklift.”
“You are exaggerating.”
“Yes. But you get my point.”
“If it becomes necessary for you to know these things, just stay very close to me and follow my lead. I promise to protect you.”
She studied the oh-so-sincere expression on his handsome face. “That sounds very much like ‘trust me.’”
“Exactly.”
“In my country when someone says that it’s usually a good idea not to.”
“You are most cynical,” he commented.
“I have good reasons.”
“I look forward to hearing them,” he said, probably just being polite.
He smiled, showing off straight white teeth, then he covered her hand with his own, a gesture meant to comfort but brought back the spiraling-plane-sensation.
“The king and queen are looking forward to meeting you, the daughter of their dear friends’ daughter, for whom they’ve been searching so many years.”
“They’ve been searching?” she asked, her gaze jumping to his.
In the letter, her mother had confessed that she’d become pregnant by a married diplomat and ran away because shame prevented her from going to her family. Jess had feared the same family would shun her and to find out they’d been looking gave her hope a double dose of adrenaline.
She smiled up at him. “Thank you—” Had he introduced himself? Was she so caught up in her nerves, skepticism and his charming flirtation that she’d forgotten? “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“My apologies. I have been remiss.” He bent slightly at the waist. “I am Kardahl, son of King Amahl Hourani of Bha’Khar.”
That name sounded familiar. Probably because he was part of the royal family. “So are we related?”
He shook his head. “Your lineage can be traced back to royalty, but the bloodlines split off over a hundred years ago.”
There was no reason to feel relieved
