the small cabin without a glance back.
Poppy exhaled in a rush, shuddering at the extreme awkwardness of what had just taken place. She’d walked into him, and then stayed there, planted, as if she’d become a tree and had grown miraculous roots.
Why?
Poppy carefully closed the door and then pressed her shoulder to the frame, wishing she could stay barricaded in the cabin forever. It was one thing to have an innocent crush on your boss, but it was another to want his touch, and Poppy wanted his touch. She wanted his hands on her in the worst sort of way. Which raised the question, what kind of person was she?
Poppy had always prided herself on her scruples. Well, where were they now?
POPPY STRUGGLED WITH the minute hooks on the pink dress, freeing herself little by little until she could wiggle out of the gown. The dress had been so tight that it had left livid pink marks all over her rib cage and breasts. It was bliss to finally be free and she slid the shirt on, buttoning the front. The fabric had been lightly starched and it rubbed against her nipples, making them tighten. She prayed Randall wouldn’t notice. Things were already so awkward between them. She’d always thought they had the ideal relationship, professional but warm, cordial and considerate, but today had changed everything.
Today he overwhelmed her, and her brain told her to run but there was another part of her that desperately wanted to stay.
And be touched.
That was a very worrying part of her.
She’d have to work hard to keep that part in check, because elegant, refined Randall Grant was one thing, but dark, brooding Dal Grant was something else altogether.
Poppy finished changing, stepping into the soft, faded jeans that now hung on her hips thanks to four months of determined dieting, and after pulling the pins from her hair, she slipped her feet into her tennis shoes and headed back to her seat.
While she was gone, the flight attendant added a low arrangement of flowers to the center of the table, the lush red and pink roses reminiscent of the bouquet Sophie had carried this morning. The flowers made Poppy heartsick and guilty all over again.
“You look more comfortable,” he said as she slid into her seat.
“I am.”
“Tell me your sizes and I’ll have some basics waiting for us when we land.”
“I can shop for myself, thank you.”
“There won’t be shops where we’re going.”
“Where are we going?”
“Jolie.”
The flight attendant appeared with the salad course, and Poppy waited for Randall to reach for his fork before she did the same. “Is it a country house?” she asked.
He didn’t pick up his fork, or answer right away, instead he glanced away, his long black lashes lowering, accenting the high, hard lines of his cheekbones.
She’d always thought he had the most impressive bone structure, with his lovely high cheekbones, strong jaw and chin coupled with that long nose. Sophie had always disdained of his nose—not refined enough—but Poppy had disagreed, thinking he had the nose of a Roman or Greek.
“Something like that,” he finally answered, his dark head turning, his light gold gaze returning to her, studying her for a long moment, making her feel strangely light-headed. And breathless. Far too breathless.
Poppy inhaled slowly, trying to settle her nerves. She’d had a crush on him for four years and she’d managed to keep her feelings in check. There was no reason to let herself get carried away just because he was suddenly single.
And free.
Her heart did a funny little beat, the kind of beat that made her feel anxious and excited, but neither emotion was useful. She needed to settle down and be calm and steady and strong.
“You’re not doing much to clarify things.” She tried to smile, a steady, professional smile. “Where is it exactly?”
“Out of the country.”
Did he just say out in the country, or out of the country? It was a tiny preposition, but a significant difference. “Where is the nearest airport?”
“Gila.”
She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip as her mouth had gone dry and her stomach was doing a wild free fall. “I’m not familiar with Gila.”
“The capital of Mehkar?”
For a moment she still didn’t understand, unable to process what he was saying, and then everything inside her did a horrifying free fall. “We’re going to Mehkar?”
“Have you been before?”
“No.”
“It neighbors Morocco—”
“I know where it is, but we can’t go to Mehkar!”
“Of course we can. We’re en route now.”
“But how? Why? It’s hours away and I have no passport, just an overnight bag with virtually nothing in it at all.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Sophie had nothing when she left the church, did she?”
Poppy’s throat sealed closed and she stared at Randall, heartsick. He stared right back, his light gold gaze hard, so hard that it made him look like a stranger.
“You’re not worried about her, are you?” he added, his voice dropping, deepening, an edge of menace in his tone.
A shiver raced through her. In the past hour Randall Grant had gone from chivalrous to dangerous.
“Answer me,” Randall demanded, leaning forward, his anger altogether new. The Randall Grant she knew was impossibly calm, impossibly controlled.
“I didn’t agree to leave the country,” she said, voice rising, tightening. “I didn’t agree to go to Mehkar. I’d like to return to London immediately. I have work to do—”
“You work for me.”
“But the work I need to do for you is all there,” she said, making a jabbing motion behind them. “So, please ask your captain to turn around and take me back to Winchester, or to London, so I can take care of the one hundred and one things that need to be done by Monday.”
“You can do them in Mehkar.”
“But I can’t.”
“You can, and you will, because it’s your job to handle this crushing mountain of work I’ve tasked you with.”
“I
