as if anyone on board actually believed that was her real name—had gotten on swimmingly. And if there had been moments when Sara had found herself grinding her teeth and swallowing her irritation, well… It was only because Fawn had one of those tittering laughs that could drive any sane person to drink.
Of course, Sara realized she had only herself to blame. She had, after all, fairly chased Mr. Cordello into Fawn’s clutches by treating him so shabbily since meeting him. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. He confused her, made her feel things she wasn’t used to feeling, things she didn’t want to feel. In doing so, he’d raised her defenses, as well. And when Sara’s defenses were raised, she wasn’t the most accommodating person in the world. No, actually, she was the most fearful. And her fear always made her behave badly.
Oh, when would they be landing? she wondered, checking her watch. It was now nearing 3:00 p.m. Thursday, West Coast time, so they must be within two hours of Penwyck. Absently, she adjusted the time on her watch to reflect the Meridian Time Zone, which would now put them at 10:45 p.m. Penwyck time.
She’d probably do well to try and sneak in another nap before they landed, she thought, since she would no doubt have little opportunity to really sleep until dawn. Once the jet landed—in the dead of night, she couldn’t help reminding herself morosely—she and Mr. Cordello would be met by members of the Royal Intelligence Institute. But she was under royal edict to stay with Mr. Cordello herself until she could hand-deliver him to Queen Marissa and his brother. Those two would almost certainly be in bed asleep by the time they arrived, which meant that Sara would be obligated to keep an eye on Mr. Cordello until morning. They could eat a proper meal at the palace, she thought, then exchange pleasantries until Her Majesty joined them. Or, if Mr. Cordello wanted to sleep himself, Sara could… She sighed heavily. She supposed she could stand in the doorway of his room and watch him sleep. Because she had promised Queen Marissa she would not leave the man’s side until he was safely delivered to Her Majesty.
Sara reached for her cup of Earl Grey, then decided that she’d consumed enough tea on this flight to float the entire India Company, and that a glass of champagne would be most welcome now. She pushed the buzzer to summon the attendant—oh, what rotten luck, it was Fawn on duty, and now the poor thing would be forced to end her conversation…and effusive tittering…with Shane Cordello—in an effort to order a drink. And although poor Fawn did her best to hide her irritation at being so put-upon as to perform her job, it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for Sara to finally get her drink.
Honestly. Good help was so hard to find these days.
As Fawn—the darling girl—retreated to the minibar, Shane Cordello returned to his seat opposite Sara’s. He was wearing a smile that was much too smug for her liking, but he didn’t seem too much the worse for wear. He did look tired, though, Sara noted, his hair rumpled—adorably so, she couldn’t help thinking—and faint purple crescents smudging his eyes. She doubted she looked much better, having worn the same clothes for more than twenty-four hours now, but somehow, he didn’t make her feel as if she should be discomfited by the fact. His own white T-shirt and jeans were as rumpled as his hair, but on him, somehow, the look worked to his advantage.
All in all, Sara thought, with his untidy clothes and his tousled hair and his heavy-lidded eyes, and his day’s growth of dark beard, he looked like a man who wanted to collapse into bed…with a willing woman…and get absolutely no sleep while he was there.
A strange, languorous heat wound through her as she envisioned him doing exactly that, with—oh, dear—herself cast in the role of the willing woman. Immediately, Sara banished the graphic image from her brain. But remnants of it lingered, scorching the edges of her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t banish it completely.
“So, Miss Wallington,” Mr. Cordello began in that luscious voice, smiling his delicious smile, “how much longer ’til we get there?”
Sara lifted her champagne to her mouth for a quick—but substantial—sip. “Not too, I should think,” she told him when she completed the action, the velvety liquid warming her throat, her chest, her belly and points beyond. Oh, no, wait, she thought. It wasn’t the champagne warming those points beyond. No, it was Shane Cordello’s smile that was doing that. Oh, dear. “No, ah…no more than an hour or two I would imagine,” she managed to add in a voice that she was relieved to realize didn’t make her sound too awfully feeble-minded.
His smile seemed to grow even more dangerous somehow, and Sara couldn’t help thinking that he had almost certainly picked up on that points beyond business. Probably because of her not too awfully feeble-minded voice.
His verbal response, however, wasn’t quite in keeping with that dangerous smile. “Wanna play Twenty Questions?” he asked.
Sara arched her brows curiously. “I beg your pardon?”
Mr. Cordello lifted his shoulders and let them drop in a shrug that she supposed he meant to look casual, but somehow it didn’t. “Twenty Questions,” he repeated. “It’s a game my brother and I used to play as kids to pass the time on long car trips.” His expression went a bit grim when he added, “Or to drown out the noise of our parents’ shouting at each other there at the end.”
Tactfully, Sara pretended she hadn’t heard that last part, and focused on the first part instead. “You and your brother must be very close. Being twins and all, I mean.”
“Actually, our closeness has less to do with being twins than it does being cast adrift at an early age.”
“I’m not sure I follow you,” Sara said.
“Our folks split up when Marcus and I were nine. Marcus went to live with our father, and I went to live with our mother.”
A pang of something sharp and unpleasant twisted Sara’s midsection, and she was surprised to realize how very much she cared about what had happened to this man she had only just met. “That must have been very difficult for you both,” she said softly.
He expelled an exasperated sound. “To put it mildly. We were able to spend a month together every summer, but it never felt like enough. Even now, I wish we had more time to spend together.”
“Yet, as adults, you live hundreds of miles away from each other,” Sara couldn’t help pointing out.
Mr. Cordello shrugged again, almost apologetically this time. “My mother has made Southern California her home, and I don’t want to be too far away from her. She’s—” He halted abruptly.
“What?” Sara asked before she could stop herself, knowing it was impolite to pry. Even if Mr. Cordello had been the one to bring it up.
He expelled a weary breath. “She’s… She’s not very… She has a habit of…” Now he uttered a restless sound. “Let me put it this way. She’s on husband number five, and none of them since my father have been much of a prize. Even my father didn’t do right by her, as far as I’m concerned. But at least he loved her. For a while. She’s just not good at taking care of herself,” he finally concluded. “She needs someone close by to keep an eye on her. On things,” he quickly corrected himself. “So as long as she calls L.A. home, that’s where I’ll be, too.”
Something inside Sara turned over a little bit at hearing his admission. He was a good son. He wanted to make certain his mother was well cared for. In spite of his rough outward appearance, he had a protective, gentle streak inside. She never would have guessed that. And knowing it now…
Well. Knowing it now only made him that much more dangerous, Sara thought.
