rel="nofollow" href="#ulink_9a9e7195-0fbd-5a5e-a51d-3ea3a5a1df60">CHAPTER FOUR
WHAT did one wear on a private jet headed to Greece? With a prince as cabin-mate. That last part was important.
That had been the first question in her mind that morning, and it was still plaguing her even as she boarded the private jet, decked out in a yellow halter-top sundress and a matching wide-brimmed hat.
Because seriously, dwelling on anything more important than that might make her head explode. And she didn’t want to risk it. Aside from the fact that the interior was far too swanky to chance getting brain matter on it, she had too much work to do and she couldn’t function without said organ.
Stavros was already on the plane, lounging in one of the spacious leather seats, hands behind his head. It was like his go-to mess-with-her-composure position. Exposed bulge at the apex of his thighs? Check. Hard, muscular chest on display? Check. Washboard abs on show? Double check.
He was going to drive her insane.
And what would you do about it? Even if you could act on your attraction to him?
Nothing. The answer was an absolutely nothing, because while attraction, flirtation and sexual desire were all fine and fun, going any further than that would only result in pain. Emotional pain if not physical pain.
Probably both.
“Good morning,” she said.
He stood, his posture straight as she moved into the cabin and sat down in a chair that was positioned as far from his as was polite. He didn’t sit until she had settled herself.
“I like that,” she said. “Very chivalrous.”
“Etiquette is, of course, important for a prince to learn,” he said, humor lacing his tone.
“It’s a dying art form these days, trust me. With both men and women.”
“I imagine you would have a greater insight into that than most.” He buckled his seat belt and she followed suit as the plane readied for take-off.
“Probably. I deal with people on a pretty regular basis. And I have to ask a lot of … intimate questions. But people also tend to be on their best behavior when they’re looking for a relationship, or just beginning one. So I see a lot of the polished squeaky clean veneer, too.”
He nodded. “I suppose I do, too.”
“I’ll bet not many people let loose in front of royalty.”
“You don’t seem that bothered by my position.”
The plane started down the runway and a bubble of excitement burst in her stomach. It had taken a while, but she liked flying now. She liked how free it made her feel. If she wasn’t happy where she was, she could hop a plane and escape for a while.
It was liberating; providing some of the few real moments of freedom she felt. It was superhuman to fly, and it took her mind off the fact that she really was just human. With all kinds of shortcomings.
“Well, unlike my clients, I don’t see the point in hiding who I am.” Lies. She absolutely hid who she was. Behind a suit of armor that was a lot tougher than she was. But what was the point of armor if you admitted you had it on?
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said, his dark eyes far too perceptive for her liking.
What was he? A mind reader? “Why is that?”
“Because you have secrets. You won’t tell me why you’re prickly.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “I told you not to flirt with me.”
“You tell me that when I start to get close to things you don’t want to talk about,” he said, leaning over slightly. He was still across the aisle from her, but she felt the move. Felt the increased closeness.
She shifted the opposite direction. “Having secrets is normal. I imagine you have them.”
“Not one. Every detail of my life is published in the archives and kept in my father’s office. My more public exploits are in the news, in tabloids, on royalty stalker websites.”
“So that’s it then, you’re an open book?”
“I have nothing to hide. More to the point, I can’t have anything to hide. If I did, it would be put out in the public eye. I’m a public commodity,” he ground out, a bitterness tingeing his words. “I exercise discretion in certain areas of my life, naturally. I don’t announce when I take a lover, for example, though all tabloids will imply it. You, on the other hand—you have secrets.”
“You think you have me figured out?”
A smile curved his lips. Wicked. Dangerous. “No. Not at all.”
“Well, that’s good. I would hate to be thought of as predictable.”
“You aren’t predictable in the least. Not down to what you’ll wear on a given day,” he said, his eyes on her hat.
“That makes you interesting. It makes me wonder.” His eyes met hers and she felt a jolt in her system. “It makes me want to discover all of your secrets.”
His made goose bumps break out on her arms. Low and husky, with the kind of accent usually only found in her late-night fantasies. And his eyes … dark and rich, like chocolate. A bitter, intense sort of chocolate.
Her favorite.
She swallowed and tried to slow the beating of her heart. “I live in North Dakota when I’m not traveling, as you already know. I don’t own pets. I like clothes. And I do a really dorky celebration dance when I beat my own high scores on computer games.” She tried to smile. “Open book.”
“I would like to see the dance. But I also don’t believe you.”
“I do the dance. But I won’t do it for you.”
“No, I believe you do it.” His eyes locked with hers, the perception in them, the sudden seriousness, unnerving her. “I just don’t believe you’re an open book.”
“And I can’t believe you care. You don’t have time to worry about me or my idiosyncrasies, Prince Stavros, you have a wife to find.”
“No, you have a wife to find. Deliver her to me when you do.”
She laughed, trying to dispel the tension. “That’s the plan. Although, I have to do a bit more than deliver. You have to agree with my selection.”
“I admit I liked the look of … Victoria, was that her name?”
“Um … yes.” She bent down and picked her purse up, hunting for her iPad.
“It’s fine. You don’t need to get her picture out. I remember.”
Was
