by Maisey Yates
For now, he was determined to go back to the reception and enjoy the happiest day of his sister’s life.
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 that jealousy? That hot, burning sensation in her stomach? Yes. It very likely was. Ridiculous. She wanted him to like Victoria. Victoria was a fabulous candidate. “Victoria would probably like to meet you here in Greece. She was disappointed that work conflicted with the wedding.”
“What happened to your speed-dating idea?”
“I’ll get a couple of other girls out as well, just to keep the pressure off. But if I—and by I, I mean you—fly them to Greece they deserve more than fifteen minutes of your time.”
“Agreed.”
“When will you have time?” She looked back down at her bag.
“Get it out if you have to,” he said, his tone grudging.
She leaned down and took her tablet out of her purse and opened the flap on the cover. She opened up the calendar and sat poised with her finger at the ready.
“In the evenings. Dinner dates will do.”
She typed in a quick note. “Would you like to see photographs of the other women I’ll be asking?”
“Not especially.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “If I don’t show them to you, you’ll only accuse me of picking women who aren’t attractive again.”
“You can’t hear a laugh in a picture. And that laugh was unforgivable.”
The look she shot him would have been fatal to a lesser man. “You really are being unkind about the laugh.”
“She sounded like a nervous mouse. And she even lifted her hands up and wiggled her fingers. Like she was waiting for cheese.”
Jessica tried, and failed to suppress a laugh. “That … you … well.”
“I’m right.”
“You’re mean!”
“I’m not mean. It’s one of those things that would eat at me. Day in and day out until one day I divorced her over her laugh and that would be a much bigger unkindness than just not pursuing things from the get go.”
She expelled a breath. “Fine. I won’t push the laugh issue again. You’re entitled to your judgmental opinion.”
“I am,” he said, lowering his hands so that they were gripping the armrests on his chair. He had such big hands. Very big. Oh … dear. What was her problem?
She lowered her head and focused on her computer. “Anyway, I was thinking of asking Cherry Carlisle and Amy Sutton over.” She looked at Stavros, who was affecting a bored expression and staring out the window. “Cherry is a brunette. Amy is a redhead. And Victoria’s a blonde.” He kept his gaze off of her. “It’s actually pretty good because it’s like the setup to your own, personal joke. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead go to Greece.”
He looked at her, the corners of his mouth tipped upward. “To marry the prince. You really are selling this well.”
“I try. Once we land in Greece I’ll coordinate with them and hopefully we can get them there ASAP.”
“You like speaking in acronyms, don’t you?”
She shrugged. “It’s faster.”
“Speaking of, by my very fast math, you’ll be involving six women in this so far. And while I’m under no illusion that we’ll keep the press out of this entirely, I wonder what might happen if one of them ends up feeling … jilted.”
“Oh, they’ve signed a gag order.”
“A gag order?”
“I take my business very seriously and yes, this is tabloid bait. Serious, serious tabloid bait. And I have no interest in feeding you, or me, to the wolves. So I’ve taken pretty big precautions.”
He leaned forward, his interest obviously piqued now. “And what are the consequences if they break the gag order?”
“Their firstborn child. All right, not quite but there are some monetary fees.”
“You are quite deceptive, Ms. Carter.”
“Am I?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
“Yes. You seem so sunny. Soft,” he said, his dark eyes settling on her breasts. “And yet … you are cynical. More so even than I am, I think. Which is really quite something.”
She swallowed and angled her face away from him. She could still feel him looking at her. “Call it cynical if you like, I call it realism. Human nature is what human nature is. No matter how much someone thinks they love you, if being with you starts to conflict with their ultimate goals … well, it won’t take much for them to start believing that they don’t love you anymore. That’s why I work to find people who have united goals and interests. Things that are concrete. Much more concrete than love. Whatever that is. I’m a realist, that’s all.”
“Cynic. Realist. Whatever the case, you certainly aren’t soft.”
She shook her head. “No. Being soft hurts too much.”
She had no idea why she was telling him so much. What was inspiring her to give away any of her tightly guarded self to this man. She only knew that it was easier to talk around him than to hold it in. That was new. Strange.
She’d always found it easier to just keep it all stuffed inside. Locked behind a wall of iron, defended by her sharp wit. Easier to have an off-the-cuff, half-serious response to everything than to let someone see her true self.
And yet, with Stavros, she had shared.
So pointless and silly. Irritating even, because there was no reason for her to choose him as a confidante. No reason at all. She didn’t have a confidante. She didn’t need one.
So stop it, already.
“You’re right about that,” he said, his voice different now. Serious. Lacking that mischief that was usually present. “Emotion … it can eat you alive. Steal every good intention. Every concept of responsibility. We’ll be staying in my private villa,” he said, changing the subject neatly. And she was grateful.
“We? As in … the two of us?”
“What did you imagine might happen, Jessica?” he asked. Her ears pricked and her heart stuttered at the use of her first name. It felt … intimate.
“I thought maybe we’d stay in a hotel and I’d have my own room.” Perhaps a floor or twelve away from his.
“I prefer not to stay in hotels, if I can help it, and you may reserve your comments on the irony of that.”
She arched an eyebrow. “How did you know I had a comment ready?”
“You always have a comment ready.”
“True,” she agreed.
“The villa is big. You won’t have to run into me at all, unless it’s work-related. If you don’t want to, that is.”
His voice dropped a step when he said that last part, his words a husky invitation that her body was aching to respond to.
“Why … why would I want to?” she asked, her voice a bit shaky.
“You’re the only one who can answer that,” he said.
She knew what her answer would be. And it would be completely inappropriate. “Well. I won’t. Come looking for you, that is. For anything besides work.”
He nodded slowly and leaned back in his seat. “Probably a wise decision.”
Probably. And she shouldn’t regret making it. But she did.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE villa was everything a prince’s Grecian villa should be. Windows that stretched from floor to ceiling and ran the length of the room, offering views of the Aegean that were incomparable. Everything was washed in white and blue, reflecting the pale sun and glittering sea.
“You have a room on the second floor. Ocean view,” he said.
“Are there any non-ocean views available?” she asked.
“Not many. But I like to be near the sea. The product of my island upbringing, I would imagine. I used to …” A strange expression crossed his face. “I used to like watching the ships come into harbor. Or sail out to sea.” He cleared his throat. “Until I became a teenager, and just enjoyed watching women walk around in bikini bottoms. Either way, I’ve always liked the beach.”
“North Dakota’s not by the ocean. It’s landlocked.”
“I know. And the idea of it makes me feel claustrophobic. How do you stand it?”
“I leave. A lot.” Her hometown made her feel claustrophobic more often than not, in truth. Especially since she always ran the risk of seeing Gil and Sarah if she went grocery shopping. And now it was Gil and Sarah and Aiden.
Suddenly the fresh ocean air seemed too briny, too harsh. Her throat tightened against it.
“That’s one solution,” he said.
“A temporary one.”
“Why not make it permanent?”
Because then she really would have to let go. “I own a house. It’s nice. I have … petunias.”
“And I have bougainvillea. There are flowers everywhere.”
“But they’re my flowers.” And it was the place she could go and rehash where her dreams had started. And where they had ended.
No. Not ended. Changed. She was just hunting for some new ones now. Well, that was total garbage. She had a bunch of new ones. She was successful. She had awesome shoes. She helped people find … well, lasting marriage if not love.
“You could transplant them.”
She sighed. “Oh, come on, Stavros, they’re only petunias.”
He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, catching her off guard. “Perhaps find me a woman you wouldn’t mind spending time with.”
His suggestion caught her off guard more than his laughter. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’re funny. Quick. I imagine you don’t hang out with people who bore you.”
“I don’t hang out with much of anyone these days, outside of a working relationship, but you’re right, I don’t.”
“So, find me someone you would be amused by. Someone who has be
tter things to talk about than the weather.”
“The weather here is lovely,” she said, unable to resist.
“Things like that,” he said, amusement lacing his tone. “Find a woman who does things like that.”
“So someone who’s like me, but not me.”
“Exactly.”
He was teasing. And even if he weren’t, there was no way she could be suitable. She wasn’t sweet and demure. She didn’t know how to do a royal wave. And she wasn’t fertile. Not even maybe.
The only requirement she met was being a woman, a broken one. And that just wasn’t enough.
Still, when she looked at her ex-husband’s curvy, blonde new wife, she felt like he had gone and done that same thing. A woman who was her, but not her. He’d found a replacement model with a working, intact uterus.
It was something that still burned no matter how hard she tried to pretend it didn’t. She didn’t love Gil anymore. She didn’t want him back. But the way it had all gone down … that was the really hard thing to deal with.
That was the part she had to process. So she just had to move forward. Inch by inch, day by day. Breath by breath.
Some days were more successful than others.
“Charming,” she said, turning and heading toward the staircase.
“Jessica.” Stavros caught her arm and turned her to face him, his dark eye intense. “I’m sorry. That came out … It was a bad joke.”
She shrugged and tried to pull away from him. Away from his touch. His heat. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. I’ll think about what we talked about today and I’ll get back to you, okay?”
He released his hold on her, her skin still burning where his flesh had touched hers. Scorched hers. How long had it been since someone had touched her? And by touch, she didn’t mean handshakes. Didn’t mean brushes of fingers, or even a proprietary male hand on her back as she was guided into a building.
Really touched her. Personal. Caring, almost.
It had been so long. Even longer since she’d felt a real connection with someone. That was actually worse than not being touched. Being touched, being skin-to-skin with someone, and knowing that there was no connection at all.