Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess. Robyn Donald
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later, you’ll have adjusted to the local time when we arrive in Auckland.’
Sleeping wouldn’t be difficult. She’d spent a lot of last night staring into the darkness and wondering what on earth she’d agreed to.
Nothing, she told herself again. After all, Alex’s attitude, as well as his remark to Gerd and Rosie the previous night, had made it obvious that he was fully in control of his physical urges. Which had to be a good thing…
It was a pity she couldn’t quite feel any gratitude for his unspoken promise of restraint.
She bent her head and altered her watch to match his, saying, ‘Rosie says she drinks gallons of water and tries to spend at least ten minutes every hour walking or doing exercises.’
She’d been grateful for that information; at least striding around the cabin would give her something to do, something to concentrate on.
Not that drinking a lake of water or walking the whole way to New Zealand would slow the pace of her heart, or stop her from being so acutely, intensely aware of Alex she felt as though she was inhaling his essence with every breath she took.
‘Keeping away from alcohol and caffeine seems to help too,’ Alex told her laconically.
‘That won’t be a problem.’
However, when the engines changed note and they began to pick up speed down the runway, Serina decided she could use something strong and sustaining. Drymouthed, she peered out at the mountains of Carathia rapidly speeding past as the jet broke free of the earth and started to climb.
A weird, baseless panic clenched her stomach muscles. Deliberately, carefully, she relaxed them and kept her eyes fixed on the view outside.
Never in all her life had she behaved so impetuously. Never. Thinking back, she couldn’t remember when she’d decided that the best way to meet life was with restraint and cool composure. Possibly she’d just been born sensible and prosaic.
Whatever the cause, having been her mother’s confidante in the continuing saga of unfaithfulness and despair that had been her parents’ marriage, she’d vowed that she wasn’t going to endure pain like that. So far, no man had ever been able to test that decision.
Yet Alex’s caustic comparison of her to a puppet had been the final impetus that stung her into jettisoning caution and common sense to take this wild step into the unknown.
Alex leaned back in his seat and smiled at her. Her heart jumped and she relished an intoxicating sense of freedom. Half scared, half excited, she admitted that Doran had been right.
Unless she wanted to wear the princess mask for the rest of her life, she needed to break out and find out who the real Serina was. Restraint and reserve could go hang. While she was in New Zealand she’d be the perfectly ordinary woman she’d told Alex she was.
A sudden lightness, almost a feeling of relief, sent her spirits soaring. All her life she’d been an appendage to something or someone else—the daughter of her parents, Doran’s sister, the last Princess of Montevel, cousin to every royal family in Europe.
Even her career…Although she’d proved she was a good writer with a gift for painting the essence of a landscape in words, it had been her title—and the entrée it gave her—that got her the chance to write her first column.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the view through the window, she watched as, still climbing steeply, the plane wheeled and turned away from the Europe she knew so well, heading towards unknown, more primal shores on the other side of the world.
When the seat belt light flicked off Alex touched her arm—the lightest of touches, yet it ran like wildfire through her.
He said, ‘I have work to do. If you need anything, ring for the steward.’
She nodded, watching him surreptitiously as he moved across to a desk that had clearly been set up for business. Tall and rangy, the chiselled planes and angles of his face strong and disturbingly sensual, he dwarfed the cabin, diminishing the luxurious interior into insignificance by the sheer force of his personality.
What would he be like as a lover? Tender and thoughtful, or wildly passionate, as masterful as he was sexually experienced?
Her breath came faster and, to her shock, a languorous heat flowed through her, melting her bones and setting her nerves dancing in forbidden anticipation.
What did she know about loving, about lovers? If Alex made a move she wouldn’t know what to do.
He’d probably find that off-putting.
Or laughable.
Fortunately, the steward came silently through with a selection of magazines—including, she noticed, the one she wrote for.
Dragging her mind away, she checked her column, frowned at a sentence she could have framed better, then turned over a few more pages and tried to concentrate on the latest fashions.
Rassel had been right to sack her, she decided, frowning at one photograph. He was heading into punk, and she’d look ridiculous in his latest creations. She didn’t suit an edgy, rebellious look—her face and persona were too conventional to cope with the wild side.
Her gaze drifted across the opulently furnished cabin to Alex, dark head bent slightly as he read his way through a mountain of papers. He must have taken a speed-reading course, she thought idly, then forced her eyes back to her magazine.
Feverishly, she pretended to examine a tall redheaded model clad in scraps of gold leather and tried to concentrate on the text beneath, but the words jerked meaninglessly in front of her eyes.
After several minutes she relaxed enough to be able to breathe easily. Her lashes drooped. The hum of the engines and last night’s sleepless hours were a strong sedative. She opened her eyes and stared out the window, only to feel her skin prickle.
Was Alex watching her?
No, of course not. Disciplining herself not to glance his way, she looked down at the page again. The print blurred in front of her.
‘You’re tired.’
Alex’s voice made her jump and the magazine slid from her lap onto the floor. She scrabbled for it but the seat belt held her fast, and helplessly she watched his lean brown hand pick the magazine up and put it down on the seat beside her.
‘You might as well use the bedroom over there.’ His voice was level as he nodded towards a door off the cabin. ‘You’ll be more comfortable there.’
Because the thought of him watching her while she slept in the seat was unbearably intimate, she nodded and unclipped her belt, only to stagger slightly when she stood up and the plane tilted a little.
Alex’s eyes narrowed and his hand shot out to grip her shoulder. ‘It’s all right—we’re crossing the mountains, and this is minor turbulence. As soon as we hit cruising altitude things will settle down.’
Automatically, Serina straightened. ‘I’m not afraid, but thank you,’ she said. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it.’
Immediately his grip loosened. ‘OK now?’
‘Yes. Fine.’
She headed across to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to put some distance—and a door—between them. His touch had scrambled her brain and alerted unknown hidden pleasure points in her body, sending secret pulses of sensation through every cell.
If this uncontrollable response was desire, she not only didn’t know how to deal with it, she found it downright embarrassing.
Her breath eased out in a long jagged sigh once she’d shut the door behind her. The huge bed was opulent, the cabin decorated for sleep, relying on subtle colours and the cool play of linen against gleaming silk, the soft luxury of a caramel cashmere throw. Her gaze fixed onto the plump pillows that called to her with a siren’s lure.
Yet more alluring, more