The Royal House of Karedes: One Family: Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress / The Desert King's Housekeeper Bride / Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen

They were flying out to Aristo tomorrow. Just the two of them. There would be no observers, no paparazzi on the plane. Just him, just her. And it was time to fight the fire with fire.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_59b6da24-f3cb-531c-8ddc-963d7b6135c9)

‘LATE night, Liss?’

Hiding behind her large dark glasses, she took the hint of disapproval on the chin. After her nil response they rode to the airport in silence but the atmosphere was thick with swirling heat. She stared out the window, not able to cope with seeing James as well as having him up close in the back of the taxi. He was looking too gorgeous in a white cotton tee that wasn’t too tight, but tight enough to show off that broad chest and long arms, jeans that were a relaxed fit but with enough shape to make her appreciate the length of his legs and the hint of their concealed power. She badly, badly wanted to touch.

They cruised through check-in and waited in the club lounge for a few minutes before getting the call to board. She gripped her small flight bag and walked ahead so she wouldn’t have to see any longer how well he filled out those jeans.

She’d danced and danced on into the night—needing to burn the energy. Now she was tired and strung out and he wasn’t helping because every time she glanced at him he met her gaze with a smile that set her every cell singing.

She stepped into the cabin with relief. First class wasn’t usually fully booked and she planned to stretch out and enjoy the space. She fussed about, unloading a few essentials from her bag into the compartment by her seat: her own water, her warm wool socks, her vial of refreshingly scented oil—the little things she needed to make the journey as relaxing as possible. Then she realised that James was standing right behind her, patiently watching, waiting—for what? She raised her brows—hoping it looked like a cool question.

He flashed the charm smile. ‘Actually the window seat is mine.’

She checked her ticket quickly. Damn. Her consternation must have been obvious because his smile widened with wicked humour.

‘Don’t you want to sit next to me?’

The flush flooded her—she could feel it all the way from her face to her toes, and she wondered how he’d react if she answered honestly. She wanted to sit on him, not next to him. She wanted to straddle his strong, heavy thighs—to feel the muscle-filled denim on her bare skin. She wanted to slide her fingers beneath that white tee shirt and feel for herself the heat of his chest—was it hair-tickled or smooth? Was it as bronzed as his arms or was it paler, less kissed by the sun… ? Kissed… oh, hell, she was in trouble.

‘But you can have the window if you like.’ The lights in his eyes were brightening, the smile widening.

‘You’re sure?’ She couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t stop sounding like a breathless temp offered the long-term placement of a lifetime.

‘I’ve already got a beautiful view.’

OK. Deep breath—and time to get a grip on the situation. She stayed standing.

‘Take it.’

‘You’re the boss,’ she said, to remind herself as much as anything.

‘And you’re the princess,’ he said. ‘Interesting power play, isn’t it? Who do you think should be on top?’

She sat in an awful hurry. On top? He wanted to debate positions? She tried to think of a witty reply—hell, any sort of reply. ‘You said my being a princess wouldn’t garner me any special treatment.’

‘Right.’ He sat next to her and leaned close, continuing with the chatty tone that softened the underlying determined quality. ‘And just because I’m the boss doesn’t mean I should get any either. Not in this arena.’

‘What arena’s that?’ He was all she could see—his large body screened the rest of the cabin from her. It was as if they were in their own little corner of the plane and he was shielding her from all observers.

‘The personal one.’

‘We’re talking personal?’

‘Come on, princess, we’ve barely talked anything else.’ His eyes held hers, daring her to be honest. ‘Have we?’

She paused, looked down as she clicked her safety belt in place. ‘You’re the one who said it’s not a good idea, James.’

‘You said it too. And we’re both right. It’s probably really stupid.’ He tilted her chin with his fingers, making her look at him again, making her active in the conversation, making her skin sizzle. ‘But it also seems to be impossible to ignore.’

His touch both soothed and rasped over her stretched nerves. She moved her head enough to make him release her, but maintained the eye contact—she had the feeling he wouldn’t settle for less.

‘So,’ he muttered. ‘Let’s talk personal.’

The engines of the plane revved and she felt the situation slipping from her control. She fought to reclaim it. ‘Are you sure this is the right place?’

‘Why not?’ The glints in his eye spiked. ‘We have a number of hours to fill in. What else do you suggest we do?’

They stared at each other and in the darkness of his eyes she saw all her wild fantasies reflected—of closeness and warmth, of sighs and the sound of them slipping together, of naked sensation. Until finally she ducked away from his gaze in heated defeat, closing her eyes as the plane gained enough speed to lift off from the ground.

It was only when the plane levelled out high in the sky, that she expelled the breath she’d been holding and replied, ‘Talking is good.’

She couldn’t join him as he chuckled. This wasn’t that funny for her—it was full on. But OK. He wanted to talk personal? Maybe she’d take the opportunity to do some digging—she had a few questions she’d like answered. ‘Do you ever really have a good time, James?’

He sobered instantly and placed his hand over hers. She had to concentrate extra hard to listen for the answer and not let her brain go fuzzy from the body contact.

‘What do you mean by that?’ He sounded surprised.

‘You’re never really in the gossip pages of the papers or magazines—even though your family is almost as well known in Sydney as mine is on Aristo. And sometimes you don’t look like you’re having so much fun.’

‘How do I look?’

She thought for a moment and then opted for the truth. ‘Intense.’ And definitely brooding. There had been times when she’d seen the serious look descend over the charming features and she figured he was thinking about something—some sort of bother. Was it work or was it a woman?

His voice was low and gently mocked. ‘I know how to have a good time, princess.’ He shot her a look that made her more than aware of the kind of fun he was thinking of right now.

Fantasies of dark nights swirled in her head once more.

‘Just because you like to party on the pages of the gossip magazines doesn’t mean the rest of us have to. I don’t need publicity to prove what a good time I’m having.’ His fingers tightened, stopping her from withdrawing her hand. ‘I prefer to keep my wild times private, not have them dissected in the papers.’

That one really rankled. It was one thing that her brothers really frowned on. It had been OK for them to get up to whatever in the good old days, but the minute there was wind of a story on her they came down hard. She curled her fingers away from his.

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read.’

His expression darkened. ‘Really?’ He smoothed the palm of his hand along the ridge of her fist.

Liss watched as exactly the intense brooding look she’d meant descended on his features. Then she watched him take a deliberately deep breath, visibly aiming to relax. ‘Actually, I’ve been wondering about one salacious detail for some time.’

She raised a brow and tried to look as if she didn’t care that much. The papers wrote an awful lot of rubbish—recycled pictures and added tired old quotes from people she’d never met.

He leaned towards her, voice lowered. ‘Whether it’s true you usually go without underwear in your trademark slinky party dresses.’

She couldn’t help the smile at that, a bubble of laughter stirred and her flirt mood revived. ‘That’s for me to know.’ She couldn’t resist throwing him the challenge. ‘Think you’re going to find out?’

‘I’d be willing to bet on it.’ He shot the answer straight back.

It almost stopped her—but not quite. ‘I’m not a betting woman.’