The Royal Wedding Collection. Robyn Donald

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      Bubbling with excitement, Michael shot questions at her on the way to the bathroom and all the way back, falling silent only when he at last saw the sea, a gleaming bow against the craggy bulk of the land.

      Caelan said, ‘Everything you packed into your car is on the plane; I thought it best for him to have as many familiar things around him as possible.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said in a stilted voice.

      ‘It was nothing.’

      And indeed, for him, it wasn’t. All he had to do was command, and people hurried to do his bidding. Travelling with the prince was nothing like the normal hassle; leg-room wasn’t a problem and luggage didn’t need to be monitored. Money made things easy in so many ways, and of course his heritage meant that he took such things for granted.

      But he had considered Michael’s feelings; it seemed a good omen. Fortified by that hopeful thought, Abby leaned back in the seat, remembering how startled she’d been when she’d discovered that he and Gemma were distant cousins of the ruler of Dacia.

      Gemma had said, ‘One of these days I’ll take you to see the crown jewels there. They’re a magnificent collection of the world’s most perfect emeralds.’ She’d peered into Abby’s face and then sat back, pronouncing, ‘In fact, some are exactly the same colour as your eyes. And you’d like the Bagaton cousins. The men are totally, over-the-top gorgeous, and there’s a Kiwi connection too. Several—including Prince Luka, the reigning monarch—have married New Zealanders.’

      Don’t go there! Abby commanded, relieved when Caelan interrupted her memories.

      ‘If you agree, your car can be sold today.’

      Her lips tightened. Resentment at being taken over, forced into a situation she couldn’t escape, scraped across her nerves. ‘I suppose so,’ she said colourlessly.

      ‘Yes or no?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said between her teeth, and leaned away to point out another, smaller plane beneath them to Michael.

      Who crowed with delight before turning a radiant face to the prince to shout, ‘Uncle Caelan, look!’

      Caelan got to his feet and bent over them to look through the window; Abby caught a faint, masculine scent, and a merciless sexual awareness dazzled her. Her body tightened and her head swam.

      Fortunately he straightened up almost immediately, looking down at her with burnished silver-blue eyes, unreadable and hard. ‘Breakfast should be ready. I’ll go and see.’

      Her breath hissed out as he walked to the back of the plane, his lithe gait a challenge in itself. No wonder he turned up frequently in the gossip columns; he packed a powerful physical charge that overrode all the cautious warnings of her mind.

      But at least Gemma had told her what he was—utterly intolerant, quick to judge and incapable of trust. And she’d found out for herself that he was able to effortlessly control his sexual appetite.

      It took all of her powers of persuasion to coax Michael back into his seat and buckle him in; his vigorous objections were only halted by the appearance of a middle-aged stewardess carrying a tray. Entranced by this, and the promise of fruit to follow, he settled down to demolish a boiled egg with his usual gusto.

      Too strung-up to eat, Abby refused anything apart from a cup of coffee. But it arrived accompanied by thin, crisp toast and several little pots containing a variety of spreads.

      ‘Mr Bagaton said you should have something,’ the stewardess explained with a smile.

      Abby quelled a frisson of foolish pleasure. His thoughtfulness warmed some small part of her she’d thought permanently frozen.

      She looked up as he came back down the aisle, an inchoate smile freezing on her lips when she met a long, watchful inspection that made her acutely aware of the signs of her sleepless night in her face—shadowed eyes, pale skin, and hair like string. Even after combing, it looked the way she’d wanted it to—dull, mousy, boring.

      And she didn’t—couldn’t—allow herself to care what Caelan Bagaton thought of her. Her lips straightened and defiance glittered beneath her lashes as she lifted the coffee-cup to her lips.

      No matter what it took, she had to kill this painful awareness, so intense it had only taken one glance at him to roar into life. In spite of its power and primal force it was meaningless.

      Yet, oh, so dangerous.

      Caelan transferred his attention to Michael, his mouth curving. ‘Are you enjoying your breakfast?’

      Trying to ignore the painful twist to her heart, Abby thought cynically that that smile had to be one of the world’s great weapons. Michael was no more able to resist it than she was.

      A wide grin split Michael’s face. ‘I had a negg.’

      ‘Was it good?’ Caelan lowered his big frame to his seat.

      ‘Yes. And some peaches,’ Michael informed him gleefully, and went back to emptying his plate.

      But once the tray had been cleared, he began to find the confinement of the seat belt irritating. Abby changed places with him so he could again see out of the window. Obediently he gazed at the lush green countryside that had replaced the stark central plateau beneath, but his interest didn’t last long.

      Caelan got to his feet, opened the overhead locker and took down the bag she’d packed for just such a moment, but Michael resisted all his favourites with every appearance of loathing.

      Not now, she thought wearily. It was too much to expect him to accept the huge change of circumstances without any response, but it would be so much easier if he’d kept the inevitable reaction for later.

      Preferably after she’d had a good night’s sleep, and with the prince well out of the way!

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ABBY glanced across the aisle, straight into Caelan’s cool, guarded eyes. Hiding her trepidation, she met them with all the composure she could summon, and asked, ‘How much longer?’

      ‘About half an hour. Why?’

      She inclined her head slightly sideways. ‘Energy needs to be expended.’

      ‘He’ll have to wait.’ Even as she bristled he reached into his narrow leather briefcase and drew out a book she recognised. ‘Does he know this?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said, truly grateful. ‘But we’ve always had to get it from the library so he’ll be more than happy to hear it now.’

      How did Caelan know that Michael adored the iconic adventures of a small New Zealand dog? Surely, she thought, going cold, he couldn’t have had them investigated that intensively?

      Of course he had; a man who thought nothing of infiltrating a child-care centre with an operative СКАЧАТЬ