The Secret Princess. Elizabeth Harbison

“—accessories. The prince is prepared to give you whatever your heart desires.”

      “That’s very nice of him, but I’m not prepared to be beholden to a prince I’ve never met.” She thought about that for a nanosecond before amending, “I’m not prepared to be beholden to anyone, whether I know them or not.”

      “Very well,” he said with a light sigh. “It’s my job to see to your comfort.”

      “In that case, stock the plane with angel food cake,” Mara chirped. “It’s her favorite.”

      “Goodbye, Mara,” Amy said pointedly. “I’ll call you when I arrive.”

      He opened the door for her, then, as soon as she’d passed him, he turned back to Mara and asked, “What is angel food cake?”

      “It’s like a big, sweet sponge,” she answered with a shrug. “I think it’s made with a lot of egg whites. I just buy it at the grocery store.”

      He nodded, as if taking mental notes. “Angel food cake. It sounds perfect for such a beautiful woman.”

      Mara giggled. She was clearly under the man’s spell. As soon as he turned his back, Mara kissed her fingertips and gave Amy the thumbs-up.

      Amy rolled her eyes, but inside she knew exactly what Mara meant. Franz Burgess had magnetism on about six different levels. Every time she looked at him he seemed to be better-looking. Just when she got used to the cool green of his eyes, she noticed the sensual curve of his mouth. One smile and she was knocked out by how it transformed his face, taking it from serious and darkly handsome to relaxed and open.

      Then there was his voice. Smooth and rich, like warm cocoa, with just a hint of an accent that made him seem exotic. Romantic.

      As if that wasn’t enough, he had that sly, intelligent humor that Amy had always found irresistible. He seemed to be able to read the truth no matter what she said.

      Now, that could be dangerous, she thought.

      She hoped she’d be able to keep some comfortable distance from him on the plane. Perhaps with a little luck she could find an empty seat next to a chatty businessman.

      And with a little willpower, she would take it.

      She should have known it would be a private jet and that they would be the only two traveling. He was working for a prince, ostensibly bringing a long-lost princess back to her homeland. It stood to reason that such important business as that would be conducted on a plush Lear jet, with soft music piped over the speaker system and champagne chilling in a silver bucket of ice.

      “Are you a fearful flyer?” he asked as Amy sat down and put her seat belt on.

      “No, why?”

      “You look nervous.”

      Oh, great. Why did he have to be the first really perceptive man she’d met? “It’s probably just the coffee I had this morning.”

      “Ah.” He nodded. “Then I assume you won’t be wanting any of the cappuccino Annabelle made.”

      “Annabelle?”

      He nodded in the direction of a door to the back. “She’s the chef on board.”

      Amy smiled, hugely relieved. There was someone else on board besides the captain! “Well, let’s invite her to join us.”

      He looked surprised. “Here?”

      “Well, sure.” She pointed toward two more plush leather seats like the ones they were sitting in. “There’s plenty of room.”

      He shook his head. “I don’t believe she’d be comfortable with such an arrangement.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because, for one thing, she is working. It is not part of her job description to sit with the passengers and chat. You wouldn’t join your customers on a trip to Nepal because you sold them the guidebook, would you?”

      “Oh, come on, it’s hardly the same thing!”

      He studied her for a moment. “Do I make you nervous, Amelia?”

      Nervous was hardly the word. He made every nerve in her body tingle with giddy awareness. She felt like a junior-high schoolgirl with a crush. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

      He gave a nod of concession. “I apologize. Amy. Perhaps you would like some champagne to combat your agitation.”

      The plane began to taxi down the runway. A nervous buzz rushed through Amy’s chest. She wasn’t afraid of flying, but she wasn’t completely comfortable with it, either.

      She eyed the champagne bottle in the silver bucket. “No, thank you. I think I’d better keep my wits about me.”