The guy looked up, gave a very satisfactory double-take and got to his feet.
Ivy held out her hand. “I’m Ivy.”
He wiped his hand on his khakis, took her hand and cleared his throat. “Joe,” he said, and cleared his throat again.
“Joe.” Ivy batted her lashes. “Are you the one who flies this incredible thing?”
He grinned. “You got it, beautiful.”
Perfect. He was American. And even with dust on her shoes and sweat beaded above her lip, she’d clearly passed the test.
&
nbsp; “Well, Joe, I need a lift to Athens. Are you up for that?”
Joe took off his dark glasses, maybe so she could see the regret in his eyes, and peered past her.
“Are you, uh, are you looking for somebody?”
He nodded. “I’m looking for the prince.”
“Oh, we don’t need him.” Ivy moved closer. “You see,” she said, lowering her voice and gazing up at Joe’s face, “he doesn’t know I’m doing this.”
She launched into her story. It sounded so good, she almost believed it. Joe said “uh huh” and “sure” and “cool.” And just when she thought she had it made, he shook his head and sighed.
“Wish I could help you, beautiful, but I can’t.”
Ivy forced a smile. “But you can. I mean, it’s just a little trip. And afterward, when the prince knows about the surprise, you know, after I’ve given it to him, I’ll tell him how great you were, how you did this for me—”
“Sorry, babe. This chopper doesn’t leave the ground unless His Highness says it’s okay. You want to use the phone in the office over there to call him, that’s fine. Otherwise—”
“For heaven’s sake! Do you need his permission to breathe, too? You’re a grown man. He’s just a—he’s just a pompous, self-serving—”
Joe stared past her, eyes widening.
“Glyka mou,” a husky voice purred, “here you are.”
Ivy’s heart sank. She closed her eyes as a powerful arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. How foolish of me not to have thought to check here first.”
Ivy looked up at Damian. He smiled, pleasantly enough so the pilot smiled, too, but Ivy wasn’t fooled.
Behind that calm royal smile was hot royal rage.
“You cannot do this,” she hissed.
His eyebrows rose. “Do what?”
“You know what. Refuse to let me leave. Make me into your—your—”
He bent his head and kissed her, the curve of his arm anchoring her to him while his mouth moved against hers with slow, possessive deliberation. She heard Joe clear his throat, heard her heart start to pound.
And felt herself tumble into the flood of dark sensation that came whenever his lips touched hers.
“I hate you,” she whispered when he finally lifted his head.
His smile was one part sex and one part macho smirk. “Yes,” he said. “I can tell. Joe?”