A Bride for the Taking

‘You were given orders.’

‘I don’t take “orders”,’ Dorian said sharply.

His mouth thinned. ‘So it would seem.’

Dorian’s heart was slowing as things began to fall into place. There’d been a mistake, that was apparent. The plane had taken off without them, and if her absence hadn’t yet been noticed surely his would be. The plane would turn around and come back for them in just a few minutes.

‘Pretty sloppy security,’ she said smugly.

‘Yes.’ His voice was grim. ‘My thoughts precisely.’

‘I mean, if they didn’t notice that you were missing—’

‘Didn’t anyone try to stop you from leaving, Miss Oliver?’

‘It’s going to make a terrific story, though. “Two left behind at…”’ She cried out as his grasp tightened. ‘You’re hurting me!’

‘Two? Is that all your report will say? Just, “two”?’ He stepped closer to her and his voice became a purr. ‘No names, Miss Oliver?’

‘I don’t know your name,’ she said, gritting her teeth against the pressure of his hand. ‘And even if I did—’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I only know that you’ve been the perfect gentleman from the moment we met.’ She forced a cold smile to her lips. ‘Manhandling me in the car, manhandling me now—’

‘You’re lucky that’s all I’m doing.’ His face darkened. ‘Just why the hell did you follow me?’

‘I didn’t follow you. Not exactly. I just knew something was going on.’

His hand fell away from her. ‘Did you.’

His tone was flat, turning the question into a statement. Dorian felt a chill tiptoe up her spine. In the excitement, she’d almost forgotten why she’d come after him in the first place, her conviction that something was happening that no one was supposed to know about.

Now, the feeling returned. She’d been right; something was going on.

But what? And what part did this man have in it?

Her chin rose in defiance. ‘Yes,’ she said, bluffing, ‘and you might as well give me the details.’

He gave a short, sharp laugh. ‘An exclusive interview, is that it?’

‘Why not?’ Dorian looked outside. The sun had risen; the sky was a pale, cloudless blue. ‘We’ve plenty of time. The plane’s not in sight yet, and—’

He laughed again and put his hands on his hips. ‘Isn’t it?’ he said, as if she’d made some clever joke.

She hesitated. There was something in the way he was watching her that made her feel uneasy.

‘For a start, who are you, anyway?’

‘I thought you already had all the facts, Miss Oliver.’

‘I never said that.’ She trotted after him as he turned and began walking further into the hangar. ‘What I meant was that there was time for you to tell me—’

She gasped as he swung towards her and caught her by the wrist.

‘Exactly what do you know?’

‘What do I…?’

‘I’ve not time for games,’ he said brusquely. ‘Answer the question, dammit. What do you know?’

Dorian swallowed. ‘Well, well… I know that we didn’t really have mechanical problems.’

‘And?’

‘And—and…’

She fell silent. He stared at her for a long moment, and then he laughed.

‘I should have known it was a bluff.’ He let go of her and turned away. ‘The answer’s no,’ he called over his shoulder.

‘No?’ What did that mean?

He stopped alongside the plane and ran his hand lightly along the burnished silver fuselage. ‘No, I will not give you an interview.’

‘But we have time before the plane comes back for us,’ she said when she reached him.

He stepped to the wing and peered upwards. ‘They won’t.’

‘Who won’t?’ Dorian ducked beneath the wing and scrambled after him. ‘For goodness’ sake, Mr—Mr whatever your name is, can’t you speak in whole sentences? Who won’t do what?’

He took his time, patting the silver skin as if the plane were a live creature, and then, at last, he turned to her.

‘My name,’ he said coldly, ‘is Prince. Jake Prince.’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘And what they won’t do, Miss Oliver, is turn that plane around and come back for us.’

Dorian laughed. ‘Oh, but they must. They can’t just—’

‘They can and will.’ His voice was grim. ‘The plane will go straight on to Barovnia.’ He glanced at the little jet. ‘And so will I.’

‘In that, you mean? But I don’t understand.’

‘Then let me clarify things,’ he said, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘And let me do it in whole sentences, just so we’re both certain you get the message.’

Dorian’s cheeks reddened. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Your colleagues—the ones who had brains enough to stay on board that plane—will land in Barovnia in a couple of hours.’ He stepped beneath the jet, bent down, and removed the locking pins from the landing gear. ‘It m

ay take me a little longer,’ he said, frowning as he walked slowly around the plane and scanned it, ‘but I’ll be there in plenty of time for a late breakfast.’

She stared at him. ‘But—but what about me?’

He turned and looked at her. ‘What about you?’

‘You’re not…’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’re not thinking of leaving me here. You wouldn’t do that, would you?’

‘Wouldn’t I?’ He gave her a quick, wolfish smile. ‘Have I mentioned that I’m of Barovnian ancestry, Miss Oliver?’

‘No, you haven’t. But what’s that got to do with—?’

‘I was born in that “primitive little country” you hold in so much contempt.’

Dorian paled. ‘Look, just because I said some things—’

‘Which makes me a barbarian. Wasn’t that what we agreed?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, we didn’t. It was you who said that. I never—’

‘Reporters,’ he said, his mouth twisting as if the word were bitter on his tongue. ‘You’re all alike—you think you can stick your noses in where they don’t belong and never pay the consequences.’

Dorian drew in her breath. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘I’m only doing my job. Your people invited the Press to come along on this junket. If you wanted to keep things from us, you—’

‘And there’s another thing. I did not manhandle you.’

‘Mr Prince—’

‘Not that I didn’t come damned close.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He moved quickly, like the panther of which he’d reminded her. He was next to her before she could react, his hands on her shoulders as he drew her to him. ‘This is what I did,’ he said, and his mouth dropped to hers in a quick, almost savage kiss. It lasted only an instant, and then he stepped back and gave her another of those cold, terrible smiles. ‘Now,’ he said softly, ‘do we understand each other?’

‘You’re despicable,’ she whispered. ‘You’re—you’re…’

He laughed when she sputtered to silence.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve run out of adjectives, kitten. Where’s the journalistic skill you’re so proud of?’

Her eyes flashed with indignation. ‘Don’t you dare call me that again, dammit!’