LITMIR.BIZ

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his body was refusing to listen to the disapproval which was clouding his mind. The single thought which consumed him was how much he wanted to have sex with her by daylight—with the sun streaming in through the cabin windows and illuminating her creamy body. His throat thickened as he imagined her arching that elegant back, those long legs stiffening helplessly as she came. He didn’t usually bring lovers on long-haul flights because being trapped in an enclosed space for so many hours meant the possibility of boredom was very high. But for once there had been no other option.

      Pushing his erotic thoughts away, he met the questioning look in her eyes.

      ‘It’s my nephew’s christening,’ he said shortly.

      ‘Right,’ she said. ‘So is it your brother or your sister who is the parent?’

      ‘My half-brother. Or at least, one of them.’

      ‘Right. And how many half-brothers do you have?’

      With a barely stifled sigh of irritation, Rafe put down his pen. ‘Three. Or at least, three that I know about,’ he answered. ‘And a half-sister named Amber.’

      ‘Gosh. That’s a lot. How come?’

      His instinct was to snap back: how do you think? Until he remembered that her privileged life had probably protected her from the worst excesses of relationships—of children born in and out of wedlock and illicit affairs which wrecked marriages.

      ‘Because my father liked women. Ambrose Carter was something of a darling in his day, which is probably why he married four times and why I have so many half-siblings. There’s Amber, Chase, Gianluca and Nick—he’s the one who’s just had the baby—or rather, his wife, Molly, did.’

      ‘Are they’re all going to be there?’

      ‘Everyone except Chase. He’s in South America, halfway up the Amazon. Molly’s parents are both dead.’ There was a split-second pause. ‘But her twin sister is going to be there. Like I said, it’s complicated.’

      ‘Okay.’ She shifted her gaze to his. ‘And does your father—Ambrose—have a good relationship with his children?’

      ‘As much as each mother would allow.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘Because a child’s welfare is primarily down to the mother, isn’t it? And the kind of woman who marries a man for the size of his wallet probably isn’t going to be the kind of person who puts her child’s welfare first.’

      Sophie hesitated. ‘And was...was your mother that kind of woman?’

      ‘You could say that.’ His laugh was bitter. ‘My mother was the kind of woman for whom the term gold-digger might have been invented.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Why be sorry? It’s the hand I was dealt and I learned how to play it.’

      ‘And was it...tough?’

      For a moment he thought about ignoring her probing questions, until he reminded himself that he was over this stuff. He shrugged. ‘A lot of her behaviour was thoughtless and I was left alone to fend for myself a lot of the time. But something like that is probably outside your level of understanding.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Presumably you’ve always been protected from the more sordid side of life.’

      Sophie hated his assumptions—the same ones people always made. As if the material wealth which accompanied a royal title made you immune to the pain and hurt every human being had to contend with. As if you lacked the imagination to realise what most people’s lives were like. ‘Yes, I’m just a poor little rich girl,’ she said. ‘Scratch my skin and I’ll bleed oil.’

      ‘If you’re trying to play on my sympathy, Sophie, don’t bother.’

      ‘I doubt whether you’ve a sympathetic bone in your body,’ she bit back. ‘ People think it’s so easy, being a princess. That you swan around all day wearing a diamond crown.’

      ‘Poor you,’ he mocked.

      She glared at him, wanting to make him see the reality, wanting him to understand instead of being so damned judgemental. ‘Try to imagine never being able to go anywhere without people knowing who you are. Everyone listening to what you say so that they can tell their friends—or a reporter—what they thought you meant. Imagine people watching every move you make. Analysing you. Assessing you. Obsessing about your weight. Working out where you bought your outfit and how much it cost and deciding that colour makes you look washed out, or plain, or fat—and then writing a whole article about it. Imagine everyone knowing that you’d been saving yourself for your fairy-tale prince, only he decided at the last moment to have his fairy tale with someone else and their new baby.’

      ‘I can imagine that must have been difficult,’ he conceded.

      She stared down at her bare hands, before lifting her gaze to his once more. ‘Imagine suddenly realising that the sweet woman you bought a pair of earrings from is now using your photograph on her website to promote her brand.’

      ‘Oh, I can imagine that pretty well,’ he said, and suddenly his voice hardened. ‘Somebody who wasn’t everything they seemed. Ring any bells, Sophie?’

      Sophie met the accusation which burned like hot steel from his eyes. ‘I thought I explained why I didn’t tell you who I am.’

      ‘I’m just amazed that I fell for your story,’ he said. ‘Amazed I should have thought you were different from any other woman with your lies and subterfuge. And you aren’t, are you? So maybe it’s time I started treating you in the way I know women like to be treated...’

      She didn’t realise what he was going to do until he pulled her across the seat onto his lap and her eyes widened as she felt the hard throb of his erection pushing against his trousers.

      ‘Rafe?’ she breathed uncertainly.

      ‘Do you like that?’ he taunted.

      She wanted to say no, but she couldn’t—even though she didn’t like the look in his eyes. But the hot rush of desire flooding through her body was powerful enough to make her forget about his anger and his mockery. All she wanted was to press her groin against that throbbing ridge of hardness which had brought her so much pleasure last night.

      ‘Rafe,’ she said again, her voice sounding thick as she struggled to get the word out.

      ‘Shh. You don’t have to say anything.’

      Deliberately, he tilted his pelvis, so that she could feel his erection pushing against where she was hot and wet and aching, and Sophie’s throat dried. It was scary and exciting all at the same time. It was making her aroused, but, more importantly, it was blotting out the pain of thinking about Luc’s new baby, which she wasn’t over—no matter how hard she tried to be.

      ‘I’m still very angry with you, Sophie,’ he said softly. ‘But that doesn’t stop me wanting you. Can you feel how much I want you?’

      She swallowed. ‘I...yes...’

      ‘And you want me, don’t you? Even though you’re trying very hard not to?’

      Hating him for his perception, Sophie found herself powerless to push him away. ‘Yes,’ she said, between gritted teeth.

      ‘Then we’d better do something about it, hadn’t we? And very quickly, I think.’

      Now the excitement was unbearable. Sophie felt honeyed heat rush to her groin—but social conditioning went deep as he spread his fingers over one aching breast. ‘The...crew?’

      ‘Don’t worry your pretty head about the crew. They’re trained never to disturb me unless I call them. Satisfied?’ he questioned, rucking up her T-shirt to reveal the cotton bra she’d bought at the discount store, and Sophie gasped as he cleaved his thumb across a nipple which was straining frantically against the

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