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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 thin material. ‘Because I’m sure as hell not.’

      Insecurity made her say it, even as he impatiently tugged the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. ‘I expect you do this kind of thing all the time? Make love on planes?’

      His hand stopped from where it had been just about to undo her bra and his eyes darkened with an emotion which went deeper than desire. ‘Don’t ask,’ he said. ‘And don’t project, because if you can’t enjoy this for what it is, then it isn’t going to happen. Understand?’

      And suddenly she couldn’t bear not to do it. Who cared how many women had come before her, or how many would inevitably follow? Why couldn’t she just live in the moment and take what he was offering? And what he was offering was sex. Amazing and beautiful sex for the second time in her life. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes.’

      He didn’t say anything more, just reached down to unfasten the button of her jeans before sliding the zip down and dipping his hand beneath the elasticated edge of her panties. His middle finger tangled luxuriously in the soft fuzz of hair there, before beginning to stroke rhythmically at her slick, wet flesh and she couldn’t stop the small yelp of pleasure she gave.

      ‘No!’ Frustratingly, his fingers stilled. ‘I choose my staff for their discretion, but I have no desire to provide a floorshow by having you moan out loud when I make you come,’ he ground out. ‘So either you enjoy this in silence or we’re both going to have a very frustrating journey ahead of us.’

      His clipped words were so outrageous that Sophie was tempted to tell him to forget the whole idea, but the sensation of his fingers against her aroused flesh was much more tempting and suddenly the last of her pride shrivelled beneath the heat of her desire. Did he sense her capitulation? Was that why, with a sensual dexterity which dazed her in every which way, he laid her down on the floor of the aircraft and tugged her panties and jeans down to her ankles. She waited for him to tug them off but he shook his head and answered her unspoken question.

      ‘No. The jeans stay. You’ll be able to spread your legs for me, but only so far. It’ll make you feel...wicked, which is exactly how I’m feeling right now.’ He unzipped himself and pulled his trousers down, his erection springing free as he lowered himself down to position himself between her restricted legs. ‘You need to try dirty sex—’

      ‘D-dirty sex?’

      ‘Mmm.’ He stroked on a condom. ‘Surreptitious, partially clothed and very...’ he thrust into her suddenly ‘...urgent.’

      He

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