Robyn Donald - Captured by the Billionaire

Without thinking, she said, ‘It must be wonderful to feel that way about a place.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No,’she said, wishing she’d stayed silent. ‘My parents were Montevellan, and they continually longed to go back. Nice—the Riviera—was only ever a temporary base for them. I think I was born homesick for a place I’ve never known. I’ve always felt alien.’ She shook her head, meeting hooded blue eyes with a tingle of sensation. ‘No, alien is too strong a word; dislocated would be better.’

‘You speak English like a native,’ he commented idly.

She shrugged. ‘Doran and I shared an English nanny and then a governess from Scotland until I went away to school.’

He didn’t seem overly interested—and why should he be? But he asked, ‘You’ve not been to Montevel?’

‘We can’t go. The government banned any member of the royal family from returning.’

‘Ever felt like taking another identity and slipping in to find out what it’s like? Seeing it might wipe out that inborn nostalgia; few places live up to the praise of the people who love them.’

‘I’ve got the same face as my grandmother,’ she said dryly. ‘I don’t think I’d get in. Anyway, I don’t have the courage—or feel the need so badly that I’d break the law to do it.’

‘Does your brother feel the same way?’

Alex watched the expression flee from her face; not a muscle moved, but he felt her resistance as palpably as though she’d shouted it at him.

‘I think so,’ she said remotely, turning her head so that he couldn’t see her face.

He settled back into his seat. Whether or not she knew about Doran’s plotting, she was worried about him. Which probably—no, possibly , Alex corrected himself—meant she did know. Perhaps, in spite of her apparent resignation to her fate, she did crave being a princess of Montevel, in fact as well as in title. He toyed with the idea of asking her directly, but decided against it.

She turned back, and his gut tightened in spontaneous homage. However hard he tried to rationalise his reaction to Serina—and he’d tried damned hard for a fair amount of the previous night—the moment her fingertips had caressed his cheek, such hunger had clamoured through him that he’d forgotten all those excellent reasons for not getting too emotionally involved with her.

Kissing her had been a revelation.

And watching young Gilberte kiss her cheeks had been like a call to arms, a primitive response that negated his understanding that it was nothing more than a greeting between friends. For a moment he’d had to rein in an urge to knock the man away from Serina.

His body clenched. Ruthlessly, he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. Gerd needed information—information he wouldn’t get if Alex let his rampant hormones fog his usually logical mind.

Had Serina decided to deflect his interest by pretending to be interested in him?

Two, he thought succinctly, could play at that game.

And if he hurt her?

She might be hurt, he conceded, hardening his resolve, but if her brother went ahead with his plans she’d grieve infinitely more, because it was highly unlikely Doran would survive a foray into Montevel.

Alex made up his mind.

THE plane began to descend. Serina swallowed, looking down at a large valley with two small rivers winding through it. They joined to make a lake-like estuary separated from the sea by a gold and amber sandbank. Green and lush, the valley looked remote, like some enchanted place cut off from the rest of the world.

Intrigued, she leaned forward and watched the ground rush to meet them as they banked over another range of hills towards a small airfield. Several private planes were lined up outside a hangar, and she noted two helicopters to one side, as well as a quite large parking area outside another building.

Not exactly the back of beyond, as her nanny used to say.

From beside her, Alex said, ‘Ohinga,’ pointing to a coastal village tucked away beside another, much bigger river, its banks lined with trees. ‘Our nearest shopping centre.’

Catching the shimmer of water beneath foliage, Serina said in surprise, ‘Those trees seem to be growing in the water.’

‘They’re mangroves. They prefer brackish water like tidal rivers and estuaries.’

Mangroves? Serina digested this as the engines changed pitch and they slanted down towards the runway. The excitement she’d been controlling ever since she arrived in New Zealand began to bubble, mixed with a trace of apprehension.

It was sheer overheated fantasy to feel that Alex’s searing kisses had pushed her into unknown territory and changed her life for ever. She wasn’t the sort of person such dramatic, unlikely experiences happened to—and they were only kisses, for heaven’s sake. Not exactly a novelty!

But if his kisses could do that, what would she feel if he touched her even more intimately?

Heat suffused her as her body reacted to that highly subversive thought with brazen excitement.

Even with her eyes fixed onto the scene below, she could sense him beside her—as though he’d imprinted on her at some cellular level, made an indelible impression she’d never be rid of, for ever a part of her…

Oh, calm down and stop being an idiot, she told herself trenchantly. He’s very sexy, very sure of himself, very experienced and he kisses like a god, but he’s just a man.

Once they were safely down she swallowed hard, cast a glance his way and managed to say staidly, ‘I thought mangroves were tropical trees.’

‘They are, but New Zealand has the furthermost south of all mangroves. They grow along estuaries in the northern half of the North Island.’

‘I wonder how they got here?’ Mangroves were safe. If she concentrated on them she wouldn’t be tempted to allow her eyes to linger on his formidably masculine features. ‘I know the seeds float, but there’s a lot of sea between here and the tropics.’

He smiled. Serina’s treacherous heart somersaulted.

‘One suggestion is that seeds could have drifted across from Australia, but I believe the latest theory is that New Zealand and New Caledonia were once connected by a ridge of land or possibly a chain of islands, so the mangroves could have island-hopped south.’

Serina wrinkled her brow, feverishly trying to recollect where New Caledonia was.

‘A large island well to the north and west of us,’Alex provided helpfully.

She nodded as the mental image of the map clicked into place. ‘Colonised by France?’

‘Yes, and still proudly French.’

Don’t look at him—think trees. ‘So the mangroves would have had to adapt to a colder climate here?’

‘Unless they came south during a warmer era and adapted as it slowly got cooler.’

‘Fascinating.’ But she couldn’t think of anything further to say about mangroves. Now what? she thought desperately.

His expression revealed a certain wry amusement. ‘I doubt if many people other than botanists would agree.’

That made her sound like some nerd.

Fortunately, the pilot announced their arrival and everyone stood, the bustle of disembarking saving her the necessity of having to reply.

OK, so nerd she was. That had to be an advance on considering her just another effete aristocrat trading on a title to earn a living.

Anyway, she thought stoutly, I don’t care what he thinks. And knew she lied.

Again, a car was waiting for them on the ground but, instead of a well-dressed businessman, this driver was a woman a few years older than Serina, clad in jeans and a woollen jersey that didn’t hide any of her admirable assets.

‘Hi, Alex,’ she greeted him cheerfully. ‘Good trip?’