Romancing The Crown: Lorenzo and Anna. Marilyn PappanoЧитать онлайн книгу.
and catch a few winks,” she said as she followed him on to the lavishly appointed plane, trying not to gawk too much at the expensive furnishings.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted. “I can’t talk to you when you’re at the back of the plane. You’ll sit with me.”
“Your wish is my command,” Eliza muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. So this was what it was like to be royalty. No wonder so many of the children grew up to lead wild lives. They were spoiled rotten!
Lorenzo, to his credit, didn’t take advantage of the flight attendant’s offer to bring him food or drink immediately. “No, thank you,” he told her with a charming smile he’d never once directed at Eliza. “We have a great deal of business to discuss right now. We’ll have some wine later.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” she said and disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the plane, leaving them seated comfortably in the expensive leather seats in the first cabin.
And just that easily, Eliza found herself flying in a private jet, seated next to one of the best-looking men in Europe. Any other woman might have let it go to her head, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think that the duke had requested she fly in the same cabin because he wanted her with him. They were together for one reason and one reason only—business. It was his job to find Prince Lucas and hers to write about it. She’d be wise to remember that.
She told herself that wouldn’t be difficult. He didn’t like her—he was only tolerating her presence because he had to. And the feeling was mutual. That wasn’t going to change, she assured herself, just because he fairly oozed charm when he smiled. Let him charm someone else. That wasn’t what she was here for.
Still, once he settled next to her, buckled in, then turned the full force of his beautiful green eyes on her, her heart started to sputter and she wasn’t nearly as indifferent as she would have liked.
“Tell me more about Willy,” he commanded coolly as he pulled a small notebook out of the inside pocket of his suitcoat. “I need to know everything there is to know about the man. Do you think he really found the scarf? Or did he steal it? Is he capable of harming the prince? You said he fought in the Vietnam War. Does he suffer from flashbacks? Just how dangerous is he?”
He threw questions at her like she was some kind of underling, not even giving her a chance to answer one before he tossed another one at her. And that, on top of the heated words they’d exchanged at the palace, was too much, as far as Eliza was concerned. Settling into a more comfortable position, she leaned back in her seat and surveyed him with a jaundiced look in her eyes that he would have been wise to be wary of.
“Since we’re going to be working together, Your Grace,” she said silkily, “I think it’s important that we begin as we mean to continue. I know you’re the head of Montebello Intelligence, and I understand you’re used to grilling people, but in the future, I would appreciate it if you didn’t treat me as if I was some sort of suspect. For the record, I don’t take orders well and I appreciate the word please when I’m asked to do something. I’m also reasonably intelligent. If you’ll remember that, we’ll get along just fine.”
Just that easily, she put him in his place and made him feel like a jackass, all without breaking a sweat. He was the one with royal blood, but she was the one acting like a damn princess. And Lorenzo couldn’t help but admire her for that. She’d had every right to tell him off—he’d acted like a jerk, and he didn’t know why. There was just something about this tall, skinny American that really set his teeth on edge.
She was a reporter, he reasoned, and he’d yet to meet one that he liked. They were all a bunch of leeches. There wasn’t a royal in the world who could make a move, however innocent, without a reporter somewhere jumping on the story and making money off of it. And he hated that. Other people were allowed their privacy and the right to occasionally do something stupid in public without it making headlines, but not a royal. Because of reporters like Eliza.
All right, so maybe he couldn’t hold her responsible for what her cohorts did. He was still stuck with her, like it or not. He had to tolerate her, but that was it. He didn’t have to like her ingenuity, didn’t want to admire her tenacity, and sternly ordered himself not to find her Katharine Hepburn-type looks attractive in any way. He couldn’t allow himself to forget that anything he said or did while he was with her could be splashed all over the front page. He hated that, but there was nothing he could do about it—the king had ordered him to accompany her back to Colorado. His objective was to find Lucas, hopefully alive, and he couldn’t do that without Eliza.
And that meant he had to find a way to work with her. “Look,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you and it certainly wasn’t my intention to treat you like a suspect. I’m not happy with the king’s orders, but I had no right to take that out on you. I won’t do it again.”
As far as apologies, it was much more than she’d expected. Pleasantly surprised, she said, “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Now that peace was established, she was more than willing to cooperate. “I don’t know what else I can tell you about Willy other than what I already have. He doesn’t deliberately lie—he’s just so suspicious that he’s paranoid sometimes.”
“But you believe him? You think he really found the scarf where he said he did?”
“Yes, I do.”
“But you just said that he’s paranoid sometimes. How do you know that he didn’t find the scarf at the crash site and just imagine it was somewhere else? He doesn’t sound very stable, if you ask me.”
Eliza couldn’t argue with that. There were times when Willy wasn’t very stable. But she believed him, and she couldn’t even say why. “I don’t know how to explain him to you. After he found the scarf, he must have called me a dozen times at work. He was truly concerned that the king was going to accept the fact that the prince was dead and name a new successor to the throne.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if he had,” Lorenzo replied. “Everyone knows that if Lucas showed up alive, even if it was years from now, that he would be the king’s heir. He’s his son. No one else could ever take his place.”
“You and I know that, but Willy isn’t always playing with a full deck. In his eyes, once the king named a successor, Prince Lucas would lose his place in line forever, and he couldn’t let that happen.”
Still skeptical, he could only shake his head in wonder. “And this is the man who’s going to lead us to the prince. God help us all.”
Eliza couldn’t argue with that. Prince Lucas had been missing for a year, and what clues there were that might lead to his whereabouts had probably long since dried up and blown away. Every major law enforcement agency in the country had already looked for him, without success. If they were going to find him, they were going to need all the help they could get.
Lorenzo had never met anyone who could fall asleep so easily. After Eliza told him everything she could about Willy Cranshaw, she pulled her notebook computer from her satchel, busily typed her notes, then tucked it away again. Just seconds after that, she leaned back in her seat and was out like a light almost immediately. Not knowing her intentions until she dosed off, he felt guilty for not offering her a bed in the lounge at the back. Then, as he found himself studying her in spite of his best efforts not to, he was glad he hadn’t.
Why did she have to be so pretty?
The thought slipped into his head uninvited, irritating him no end. He would have sworn he didn’t care much for redheads, but there was something about her corkscrew curls that he found incredibly feminine and appealing—especially when they were piled on top of her head as they were now. He wanted to touch them to see if they were as soft as they looked—but he didn’t dare.
Glancing away, he sternly ordered himself to ignore her. He might as well have told himself not to breathe. She’d forgotten to take off the small, hornrimmed glasses she wore when she worked, and they’d slipped down on her pert nose. He should have left them alone,