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Even as Leandro bit down on his frustration, he found himself noticing the extra inch of satiny flesh revealed where a button on her blouse had come adrift. The sight was fatally distracting and he was a man who prided himself on focus—a damned square of satiny skin!

She was going to be difficult.

Elsie was pretty sure he had received her silent message and as much as she wanted to confront him, now was not the moment. She just had to deal with it. His mother was the epitome of regal—she didn’t have a hair out of place; her posture, her attitude were…well, she was perfect and looked impossibly young for someone who was Leandro’s mother.

How was she meant to act?

Did his mother know the truth about their relationship or, rather, lack of it?

How to steer a course through this minefield. The best approach seemed to be to give the woman the Princess she was bound to be expecting old-school Royal. Guard her tongue, no laughing at inappropriate moments, no laughing at all!

‘Elsie, this is my mother.’

Elsie pretended not to see the hand that was about to land on her shoulder and performed a neat curtsy before tipping her head in frigid formality and pressing her lips together—less smile, more grimace.

‘Your Majesty.’

Leandro felt his teeth grate as he watched the exchange of formal introductions. He had taken great pains to describe her to his mother as vulnerable and in need of guidance and Elsie looked about as vulnerable as a steel door—she looked like she could personally tackle a coup of ninjas and not break sweat.

He bent to give his mother’s cheek a kiss and threw a warning look in Elsie’s direction. If she saw it, she gave no indication at all.

‘Shall I leave you to get acquainted?’

His mother’s smile broke new territory in forced and Elsie gave him a cucumber sandwich smile which became less fixed when the little dog began to dance around her feet.

‘That would be lovely.’ Her smile and perfect façade slipped slightly as she added grimly, ‘Are you going to join us?’

‘Alp, our pilot, has become a father. I need to offer my congratulations. I will leave you ladies to catch up.’

Franco fell into step beside him as he walked towards the cockpit.

‘You didn’t tell her your mother was coming?’ his friend, who had witnessed the scene, hissed incredulously.

Leandro cast a sideways glance at his friend’s face and muttered, ‘If I’d told Elsie and then Mum was a no-show she’d have felt slighted.’ He sighed. ‘All right, bad decision but hindsight is a great thing. Did you think she’d turn up?’

‘No,’ Franco admitted.

CHAPTER SIX

THE LITTLE ELSIE had read about the Dowager Queen had suggested she was…well, no one had said saintly, but the implication was there. Spiritual was mentioned quite frequently, and this made Elsie, who in moments of stress was likely to curse like a drunken sailor, extra nervous.

She took her seat, smoothing her skirt and adopting her very best cool royal mask as she endured a cucumber sandwich moment; the sandwiches were in her head but she drank her tea minus her normal two teaspoons of sugar. Was it her fault she burnt off calories like a greyhound? Under the mask, she struggled, although stroking the dog who had fallen asleep at her feet did offer some stress relief.

The reality was that she was royal but not at all cool, and she thought she did quite well. She kept the conversation going, talking but saying basically nothing. As awkward went, it was very awkward, but she didn’t make any obvious gaffes and at the first possible opportunity she excused herself.

She spent an inordinate amount of time practising the cutting things she would say to Leandro and then, as she exited the bathroom, he was there, exuding an avalanche of pheromones—his secret weapon—and, to her shame, she allowed him to pull her into an alcove.

She looked at his hand on her elbow but didn’t resist when he drew her back into the bedroom beyond. She doubted that anyone had ever resisted Leandro pulling them back into a bedroom even at fifty thousand feet up—fifty thousand being a wild guess on her part.

He was probably in that club… The thought and the lurid images that came with it gave her an invigorating burst of energy.

Bedroom it might be, but his manner was not that of a man overcome by lust and about to throw the object of his desire on the bed and make mad passionate love to her.

This knowledge did not stop her imagination creating a scene of the seduction in her head. Something very worrying was happening to her…had someone spiked her tea?

‘Is someone flying the plane? I thought you were essential.’

He ignored her attempt at humour.