She shook her head. The image of herself, pale as a corpse, plastered over a supermarket tabloid was enough to make her shudder.
One of the bodyguards came in and Maximo gestured for her to follow him out. She bowed her head as she crossed the wet tarmac and headed toward the private plane. She thought she might have seen the flash of a camera from the corner of her eye, but she kept her head down, determined not to seem interesting in any way.
She followed the guard up the boarding platform and into the lavishly furnished private jet. It was massive, its plush carpet and luxurious furnishings making it look like a trendy urban penthouse rather than a mode of transportation. But she’d been to Maximo’s house and she’d seen the kind of lifestyle he was accustomed to. She really shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t do anything by halves. He was the prince of one of the world’s most celebrated island destinations, a country that rivaled Monte Carlo for high-class luxury and entertainment. Maximo was simply adhering to his national standard.
The bodyguard left without so much as a nod to her and she stood awkwardly just inside the door, not really feeling as if it was okay to sit down and make herself comfortable.
Ten minutes later Maximo boarded, his expression grim. “There was one photographer hanging out on the tarmac. But since we didn’t board together it’s likely you might be mistaken for a member of my staff.”
She nodded, not quite able to fathom how dodging the press had suddenly become a part of her life. “Are we the only ones flying on the plane today?” she asked, looking around the space.
“Well, you and me and the pilot. And the copilot. And the flight crew.”
“That’s awfully wasteful, don’t you think?”
His dark eyebrows winged upward and she experienced a momentary rush of satisfaction over having taken him off guard. “Scusami?”
“Conducting an overseas flight for two people, who could easily have flown commercial, and employing an entire staff to serve them. Not to mention the greenhouse gas emissions.”
He offered her a lazy grin that showed off straight, white teeth. It transformed his face, softening the hard angles and making him seem almost approachable. Almost. “When the U.S. President ditches Air Force One, I’ll rethink my mode of transport. Until then, I think it’s acceptable for world leaders to fly in private aircrafts.”
“Well, I imagine it’s hard to get through the security lines at the airport with all that gold jingling in your pocket.”
“Are you a snob, Alison?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice.
“Am I a snob?”
“An inverse one.”
“Not at all. I was simply making a statement.” To keep him at arm’s length and annoyed with her if she could help it. There was something about Maximo, something that made her stomach tighten and her hands get damp. It wasn’t fear, but it was terrifying.
She had never wanted a relationship, had never wanted to depend on someone, to love someone, open herself up to them only to have them abandon her. She had been through it too many times in her life to willingly put herself through it ever again. First with the loss of her beautiful sister. She knew she couldn’t blame Kimberly for dying, but the grief had been stark and painful; the loss felt like a betrayal, in a way. And then her father had gone, abandoning his grieving wife and daughter. As for Alison’s mother, she might not have left physically, but the person she’d been before Kimberly’s death, before her husband had walked out, had disappeared completely.
Through all of that she’d learned how to be completely self-sufficient. And she had never wanted to take the chance on going back to a place where she might need someone else, where she might be dependent in any way.
But she did want to be a mother. And she’d set out to make that happen on her own. Now somehow Maximo had been thrown into her perfectly ordered plans. Everything had been so carefully laid out. It hadn’t seemed as if there was a possibility anything could go wrong. And now those idyllic visions she’d had for her future were slipping through her fingers.
Her baby had a father, not just some anonymous donor of genetic material. Her baby’s father was a prince. A prince whose arrogance couldn’t be rivaled, and whose dark good looks affected her in ways she didn’t want to analyze. So much for the best-laid plans.
“You seem to have a statement for everything,” he said, settling into the plush love seat that was positioned in the middle of the cabin.
Alison took her seat on the opposite side of the cabin, settling primly on the edge of a cream lounge chair. “I’m a lawyer. Making statements is an important part of my job.”
Max couldn’t help but laugh at her acerbic wit. She wasn’t like the women he was used to. She didn’t cling or simper or defer to him in any way. Some men might be bothered by a woman like her, threatened by her strength and intelligence. He enjoyed the challenge. And it helped that he was certain he held the upper hand in the situation. Now that he had coaxed her into coming to Turan with him the power balance would be shifted completely in his favor.
It wasn’t his plan to force Alison’s hand in any way; on the contrary he planned to make her an offer that was too good to pass up, once he figured out exactly what he wanted to do. He could tell that Alison would defend their child to the death if she had to, could see that she would lay everything aside for the sake of her baby. But he would do the same. There was no way he was taking the chance that she might disappear with their baby.
It was a strange thing to him that a woman would be so resistant to the idea of having his baby. He wasn’t a conceited man, but he was pragmatic in his view on things. First and foremost, he was royal and extremely wealthy. He was to be the next king of his country and along with that would receive an inheritance worth billions, coupled with the personal fortune he’d amassed with his hugely successful corporation. His chain of luxury hotels and casinos were popular with the rich and famous, both on the island of Turan, and in almost every other major tourist spot in the world.
In the eyes of most women he would be the golden chalice. A ticket to status and riches beyond most people’s imaginations. And yet Ms. Alison Whitman had acted as though carrying his baby was equivalent to being sentenced to the royal dungeon—which they did not have at the Turani palace, regardless of what she thought.
“And your job is very important to you?” he asked, still unable to understand where a child was supposed to fit into this cool businesswoman’s schedule.
“Yes. My job is important. I’m a court-appointed advocate for children. My law firm does the work pro bono with funding from the government. The pay isn’t what it could be, but I put in some time at a more high-profile law firm and quickly found that handling the divorces of the rich and petulant isn’t very rewarding.”
“You’re an advocate for children?” That didn’t mesh with the picture he’d been developing of her in his mind. He’d imagined her to be a toothy shark of a lawyer. With her sharp wit and obviously keen intellect, combined with her cool beauty, he had a hard time imagining her as anything else.
“It’s what I’ve been doing for the past year. I wanted to make a difference, and I knew that if I was going to get ready to have a baby I couldn’t be pushing myself the way we were expected to at Chapman and Stone. Corporate cutthroat doesn’t really suit me anyway.”
“Then why did you get into law in the first place?”
“It pays well,” she said simply. “I’m good at it … It just doesn’t suit me. But I worked in the industry as long as I could stand, and then I moved into an area of law that was a much better fit. Children shouldn’t have to stand in court and face those who made victims of them. I speak for them. I won’t allow those who defend abusers and pedophiles to revictimize a child so that they can line their pockets with a little more cash.”