He didn’t mention the other reason. The main reason. Which was his connection with the groom. The most powerful connection of all.
Blood.
The blood which bound the two men together, even though neither of them wished for that particular bond. It was the dark secret which smouldered in Xanthos’s heart, reminding him of how deeply he had been betrayed. The secret which had taught him that no woman should ever be believed or trusted. For he was King Corso’s half-brother and nobody else in the world knew, other than Bianca’s sister, Rosie.
And that was the way both men wanted it to stay.
Xanthos didn’t know why Corso had wanted him to attend his wedding and had initially refused the coveted invitation. But the King had pushed and pushed, and in the end Xanthos had let him have what he wanted. He suspected his half-brother wanted to keep him sweet and thus guarantee he would make no claim on the throne. But not only was Xanthos illegitimate, he had no desire for Corso’s crown—or his kingdom. He couldn’t think of anything worse than being a public figure. He liked his freedom and being answerable to nobody but himself. And if the last thing he wanted was to ferry the ungrateful Bianca Forrester home, he had given his word to her sister, and he was a man of his word.
But as he stared down into her dark-fringed eyes, an unwanted jolt of awareness reminded him of just how incredibly green they were and for a moment he was mesmerised by them, just as he was mesmerised by the soft pink lines of her lips and the undulating lines of her body. ‘Are you ready?’ he questioned unevenly.
‘I don’t think you understood what I just said.’ The hands she held up in silent appeal did not minimise the patronising quality of her smile. ‘I’m giving you a let-out.’
‘But I don’t want a let-out. The airport is swarming with paparazzi, which your sister thought you’d be keen to avoid.’ This time he didn’t bother to disguise his impatience. ‘Most people would accept the offer of a lift in a private jet with good grace or even—dare I say it?—gratitude. So unless you want to make a scene, or to upset your sister on her honeymoon, I suggest you accompany me to the waiting car and we ride out to the airstrip.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Because the sooner we get going, the sooner this will be over.’
‘You’re making it sound as appealing as a trip to the dentist.’
He gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Your words, Bianca, not mine.’
‘Wow.’ She flashed him a tight smile. ‘This is going to be fun, isn’t it?’
‘I can barely contain my excitement.’
Past the giant fir tree they walked, with its spangle of silver stars and hundreds of tiny white lights which adorned the fragrant branches. Past boughs of holly and giant bunches of mistletoe. Past silver and golden balloons left over from the nuptials. The festive vibe of Christmas was still very much present, but Bianca was so riled by her companion’s attitude that she barely took any notice.
Other guests stood chatting and they turned to watch as Bianca and Xanthos walked by.
‘A striking couple,’ Bianca overheard someone remark.
‘Whoishe?’ someone else asked.
‘I don’t know, but she’s a very lucky girl.’
But Bianca didn’t feel in the least bit lucky as they sat in tense silence while the royal car whisked them to the airfield. She felt as if control had been snatched away from her and it was a sensation she didn’t enjoy. The wind was a biting howl as she emerged from the limousine, and as a snowflake fluttered down and melted on her lips she saw Xanthos’s dark gaze linger on her mouth, before he turned to speak to the driver. And the crazy thing was shelikedhim looking at her lips like that. She liked that sense of reluctance as he had dragged his gaze away and she couldn’t understand why. How could you desire a man who made you feel so awkward and self-conscious? Hugging her coat around her, she followed him up the steps of the plane, ducking her head as she entered the cabin.
The interior of the aircraft was sleek and the fresh roses and glossy magazines gave the cabin a sumptuous feel, but it was smaller than she’d imagined and strangely silent. Had she been hoping for the distraction of other people? A co-pilot perhaps, or a gorgeous air stewardess or two, who might flirt with Xanthos and stop Bianca from entertaining her increasingly rogue thoughts about him.
‘Aren’t there any crew?’
‘Nope. I’m flying solo. It’s a relatively short flight and I think you’ll find everything you could possibly need on board.’ Dark eyebrows shot up to disappear into the ebony tangle of his hair. ‘Unless you have a chronic need to be waited on? Is that what living in a palace does to you?’
‘I don’t actually live in the palace and I never did,’ she returned. ‘I used to spend my school holidays in a grace-and-favour house there because my father was an employee of the late King.’
‘Then I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of pouring your own champagne, Bianca,’ he drawled, with a smile.
Was he aware of the impact of that smile? Did he realise that it made her want to shatter into pieces and then ask him to glue her back together? ‘I only drink champagne when I’m celebrating,’ she answered repressively. ‘And the only thing I shall be celebrating is when we touch down.’
‘Has anyone ever told you how ungrateful you are?’
‘You have. I make that twice now. Has anyone ever told you how repetitive you can be, Xanthos?’
The ghost of a smile hovered around the edges of his sensual lips. ‘No, I think you hold the record for making insulting observations,’ he observed drily. ‘So why don’t you just read the safety card and buckle yourself in, while I prepare for take-off?’
Xanthos had been expecting yet more resistance, because she seemed determined to make this experience as difficult as possible. But to his amazement she was instantly compliant, removing her coat and reaching up to put it in the overhead locker—a movement which had the unfortunate side-effect of emphasising the luscious swell of her breasts. As she sank into her seat he lingered for a moment or two before heading for the flight deck, telling himself he needed to ensure she knew where the oxygen masks and life jackets were kept, but in reality it was more than safety concerns which kept him rooted to the spot. Because wasn’t the bald truth that he was finding her intensely captivating?
Yesterday she had appeared as the bride’s attendant, wearing a fitted red dress which had emphasised her ridiculously tiny waist and petite frame. Her black hair had been studded with scarlet roses and her lips had been scarlet, too, and she had looked like something out of an old-fashioned fairy tale. He’d noticed men sitting up bolt upright and watching her as she passed, her heavy silk gown brushing the stone cathedral floor, but she’d been too busy fiddling with her sister’s heavy train to notice them. Or maybe she was one of those women who pretended to be ignorant of their own allure.
But today there was nothing remotely old-fashioned or fairy tale about her. The jeans and soft green sweater which clung to her curves were modern and practical. The thick waves of her black hair had been pulled back from her face and rippled in a ponytail down her back, and she appeared to be wearing little or no make-up. But with lashes that long and that black he guessed she didn’t need to. Her only adornment was a pair of golden hooped earrings. No rings. No bracelets. She looked faintly forbidding and somehow unapproachable, and yet... He narrowed his eyes. Was it her lack of height—for she must be barely five feet four—which made her seem so provocatively feminine? Or was it her spirited attitude which he found so alluring?