She saw him looking at her. ‘Hungry?’ she asked as she added grated parmesan to the mix.
His stomach growled. Coffee could only go so far. ‘You cook?’ he asked.
‘Of course, I cook. I’m a multitasking princess. Is the concept unfamiliar to you?’
It was out of context. Nothing in the information he’d been provided had pointed to her having a fondness for cooking. It made no sense. When given a dossier on a rescue, everything on the rescue was disclosed. Every like and dislike was listed. Everything that could give insight into where a recovery expert could trace them. Everything.
Who had prepared this dossier? Someone working for her brother? Someone who didn’t know her?
‘You’re frowning,’ she said, as she served up three-quarters of the skillet onto a plate for him.
His eyebrows shot north. ‘I’m still getting used to the fact you can cook.’
She smiled. ‘My father taught me.’
‘The Prince?’
‘He loved being in the kitchen with my mother. After her influence, he told me that if he hadn’t been born a Prince, he would happily have become a chef. Simple food mostly, but good food.’ She pointed to his food. ‘Sit down. Try it.’
Theo duly sat. Picked up his fork. Sampled a mouthful. And was blown away by the simple yet perfect combination of the ingredients. ‘To think I wasted your talents yesterday by serving you a piece of toast.’
Her smile permeated all the way into his bones. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. It was good toast.’
And even his bones felt happy until he thought about what she was doing. Why was she trying to please him? What was her angle? He couldn’t afford to let down his guard now. Tomorrow by all accounts they would fly out of Lord Howe Island. A scant two hours later they would be back in his jet en route to Rubanestein.
He had to keep his guard up. He wasn’t about to be waylaid now, not so close to closing this deal.
The frittata was delicious. Another cup of coffee washed it down. Theo was feeling fully satisfied and replete.
And the best thing? The Princess had gone upstairs to shower and change after breakfast.
One more day, he told himself. Twenty-four hours. He’d suffered through worse. The airport was expected to open tomorrow and he’d pulled strings to make sure they were on the first plane out. The end was in sight.
And once he’d delivered her home, he might even be able to forget about this woman’s beguiling accent and her fresh citrusy scent and the too-sweet curves of her body. He might even be able to stop thinking about her twenty-four hours of the day.
He could hardly wait.
Isabella looked at her scant wardrobe. She’d brought only basic items with her to Lord Howe Island. Beachwear. Casual clothes. Sundresses. Along with shorts and jeans and T-shirts to get her through any days of work.
She surveyed her meagre collection, wanting something that Theo hadn’t seen. That might just tip him over the edge. He was close. She hadn’t had much experience with men, but she could see that he was battling his own inner demons. Trying to pretend she didn’t affect him when she was clearly driving him crazy. Otherwise, why would he be so awkward around her?
A jumpsuit caught her attention. A jumpsuit she’d found at a Saturday market on the Sydney coast that spoke of summer and would be a forever reminder of her time down under. Cap-sleeved and short legged with a printed fruit salad pattern, watermelon, pineapple, dragon fruit on a white woven cotton background. Now that the weather had moderated, she knew it was the perfect choice for the day ahead.
Theo was drinking yet another cup of coffee when she reappeared downstairs.
He looked up. Took her in. Immediately looked down again.
‘You probably shouldn’t drink so much coffee,’ she said.
‘Thanks for the advice,’ he said. ‘Next time, wait until I ask for it.’
She snorted. ‘I did tell you, you’ve been taking cranky pills.’
‘I’m not cranky.’
‘So you say, and yet, you seem so defensive.’
Defence was the best form of offence. But he didn’t have to react to her ridiculous claims. He didn’t have to prove anything.
