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“I believe Raul would like to speak with you, Mikel,” Gabriel said. “I will sit with Quinn.”
She was torn between gratification and irritation. So much for her reprieve.
“Of course.” Mikel slid her a sideways glance as he gestured for Raul to precede him to the table.
“Take the window seat,” Gabriel said to Quinn. “You’ll enjoy the view.”
She sank into the embrace of the soft leather and tried not to notice when Gabriel’s bergamot scent drifted past her nostrils as he settled in beside her. Or how long his legs were when he stretched them out, the faded denim of his jeans tight over well-muscled thighs.
The steward appeared with two large teal mugs emblazoned with the royal family’s crest. They had secure lids and fit perfectly in the cupholders on the chair arms. “Please fasten your seat belts,” he requested.
As soon as Quinn had buckled herself in, Gabriel lifted his mug. “I suggest getting a good swig or two while we taxi,” he said. “This jet takes off at a steep angle and does a few evasive maneuvers on the way to cruising altitude.”
The pilot would do that because the plane had two members of the royal family on board. She felt a tiny bubble of nerves in her throat and took a sip of coffee to wash it away. She took another sip because the coffee was amazing. “Is the pilot ex-military?”
“Current military,” Gabriel said, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. “She and the copilot fly fighter jets with the Americans from the base.”
As the engines revved and the plane began to roll out through the now-open hangar doors, Quinn firmly wedged her mug into its holder. After Gabriel did the same, she let her gaze linger on his strong, elegant hand where it rested on the chair arm. The sleeve of his maroon T-shirt stopped just above his elbow so she could also admire the line of muscle—dusted with dark brown hair—that curved along his forearm.
His pedigree had nothing to do with the tension coiling in her now. She forced herself to look out the window. The tarmac all around them was empty of planes and vehicles. Only one person was in sight, waving two high-visibility wands to direct them toward the runway. “Wow, that’s a lot of precautions,” she muttered before she turned to Gabriel. “I’m surprised the king doesn’t have his own private airport.”
“He does, as well as a couple of helipads,” Gabriel said. “The Dragon Jet takes off from random airports. Sometimes it’s from here, sometimes from San Ignacio Internationale, sometimes from Aéroport Christophe, and sometimes from the U.S. military base.” His jaw muscles tightened. “My uncle takes security very seriously these days. He was here this morning to read Raul the riot act about doing exactly what Mikel tells him.”
“Yeah, meeting the king was kind of a shock.”
An unholy glint of amusement lit Gabriel’s eyes. “Most people consider it an honor to meet the king.”
“I would have liked a chance to prepare.”
“Both your curtsies were quite respectable. Your knees didn’t creak, and you didn’t wobble, both of which happen frequently.”
“I didn’t expect him to be so…royal.”
Gabriel laughed. “He’s had a lot of practice.”
“Seriously, I could picture him in velvet robes, saying, ‘Toss him off the cliff!’ and everyone scurrying around to dispose of the poor criminal as quickly as possible.”
“There were times growing up when I expected him to toss me off a cliff,” Gabriel said.
“Was it weird growing up with a king for your uncle and a prince for your cousin?” The luxurious cabin and all the precautions surrounding the airplane were driving home how different Gabriel’s life was.
He shrugged. “When I was a kid, I knew that not everyone lived in a palace, but it was my second home, so I treated it that way. Which occasionally led to being brought before Tío Luis for punishment.”
“Did you break sacred historical artifacts or graffiti the castle walls?”
“Nothing sacred. Raul and I avoided the chapel because we spent Sunday mornings there, bored to tears. My uncle’s severest wrath was reserved for when we managed to hide from our keepers for more than an hour.” The glint in his eyes died. “I understand now why that was such an issue, but back then, we took great pleasure in our accomplishment. Until Tío Luis told us that he would fire Raul’s tutor the next time the man couldn’t find us. It was a lesson in our responsibility toward those who worked for us, aimed more at Raul than me, I suspect.”
The jet turned, and the engines sent a vibration through the cabin as the aircraft began to race down the runway.
“How old were you?” Quinn had to raise her voice to be heard over the engines’ roar.
“About nine.”
The cabin tilted so that she was pressed back into her seat as the plane shot into the sky, demonstrating the reason for the lidded coffee mugs. She’d had no responsibilities at age nine. Of course, her father hadn’t been big on such things, no matter what age she’d been. Until he’d asked the big favor from her. Suddenly, she’d been responsible for his future.
“Nine is young to have that kind of weight on your shoulders,” she said.
“When you live in a palace, there are obligations.” He seemed to be saying that to himself as much as to her.
