Falling for the Princess by Sandra Hyatt Page A

havegoing…it’s nice to be around. Very tranquil. I don’t have a lot of tranquility in my life.”
    â€œSo tranquil you fall asleep?”
    His smile flickered. “That wasn’t a reflection on the company. What I meant was that when I’m with you the things that drive me ease. They just don’t seem quite so important. It’s almost a relief.”
    â€œI’ll add that to my list of skills.”
    â€œThere are other skills and talents I’d like to explore further,” he said a few moments later. The hand around hers tightened. His thumb stroked. Now that he’d given up fantasies of escape apparently he’d turned to other fantasies, other ways of disconcerting her.
    The innuendo was clear. But she had no other talents. Not of the sort she thought he was referring to. But perhaps she could learn. As she looked away she became aware that the press photographers were paying at least as much attention to Logan and her as they were to the man at the podium. She smiled at him, hiding her uncertainty, and then returned her gaze to the speaker. Though she kept part of her attention on Logan, aware of his hand, aware of the potential for him to drift to sleep. And wondering whether she had the nerve to put the exhilarating idea still percolating in her head to him.
    He, she was certain, was more than talented.
    Twenty minutes later she’d cut the ribbon—precisely—and the guests were finally permitted to stroll the new walk. The small crowd stood with an enthusiasm that owed as much to being allowed out of seats that had become progressively more uncomfortable as it did to the desire to see and smell and enjoy the blooms and the walk. And, of course, to be seen in return.
    As she and Logan meandered the cobbled path, he maneuvered them so that they fell a little behind the maingroup clustered around her father and the rose breeders. They strolled up a gentle rise and paused. Not too far away a lake glittered, and several small rowboats wended their way across its surface. “It looks so serene,” Rebecca murmured. “I watch the boats every time I come here.”
    â€œEver been in them?”
    â€œNo. It’s not really the thing.”
    â€œThe thing?”
    â€œThe right look.”
    â€œBut you’d like to?”
    â€œMaybe. I’ve never rowed a boat. It looks fun.”
    Mrs. Smythe-Robinson detached herself from the main group and puffed back up the path toward them. “Speaking of fire-breathing dragons,” Logan whispered.
    As she approached, the older woman pointed to a rosebush covered in apricot blooms. “This is the one Spriggs developed. I’m not sure it’s his best.”
    â€œThe floribunda,” Logan said with creditable enthusiasm.
    Rebecca hid her surprise. He’d been listening?
    â€œNo, no. It’s a grandiflora.”
    â€œYou’re right, of course.” He deferred politely to her.
    Mrs. Smythe-Robinson smiled, set her sights on someone else and bustled away. Rebecca and Logan walked on. “Was she right?”
    â€œNot according to what Spriggs himself said less than half an hour ago,” Logan said.
    â€œVery diplomatic of you.”
    â€œShe didn’t look like the type of woman I’d want to argue with. No chance of winning regardless of the rights and wrongs. And with some people even when you win you lose.”
    â€œYou know who she is?”
    â€œAs it happens, yes. Her husband heads the government committee on foreign investment in San Philippe.”
    â€œAnd won’t you need that committee’s approval?”
    â€œI already have that committee’s approval. But she still didn’t look like the type of woman I’d want to argue with.”
    â€œThere’s a type?” She pulled away from him on the pretext of smelling a luscious cream bloom. In reality she needed distance so that she didn’t lean in instead.
    â€œMost