Lone Star Prince. Cindy Gerard

by the paparazzi, adored by the masses, had been robbed of the wide-eyed innocence that had struck him as both intriguing and irresistible those many years ago. A haunted, hunted edge had painted pale violet smudges beneath her summer-green eyes, drawn fine lines of tension around a smile that was forced and shallow and reserved only for the child sleeping at her side. Her silk and velvet voice, with its honeyed, husky resonance, spoke of lost summers and faded dreams and hinted of her European lineage only when she was exhausted. Like now.

      Shifting uneasily, Greg took his own turn staring out the window into the blackness of night at thirty-one thousand feet. He tried to divorce himself from an unrelenting need to hold her. Seeing her like this—seeing her again—had brought back feelings he’d thought were dead and buried. And while he was relieved she had turned to him for help—was prepared to do whatever it took to protect her—he was also determined not to let her or her solemn-eyed little boy breach the wall he’d built around his emotions when she’d walked away from him four years ago.

      Determined, but unfortunately, not one hundred percent successful, he admitted grudgingly. Against all resolve, his mind wandered back to the summer night they’d first met. He’d been a marine on his last tour of duty and then had to return to Texas to take his place -as heir apparent to the Hunt dynasty. On leave in the little European principality of Obersbourg, he’d been taken in completely by the guileless little peasant girl whose eyes had been only for him. He hadn’t known she’d been a princess on the run from her family, her obligations and the stark reality of her position in life—just as she hadn’t known he was anything but a lowly marine.

      It seemed like a lifetime ago that their eyes had met, locked, held across a street full of dancers in the plaza. A lifetime since they’d woven their way unerringly through the crowd and into each other’s arms. Since they’d danced. Fallen in love. Made love. And when her true identity had come out, they parted.

      He quickly checked the memory. There was no point hashing over that again. It had been four years. He’d put it all behind him—at least he had until he’d received her transatlantic call last week and the panicked sound of her voice had brought it all back like it was yesterday.

      “Gregory. I need you. Please come. Please... come.”

      So he had. With the backing of Texas billionaire Hank Langley—and Langley’s Avenger, a Hunt Industries aircraft—the able assistance of Sterling Churchill and Forrest Cunningham, all members of Langley’s Texas Cattleman’s Club, they’d smuggled the princess and her son out from under the Obersbourg royal guard not three hours ago. All ex-military men, they had created the Alpha team to tackle this mission.

      He scrubbed the back of his knuckles absently against the stubble on his jaw and stared broodily into the dark. As corporate counsel for Hunt Industries and CEO of several companies under the Hunt umbrella, he’d had plenty of work to keep him busy. So he was damned if he knew why he’d been so ready to let himself get wrapped up in her life again. He only knew that this time, it wasn’t by chance. This time there was more at stake than reckless hearts and stolen moments. He didn’t have all the details sorted out, but he knew that Anna’s sister, Sara, and Sara’s lover were dead, the victims of a mysterious car crash. Sara’s infant twins were in the physical custody of Ivan Striksky, the playboy prince of Asterland, who was holding them the equivalent of political hostages as part of a plot to force Anna to marry him. And Greg, it seemed, had been cast in the role of white knight.

      White knight, hell, he thought as the hushed whispers of Churchill and Cunningham—men he’d been glad to have guarding his back—drifted from the aft end of the Avenger. This little caper had international incident written all over it. It was going to take a damn sight more than his law degree to smooth some very ruffled, very royal European feathers when this thing broke wide open and the King and Queen of Obersbourg discovered their golden goose was missing.

      He stretched his long legs out in front of him, figuring he’d deal with it when it happened. In the meantime, the only part he had left to play in this little scenario was to see Anna safely to the States. She was a resourceful woman; she’d figure out where to go from there. All he needed to do was get on with his life—and quit thinking about why this woman, above all women, could mess up his head in more ways than he could catalog or name.

      William stirred in his sleep. Making a protective shield of her body, Anna folded him closer to her side. Her reaction was instinctive though, at the moment, unnecessary. There was no threat here. Not in this jet with Gregory. At least there was no physical threat. Uncertainty, however, was still an ugly reality. For her it was too real and too chilling even though, for the time being, they were safe from Ivan. And they were free from her parents, who had been willing to sacrifice her and, ultimately, William to Ivan in exchange for a financial bailout to save Obersbourg’s sovereignty.

      William cried out, startling her out of her thoughts. His small voice was a panicked, frightened mew in the humming silence of the pressurized cabin.

      “Shh, baby. Momma’s here.” Small for his age, William was often mistaken for a year younger than the precious age of four he would turn on his next birthday. She scooped him onto her lap, cradled his face to her breast, murmured in soothing tones. “It’s okay. Momma’s here.”

      She pressed her lips to the top of his head, then laid her cheek there as he drifted back to sleep.

      “Is he okay?” Gregory’s deep voice was a soft rumble of concern.

      She nodded, wanting to assure him as much as herself. Enfolding William in security and warmth, she gained her own small measure of comfort from the solid pressure of his little compact body snuggled against her. “He’s fine. This has all just been a little frightening for him.”

      Although he held his silence, Anna could feel Gregory’s dark gaze on her, then on William. She could sense the questions she knew he would ask. And she prayed for the answers that would satisfy him, asked forgiveness for the lies her lack of courage would force her to tell.

      “Where’s his father, Anna? Why was it me you called and not him?”

      His question was sharp and direct, fitting since this was the moment that had been looming in the shadows of all else that had happened. She’d been bracing for it, had carefully concocted the lie, woven it ruthlessly around the truth.

      “He’s never been a part of William’s life,” she said, then slowed her words, shook off the accent only her nerves and fatigue had allowed to slip into her speech. “What his father and I shared...” Purposefully, she let the thought trail off, gave a small shrug, an invitation for him to draw his own conclusions. “I... I had hoped for more.”

      “He abandoned you?” A swift, dangerous anger underscored each word.

      “No,” she said quickly. “Oh, no. Not abandoned. Let’s...let’s just leave it at it wasn’t meant to be.”

      In the darkness, she sensed Gregory’s gaze drift over William, studying his dark brown hair, his slight little frame, picturing, perhaps, his Mediterranean-blue eyes.

      “I’m so sorry to have involved you in this, Gregory,” she said abruptly, speared by a piercing need to steer the attention away from William. “I...I didn’t know where else to turn.”

      “I told you...” His voice was soft, even if his eyes were hard. “I told you that if you ever needed me I’d be there for you.”

      Yes. Yes, he had told her, and even four years later, she’d known she could count on him. After all, it was his strength that had drawn her to him in the beginning—his strength and his earthy, middle class charm. At least she’d thought then that he was just a working man. It wasn’t until last year that she’d seen an article on Hunt Industries and realized that Gregory was the equivalent of American royalty. The irony was so very hard to accept.

      She’d been feeling the burden of her position, of centuries of tradition, of familial obligations that fateful summer. In one of her rare acts of rebellion, she’d disguised herself as a village girl and escaped it all for a few hours to get lost in the fantasy atmosphere of the summer street festival—and