In a way, Gianferro had both the best and the worst of the Royal world—the heady aphrodisiac of power, coupled with the stultifying burden of responsibility. The eldest son was seen as the most privileged, but Nico knew that despite how the outside world perceived it, there was no such thing as the perfect position in a Royal family of three brothers.
Guido, the middle brother, was currently living abroad—and middle brothers were notoriously touchy about being looked over and ignored. Even in so-called normal families they had difficulty establishing a legitimate role. It explained why he had left Mardivino as quickly as he could, making for himself the comfortable life of international playboy.
Nico, as the youngest, should by rights have been the spoilt baby of the family—except things had not turned out that way.
His very birth had heralded the illness that had killed his mother—and ever after his father’s pride in him had always been tempered by sadness and melancholy.
Gianferro had almost stepped into the role of father—if such a thing was possible when the age gap was only seven years. He had always looked out for and fiercely protected Nico, and as the years had passed had been reluctant to lose that role of mentor. Nico had had to fight every bit of the way for independence.
‘Gabriella is not my mistress,’ he stated flatly.
‘Oh, really?’ Gianferro raised dark, disbelieving brows. ‘Is this not the same flame-haired woman whom you took to the beach house? The consort of the drunks who spent the night in Solajoya jail?’
Nico stared at him. ‘You knew about that?’
‘But of course I knew. The Chief of Police rang to inform me of what was happening.’
‘He gossips like an old woman,’ said Nico darkly.
Gianferro laughed. ‘He simply does his job. I know everything that happens on Mardivino, and it is my duty to do so—particularly when it concerns my brothers. And a mistress staying here at the palace would wreck your reputation—in the same way that one of those crazy sports you indulge in will soon wreck your life.’
Nico sighed. It was as pointless as whistling in the wind to attempt to defend his lifestyle. He had tried often enough over the years.
Just as it would be pointless to try to explain that nothing had happened between him and Gabriella at the beach. Given Nico’s past catalogue of lovers, Gianferro simply would not believe him. And even if the truth were known—would that not offend his innate masculine pride and reputation?
‘Are you forbidding it, Gianferro?’ Nico questioned, in a voice that was only half joking.
‘No.’ Gianferro gave an answering glimmer of a smile which briefly softened his hard mouth. ‘I am simply appealing to your sense of what is proper and what is not, Nico.’
‘You know she is here on a legitimate assignment?’ Nicolo said casually. ‘She works in the travel industry.’
‘How very convenient for you both.’ There was a pause. ‘And what precisely is she proposing to do here on the island?’
There was a brief pause, and Nico saw the dark light of challenge in his brother’s eyes. He kept his counsel. ‘I’ll keep you posted,’ he said lightly.
Gianferro gave a low laugh. ‘Give her an office here at the palace, then, but put her up in L’Etoile. That should be luxurious enough to impress her.’
‘You think that is what I am trying to do?’
The brothers’ eyes met.
‘I do not know what it is that you are trying to do, but I know you well enough to guess,’ said Gianferro softly. ‘I understand that she is beautiful, and that speaks for itself—but never forget that for a man in your position she can never be anything more than a sensual diversion, Nico.’
Nicolo’s lips curved in a cynical smile. ‘I need no warnings from you, Gianferro,’ he retorted softly. ‘And to me she has never been anything but a sensual diversion.’
Ella’s journey to Mardivino might have been on a scheduled flight for a national airline, but there all similarity to other air travel ended.
She had taken the earliest possible flight, and was fussed over and waited on like a heavily pregnant woman about to give birth. She doubted whether the other first-class passengers were being treated with quite so much regard. Was that because Nico—Prince Nicolo—had arranged for her to come?
She got a sudden disturbing glimpse of what it must be like to be him—with everyone always on their best behaviour and pandering to your every need. Was he ever able to have ‘normal’ interaction with people? she wondered. Probably not. And that couldn’t be good for you.
Her lips tightened. It definitely wasn’t. It could make you into a control freak—as he had just demonstrated. He had got her here by sheer and arrogant force of will. Had his whole life been spent doing exactly that?
His deception still hurt, but her inner sense of un-ease came from more than that. She had fallen into his arms and made love to him in a way that had been new and exciting and precious. But he had trampled on all those feelings with his duplicity. And if he had done it to her once, then he could do it again. A man in Nico’s position would not care about a woman’s feelings—why should he? Willing sexual partners were probably lining up halfway round the block for him.
She must keep her head and dampen down any dangerous see-sawing emotions every time they threatened to appear. Try to keep things in perspective. It had been great sex, that was all. She must not learn to care for him because nothing would come of it—nothing could come of it.
And you are a strong woman, she reminded herself. You know you are. Of course you can resist him.
Landing at Solajoya Airport was a dream—with no Customs or queues to get through. She was first off the flight and met on the tarmac by Nico himself, and despite everything she had vowed her heart began to race as he made his way towards her.
‘Hello, Gabriella,’ he said softly.
‘I…I wasn’t expecting you to come and meet me in person,’ she stumbled, because the impact of seeing him here unexpectedly had blown away most of her good intentions. Where was the strong woman now?
He gave a half smile. ‘You thought I would send a servant, perhaps?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, I have put myself in that role.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘And I am at your service, cara.’
She thought that he’d managed to make it sound like an erotic declaration. ‘Does that mean you will docilely agree to all my orders?’ she asked, as he opened the boot of the car.
He turned to look at her, a mocking yet serious light playing at the back of his eyes. ‘But you must treat your servants with respect,’ he said softly. ‘Or they will not respect you.’
And what about your lovers? she wanted to ask. How much do you respect them?
Yet as he took her bag from her and slung it into the boot of a low black limousine Ella couldn’t resist the forbidden luxury of running her eyes over him.
She had seen him looking like a beachcomber, and as a coolly elegant European, but today he was unmistakably a prince. There was something about the way his suit was cut that, even to Ella’s untutored eye, made it look about as costly as it was possible to be. His shirt was of palest blue and finest silk, unbuttoned at the neck to show a sprinkling of dark hair.
And I have seen him naked, Ella thought, with a sudden debilitating rush of pride and longing. I have held him in my arms while he thrust long and hard and deep within me.
Yeah, you and a million others, mocked the cynical voice of reason. But reason did nothing to prevent an aching heart.
Nico turned round and frowned. ‘Your cheeks are flushed, cara,’ he said quietly. ‘And your eyes are troubled—why is that?’
She buried the desire and regret, and lifted her chin in an attitude of pride. ‘Why do you think, Nico? Could it have anything to do with the fact that I have been forced to accept this assignment against my better judgement? Blackmailed and threatened to do your bidding?’
Not quite, he thought wryly. Or she w
ould be sending him a message of eager anticipation, not this outrageous defiance. ‘And you are going to sulk about it for the duration of your stay?’
‘Absolutely not. I intend to do the job I am being paid for to the very best of my ability. You asked me a question and I answered it. But if my “troubled” expression offends the Prince, then I shall replace it with a smile!’ She fixed him with a bright and mocking curve of her lips. ‘Is that better, Nico? Is that what you’re used to?’
Nico’s eyes narrowed. He had been expecting—what? That she would be secretly happy to be whisked back here to the island? That her protests were the kind that women sometimes made when they wanted something but knew that it was perhaps political not to show it? Now he was not so sure. And uncertainty was a feeling he was not familiar with.
‘Let’s go,’ he said tightly, and held the door of the car open for her.
With Nico behind the wheel they sped out of the tiny airport, waved through and bowed to by guards. A group of people who were milling around by the exit, waiting at a taxi-rank, spotted their car and began pointing at it. One or two even started waving and shooting cameras in their direction!
Ella blinked in bemusement. ‘Is it always like this?’
Nico gave a rather brittle smile. ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet.’
‘That’s rather a good American accent,’ she observed.
‘So it should be—I went to college there.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Stanford.’
Had she somehow thought that he had spent all his life on the island? An American education would go a long way towards explaining his easy, cosmopolitan attitude. ‘And did you like it?’ she questioned curiously.
He smiled. ‘Loved it. But I was young then,’ he said mockingly.
How little she really knew of him. She had thought that it was the big things that were important—his Royal status for starters—but in a crystal-clear moment of perception she realised that it was all the tiny things that provided the building blocks for understanding a person. People were complex, and none more than this dark, handsome figure beside her.
She remembered him telling her that he dealt with tourism on the island, and this was something she needed to know about. ‘So, do you actually have a job?’
His smile was cynical. ‘Did you imagine I’d sit around on a throne all day and be waited on?’
‘Something like that,’ she admitted, with a shrug. ‘Sorry. Tell me a bit about it—I’d like to know.’
Genuine interest was pretty hard to resist, he was discovering—but wasn’t there more to it than that? Didn’t he want in some way to redeem himself in her eyes? To show her that he wasn’t just some lazy dilettante with no real function, commitment, or purpose?
‘I’ve been concentrating on hauling the city of Solajoya out of the past and trying to regenerate it,’ he said slowly. ‘Its size and location are pretty much perfect for the media and software industries.’
‘So it would rely on more than banks and tax exiles?’
‘You’ve done your homework,’ he remarked.
‘Please don’t patronise me, Nico!’
‘I wasn’t,’ he said, in a voice that was almost gentle. ‘I was applauding your work ethic, if you must know.’
She didn’t want to bask in his praise, like a cat sitting in front of a glowing fire, she wanted to remain immune to him—all of him. But she could see it wasn’t going to be easy.
She settled back in her seat and stared out of the window. The sky was as blue as a swimming pool, and the sun beat down on the magenta blooms of the trees that lined the roads. She was filled with the sudden sense of exhilaration that a new and beautiful place always gave her—until she reminded herself of the reason why she was here. Pretend he isn’t twenty-eight and devastatingly gorgeous and virile. He’s an old man. A grandfather. ‘So which is the official language of Mardivino?’ she asked politely, because her reference books hadn’t made this very clear.
He increased the speed of the car, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. More homework, he guessed. ‘The four languages of Italian, Spanish, French and English are interchangable,’ he said.
‘But isn’t that very confusing?’
‘Not for me,’ he said softly. ‘For a linguist it is extremely useful. It means that you are rarely at the disadvantage of not being able to understand what is being said.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘It also means that you can switch language so that people do not always understand you.’
Ella snorted. ‘Well, if I were you I would brush up on your interpretation skills, Nico! Because I distinctly remember telling you that I didn’t want to take this job, and yet you still twisted my arm to get me here!’
He laughed softly. ‘Ah, Gabriella—do you not know that a man finds it unbearably exciting when a woman spars with him the way that you do?’
‘Particularly when he’s not used to it?’ she queried perceptively.
‘Especially that,’ he agreed. Why, meeting such defiance and insubordination head-on was almost like learning a new language in itself!
‘That isn’t why I’m doing it,’ she objected.
‘I know it isn’t. Now, let’s call a truce for the moment. You are here, and you might as well enjoy it, so why don’t you look out of the window again and you can see how beautiful my island is?’
‘Where are we going?’ she asked suddenly.
‘You will be staying at L’Etoile Hotel,’ he replied. ‘You have heard of it, perhaps?’
Of course she had—she had spent the past few days learning as much as she could about the principality—and for a small island it had a hell of a lot of history. L’Etoile was the kind of hotel that vied with the world’s finest for style and luxury and elegance. The kind of place whose prices were beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.
With mounting dismay Ella stared down at her rather rumpled skirt. Wasn’t she going to stand out like a very sore thumb?
You’re in the travel business, she reminded herself. No one will be expecting you to compete with the jet-set.
‘That should be fun,’ she said evenly.
‘And you will work from a small office within the palace,’ he said casually.
Ella swallowed. If she had thought her clothes too ordinary for a luxury hotel, then how the hell was she going to compete in a palace? You won’t, she told herself. You’ll just be yourself.
‘Could you drive me through as much of the main town as possible on the way there?’ she asked coolly.
‘Any particular reason why?’
‘I just want to get the lie of the land. The more I know, the better prepared I will be.’ And the sooner I can get home again. But her attention was caught by a cluster of gleaming white buildings that suddenly made home seem a very long way away.
‘We’re just coming into Solajoya now. I’ll take you by the backstreets.’
And it was beautiful, thought Ella as she looked down. Utterly beautiful. The roads were narrow and winding, with tall shuttered houses decked with pots of brightly coloured flowers.
He negotiated steep curves towards what was obviously the centre, where the main streets were thronged with people—some clearly heading back from the beach, while others were clustered outside a large, white building, creating a kind of human bottleneck. There were long-haired students in jeans sitting on the steps to the building, writing postcards, and earnest-looking older groups, all studying guidebooks with rapt preoccupation.
Ella leaned forward. ‘What’s going on in there?’
‘It is the gallery of Juan Lopez,’ explained Nico. ‘You know him?’
Ella frowned. ‘He’s an artist?’ she remembered.
‘Was. He died over fifty years ago—an early and tragic death—but for an artist that is always a good selling point.’
‘How cynical!’ observed Ella.
‘How true,’ he retorted softly.
‘Tell me about him.’
He smile
d, realising that their relationship had been forged in relative equality, and that she had no intention of tempering her attitude towards him now, in the light of what she had since discovered.
‘He was what they call “an artist’s artist”—a student of Picasso, and he lived most of his life here. Those who know him love him, and come from all over the world to see his work. He bequeathed it all to Mardivino, on condition that it stay here. He loved this island, you see.’
And, looking out at the distant harbour, Ella could see exactly why. It was like a toy town—the buildings all pure white, the main street lined with palm trees that swayed gently in the breeze.
The car approached the sea and suddenly there was L’Etoile—white against the sapphire backdrop, and glittering as starrily as its name implied.
Nico stopped the car outside and turned to look at her, and Ella’s breath caught in her throat. It was okay in theory to tell yourself that you were going to be immune to a man’s charisma, but quite another when you were confronted with it in such close proximity—so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his breath, almost touch the silken texture of his olive skin, see for yourself the black, glittering eyes that both mocked and enticed.
‘You have a choice, cara,’ he said softly. ‘I can accompany you inside, if you prefer, but if I do there will be something of a…a fuss,’ he concluded, after a moment.
She remembered the people pointing at him at the airport, how he must live his life with a sense of being continually on show. ‘Do you go to that beach hut to escape all the fuss?’ she questioned, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be keeping this trip on a purely professional footing.
‘But of course. It is peaceful and isolated there.’ The corners of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile. ‘Bar the odd mermaid washed up on my shore, of course.’
‘Then please don’t come inside,’ she said quickly, but it was less to do with the projected ‘fuss’ than the dangers of that achingly soft smile.
He nodded and glanced at his watch. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to unpack your stuff.’
‘I haven’t brought very much. I don’t intend to stay here longer than a week, Nico.’
The Mediterranean Prince's Passion (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 1) Page 7
