His eyes glittered. She would stay here for as long as he deemed it necessary—no more and no less. ‘I’ll pick you up in an hour,’ he said steadily. ‘Show you your office at the palace.’
‘Make it two. I want to wander round on my own for a bit first. Get a feel for the place before I enter the hallowed portals of the palace.’
‘I will have someone accompany you.’
‘You will not! I want to be free to explore on my own.’
Free, he thought, with a sudden sense of yearning. ‘You are a very stubborn woman, Gabriella,’ he said softly.
‘I don’t deny it.’
He opened his mouth to object, and then shut it again—for what could he do? Carry her off by force? Tell her that she was there to do his bidding?
Furiously recognising that at the moment she seemed to have the upper hand, he got out of the car, pulled her bag from the boot and handed it to her. She hadn’t been joking—he had never seen a woman travel with such a small suitcase.
His eyes travelled to the pretty little shoes she wore—delicate, sexy little kitten heels, which showed the delectable curves of her tiny ankles. ‘If you’re planning to explore the city, then I suggest you wear something more sensible than those to walk in,’ he said tightly. ‘Fino ad allora, cara.’
CHAPTER NINE
ELLA glanced around her hotel accommodation with a combination of excitement and disbelief—because the ‘room’ she had imagined staying in was actually a suite—and nearly as big as the ground floor of her home in England!
She let her eyes drift over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, which commanded a breathtaking view of the sapphire sweep of the sea beyond. Tiny cotton wool clouds batted playfully at one another in the vast blue arena of the sky, and sunlight glinted off the sleek lines of distant yachts.
On the other side of the bay she could see hills clothed in dark green, with ice-white villas set like jewels within them. It was a combination of natural beauty and vast wealth—a world accessible only to the very few—and in any other circumstances she would be pinching herself and enjoying every second of it.
She ran her fingertips over the petal of a waxy orchid, telling herself that she would be crazy not to enjoy at least some of this once-in-a-lifetime experience.
She dressed for sightseeing, putting on a pair of flat strappy sandals that matched her ice-blue sun-dress, and tying her hair back in a blue ribbon. She finished off with a wide-brimmed straw hat, and as she checked herself in one of the mirrors she could see the image she presented was cool and contained. Good. Long may it last.
The day was bakingly hot, but a light breeze stopped it from being oppressive and the hat had been a good idea. Nico had been right about the walking bit, for the hilly streets around the harbour were all cobbled—picturesque, but hardgoing. She peered in all the shop windows, where stores selling luxury goods and clothes jostled next to those selling boat accessories. So far, all pretty predictable.
There were pavement cafés galore, and she found an empty seat and sat outside one, ordering an extremely expensive cup of coffee. She sat sipping cappuccino and watching the people come and go. The main cause of congestion really did seem to be centred around the art gallery dedicated to Juan Lopez. At one point two coaches disgorged their contents at the top of one of the quaint streets, and as they surged forward it felt a bit like being outside a football ground before the match started.
Ella got out her notebook and wrote for a little while, and then went off and found a bookshop.
Inside, it was dark and deliciously cool. There was a whole section about Juan Lopez, but Ella’s attention was distracted by a part of the shop given over entirely to books about the ruling family of Mardivino.
Here there were biographies and picture books, family portraits and single portraits. In a sweet little tome entitled Just Like Us, she found a photo of Nico as a baby—a chubby-faced little cherub, wearing a cascading lace christening robe, being cradled in the arms of his nurse. Maybe that was normal for Royal princes, but she happened to know that his mother had died when Nico was just a baby.
There was a whole muted and solemn chapter about the death of the young Queen, and a heartbreaking shot of the three boys—the two older boys clad in matching dark grey coats and a crying Nico being held by another nurse—as they watched the flower-decked coffin file past.
She had read about the death of his mother during her research, of course, but seeing it here—in black and white and in Mardivino itself—somehow made it more real and more poignant.
It made her see him as flesh and blood—someone who really would bleed if you cut him. It made him seem lovable and in need of love—but surely that was just wishful thinking on her part?
Her fingers twitched irresistibly onto a chapter devoted entirely to Nico, entitled ‘The Daredevil Prince’. Here were snatched shots of Nico the action man among the formal poses—Nico sailing a yacht, giving a thumbs up at the top of a snowy mountain, and astride a monstrously large-looking motorbike.
Ella read on, engrossed, until she glanced at her watch and saw to her horror that she should have been back at L’Etoile ten minutes ago. But she couldn’t get the image of the motherless baby out of her mind. Did his love for all things fast and dangerous stem from a childhood without the grounding of a mother, with palace servants forbidden by protocol to show him real love? Or was that too simplistic an explanation?
She sped towards the hotel to find him waiting for her, leaning against the door of his car and her heart turned over.
His posture was outwardly relaxed, but as she grew closer she could see the tell-tale look of irritation that hardened his autocratic features and made his black eyes glitter. Her tender concern vanished under that cold look of censure.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said automatically.
‘Not very professional of you,’ he bit out—because he had felt strangely out of place, hanging around the car like a chauffeur. ‘Perhaps it pleases you to make me wait?’ he mused. ‘Did you do so deliberately?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Of course I didn’t—I just lost track of the time.’
She was completely unapologetic! Quite the opposite, in fact! Nico was consumed by a simmering rage overpowered by a bubbling frustration. He looked down into her flushed face, at her parted lips, and felt the urge to kiss her as a kind of punishment—to tell her that no one ever kept him waiting.
He held the door of the car open, shaking his head slightly. A kiss? As a kind punishment? Who the hell did he think he was kidding?
As she moved towards the door he had opened for her, her bare arm brushed against his. It was the briefest and most fleeting contact, but it was like the sizzle of electricity, tingling fire over her skin, and she stepped back as if she had been stung.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered.
Their eyes met.
‘Don’t what?’ He could feel the tiny hairs standing up at the back of his neck and he stared back at her, angry and slightly appalled at himself for being so affected by such an innocent touch. ‘What did I do, cara?’ he mocked. ‘Don’t blame me for your own feelings. You want me. You still want me—you’re just too hypocritical to admit it.’
He walked round to the driver’s seat and slammed the door behind him, leaving Ella to shakily take her place beside him.
Ignore it, she told herself. Because if you don’t you’ll only have to admit he’s right.
The car screeched away and Ella stole a glance at Nico’s stony profile.
‘Who’s sulking now?’ she questioned.
With an effort he roused himself out of his reverie. ‘Not me.’
‘Just don’t want to talk?’
He smiled. ‘Talk away.’
‘Will you tell me a little bit about Mardivino, then?’
It was, he admitted grudgingly, exactly the right thing to say. It took his mind off the ache in his groin and the idea—almost unthinkable—that bedding Ella Scott once more was by no means
certain.
‘What do you wish to know?’
‘Everything.’
“‘Everything” is a tall order, cara,’ he mused. But his eyes on the mountain road ahead of him, he started to tell her of Mardivino’s history in a voice that grew unexpectedly dreamy, and then sometimes fiery as he recounted crusades and battles for the prized land. He talked of Spanish Conquistadors and Italian aristocrats and French counts, who had all fought for ownership over the centuries, until at last agreeing to share the spoils of the exquisite island, set like a jewel in the sea.
His passion was infectious, and Ella found herself listening with the rapt attention of a child being told a wonderful story—but it wasn’t just the story that captured her imagination—it was him. You could watch a man closely when you were listening to him—could remind yourself of his passion and his strength and then wish you hadn’t.
But if she pushed that kind of thought away then even more troubling memories hurtled in to replace them—with graphic recall. She could almost see the moist flick of his tongue against his lips, almost feel it on her belly, against her thighs…
But her whirling thoughts were stilled by the sight of what lay before her. She had been so caught up in them that she had taken little notice of the view whizzing by outside the limousine window. But now high, gilded gates were parting and Ella stared ahead, her breath catching in the back of her throat as they opened onto the Rainbow Palace.
Her first impression was that it looked like a stage-set. Something that was real and yet not quite real. She wondered if behind its glittering walls she would find an empty stage and pieces of wood propping it up? Just as she wondered what really lay beneath all the different masks that Nico wore. Was nothing real in his world?
From a distance the palace really did look like a rainbow, with the whole spectrum of vibrant, dazzling colours from violet right through to a rich and royal red. It was only as the car grew closer that Ella could make out the tiny mosaic pieces of stone. It was all an illusion, not substance. Not a rainbow at all.
But as she got out of the car Ella began to get some idea of the perspective of the place, and it was vast. Emerald squares of perfectly manicured grass were edged with velvety dark red roses. There was a formal fountain playing the music of scattering water, and a wonderful statue of a woman that looked so real that Ella felt like reaching out to test whether it was marble-cold or whether real blood coursed through the stone veins.
‘Come,’ said Nico, looking down at her.
‘I’m slightly overwhelmed,’ she said truthfully.
His hard mouth softened by a fraction. When she stopped fighting him, she was really very sweet. ‘Well, don’t be. It’s just the place where I live.’
But how many people in the world lived in places like this one? It would always mark him out as different, because Nico was different. And it would be worthwhile to remember that.
He led her through seemingly endless corridors that were hung with enormous oil-paintings of men and women wearing lavish silk and lace gowns. Dark-haired, autocratic portraits, whose mesmeric and glittering black eyes marked them out as his ancestors.
It was a different world.
Eventually he pushed open a door and Ella found herself in an office—or at least a room that was doing a passable imitation of masquerading as an office—because offices did not usually contain antique desks, nor have drapes that glimmered to the floor in costly folds.
‘You can work from here,’ he said.
Work. Yes, of course.
It was difficult not to be dazzled. He looked so at home in these lavish surroundings—but of course he would—it was his home, for heaven’s sake! But it had the effect of making Nico of the beach hut and Nico the lover seem like mere figments of her imagination.
‘Okay,’ she said, and gave a brisk smile. ‘Can you organise a map of the island for me?’
‘There’s one here.’ He leaned over the desk and Ella caught the faint drift of a musky lemon fragrance. She briefly closed her eyes in despair. Scent was so evocative—it took you to places you would rather not go—and she had headily breathed in that scent when her face had been nuzzled into the warmth of his sleeping neck.
‘Will this do?’ He opened a large book showing a brightly coloured map of Mardivino.
She moved beside him and looked over his shoulder, and he turned his head and their eyes held. She found herself yielding, helpless in the soft, dark light that blazed over her.
‘Gabriella,’ he murmured caressingly.
She shook her head desperately, like a woman who was trying to convince herself. ‘No.’
‘Your lips tell me one thing while your eyes are saying something very different,’ he observed quietly.
He lifted the tips of her fingers and touched them to his lips, feeling them tremble at that one brief contact. He increased the pressure of his mouth and saw her eyelids flutter to a close.
‘Nico,’ she whispered.
They fluttered open again and her eyes were like pure gleaming emeralds amid the tangle of dark lashes. He gave a small groan, briefly tangling his hands into the tawny splendour of her hair before pulling her into his arms, the dark light of conquest firing his eyes as he stared down at her.
‘Nico, what?’ he demanded huskily.
‘This is…wrong,’ she breathed.
But she made no move to stop him, to push him away or to detach herself from his embrace, and all he could do was drink in these lips and this face, which had haunted his dreams since that all-too-brief encounter of such tender and sensual beauty. And then he could wait no longer—could think no further than the need to taste and to kiss her once more.
Her hands caught and gripped his broad shoulders as if they were magnetised, her breath escaping in a gasp that mingled with his breath as she felt the hard, seeking warmth of his mouth.
‘Oh,’ she moaned weakly against him, as his hands splayed down to cup her buttocks, bringing her closer into the hard cradle of his desire. ‘Oh!’
Urgently, he moved his hand downwards and drifted his fingers up her bare thigh, scraping the tips in soft, enticing circles. He felt her legs part in invitation.
He felt as if he was going to explode. As if he wanted to rip the cheap little dress from her and take her right there. He moved her panties aside and delved into her hot, sticky heat, and she gasped with pleasure.
‘I want you, Gabriella,’ he ground out. ‘I want you so much.’
And she wanted him, too. So badly. Boldly she touched him back, drifting her hand over his hardness to feel it increase, and he tore his mouth away from hers.
‘Come with me to my apartment,’ he said urgently. ‘Let me make love to you all the rest of the day and all through the night, until you have emptied me of all my seed.’
It was a curiously powerful and unexpected thing to say, and it shook Ella even more than the light, expert caress of his fingers and the memory of his passionate kiss. Quite what she would have done next, she didn’t know—and she never had the chance to find out because there was a loud peremptory rap on the door and Nico froze.
She looked at him in horror. ‘The door!’ she whispered.
He acted instinctively, tugging her dress down into place and moving away from her, raking his hand back through his ruffled dark hair, aware that her musky perfume was still lingering on his fingers. He let out a brief, shuddering sigh.
‘Yes?’ he shot out.
The door opened and a man stood there, and even if she hadn’t studied photos of him earlier that day Ella would have known instantly that it was Nico’s eldest brother Gianferro.
She tried to picture the scene through his eyes. Outwardly, they were both decent—no clothing in disarray—but it must be obvious just what had been about to happen. Their heightened colour and hectic eyes held a sexual tension so taut that it felt as if it might snap, as if a mere breath could shatter it—and Gianferro just had. She wished that the floor would open up and swallow h
er as the Crown Prince stared at her.
Gianferro’s dark, unreadable eyes moved from her to Nico. ‘Forgive me,’ he said icily. ‘This is obviously an inopportune moment.’
His expression was one that Nico could read perfectly, but he met the disapproving accusation head-on, brazening it out. And why the hell shouldn’t he? He was not a child, and his brother was not his keeper! If he barged in on two consenting adults, then he just might not like what he would find.
‘Gianferro,’ he said, as coolly as if he had been taking tea with a woman on some sun-dappled terrace. ‘I would like you to meet Ella Scott, who will be using her travel expertise to advise us. Ella, this is my brother, the Crown Prince Gianferro.’
Briefly and autocratically Gianferro inclined his head, and Ella sent Nico an agonised glance. Was she supposed to curtsey, or what? In silent understanding he sent her a barely perceptible shake of the head.
‘And what is your particular area of expertise, Miss Scott?’ drawled the heir.
She knew what he was implying, and if only she had been a sheet of paper she would have crumpled into a ball of shame. But adaptability was the name of the game. She couldn’t pretend that what had just happened hadn’t happened, but she could deal with it. She had committed no crime and she was not his cringeing subject.
‘Actually, I specialise in the small-is-beautiful market, Your Royal Highness,’ she said smoothly. ‘Which sort of sums Mardivino up, don’t you think?’
Nico sent her a silent look of admiration. Most women of his acquaintance would have blushed and stammered their way out of that one. He had been about to leap in to protect Ella from Gianferro’s barely veiled hostility, but now he could see that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself.
‘Nico hasn’t told me how long you intend staying,’ said the Crown Prince.
‘That’s because I haven’t yet decided how long I need to. I haven’t signed any kind of contract.’ She couldn’t miss the unmistakable look of surprise on his face. And on Nico’s. Presumably they were used to making the decisions, not employing people who made their own! ‘But you can rest assured that my work will be accomplished in as short a time as possible,’ she continued sweetly, seeing Nico’s eyes narrow into dark, glittering shards. He wants to call all the shots, she recognised. And I am not going to let him.
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