But he wasn’t following his own advice, thought Ella, her head falling back against the rug as he began to slide her panties down over her knees. She felt the cool rush of air on her heated flesh and opened her mouth to protest that maybe they should move from here. That he was a prince…that this was all happening too quickly. But she opened her thighs, too…
And then his lips were on hers once more, and his fingers were delving into her honeyed warmth, and she was lost in the rhythm of a dance more ancient than either crown or privilege. And then she stopped thinking about that, and thought of Nico instead—this dazzling-eyed man who had haunted her thoughts and her dreams since the moment she had first laid eyes on him—touching her with such sweet accuracy so that she cried in ecstatic wonder against his skin.
Her mouth moved against the graze of his shadowed jaw, and she burrowed beneath his silk shirt to find skin even more silken where it stretched over hard muscle and sinew. She began to tug impatiently at his belt, and heard him give a low laugh of delight.
He stilled her hand as he lifted his head, and his ebony eyes were glazed with a desire that made them smoulder down at her like burning coal. He shook his head. ‘No, let me,’ he said roughly, his gaze never leaving her face as he unzipped his jeans.
He pushed her dress right up and moaned softly to discover that she was bra-less. He dipped his head to suck tightly on her nipple as he wriggled his jeans off, not wanting—not able—to wait to undress her completely. The little cries she was making were inciting him even more as he scrambled like a schoolboy to protect himself, and then there was no more waiting, and he plunged deep, deep inside her slick heat.
‘Nico!’ she gasped as he began to move, because last time it had not felt so full, or so tight, or so unutterably right. She threaded her fingers into his thick dark hair and pulled his head towards her, opening her mouth beneath his as if she couldn’t get enough of him.
And Nico was lost…lost in something that was like new territory to him. He had always been a master of self-control, and usually he had the ability to take himself outside the act. To observe the woman and to lead—taking them both at the pace he wished them to follow, almost like a conductor of an orchestra.
But this time it was different. Was that because she had kept him on tenterhooks for what seemed like an eternity? Because he had never been quite sure whether this would actually happen, and, now that it was, its potent sweetness surpassed all his hot and wildest fantasies?
He found himself lost in a deep, dark pleasure where self was obliterated by sensation. His body no longer felt like his, but hers did. All his. His hands moved from her breasts to her hips, holding her tighter as he moved inside her over and over again. He felt that he might die if it did not end soon, yet he wanted it to last for ever.
Her cry split the air, her limbs tensed and then flailed, her eyes closing, her lips whispering his name like a prayer. And Nico followed her, dissolving into something so sweet that it felt sinful.
For a moment he felt the same heady sense of triumph he always experienced when he broke in a new and difficult stallion, or when he sailed hard against the wind.
And then the feeling was gone, and he was left with the more familiar feeling of emptiness.
He must have slept, for when he came to he was tangled in her arms, and the heart that beat beneath his was slow and heavy. He raised his head just as her eyes fluttered open, all smokily green with satiation.
‘Oh, Nico,’ she sighed.
He traced the line of her lip with a lazy finger, and desire returned with a potent power that shook him. His mouth hardened. Keep it in perspective, he told himself.
‘So, tell me all about this idea of yours,’ he drawled.
Ella stared up at him, blinking her eyes in a long moment of confusion. ‘Idea?’ she questioned dazedly. What the hell was he talking about?
He shifted away from her fractionally. Distance gave perspective, and right now he needed it. She could weave an extraordinary kind of magic in his arms, but that was all. That was all.
He turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes drifting over hers with a lazy look of amusement. ‘You have forgotten your idea already, cara?’ he teased. ‘If it cannot last beyond the hour then it cannot be an idea of any substance!’
His words brought Ella crashing back to reality with a painful jolt as she heard the mocking truth in them.
No substance.
No substance.
She had wanted to lie there murmuring sweet nothings, but he wanted to talk ideas! At least he had reminded her of her place in the scheme of things.
She composed her face and tried to rid it of the look of dreamy soppiness. Sweet heaven, Ella, you gave him your very soul itself just now, so make sure you claw back every last little bit of pride.
‘Well.’ She drew in a deep breath and the oxygen cleared her head. ‘I will, of course, be making a full list of my proposed recommendations, but there is one thing which I think would have immediate impact—and that’s to do something about the crowds around the Juan Lopez gallery. They’re a real eyesore, and they make a very real congestion problem.’
Had he been expecting her to pout? To tell him prettily that she didn’t want to talk about work at a time like this? Nico’s eyes narrowed. The very unexpectedness of her remark and her cool thinking caught him on the back foot, so that—perversely—he found himself struggling to concentrate on her damned idea, and not on the pure, soft curves of her body.
He stared at her suspiciously. ‘And what do you propose we do about that? Mardivino is rightly proud of her strong links with Lopez.’
‘Move it,’ she said simply.
His suspicious look intensified. ‘Explain yourself.’
Oh, but now he sounded like an autocratic Royal! Yet, oddly enough, Ella’s strength of mind and resolve was returning by the second. Was she going to suddenly become one of those wet-blanket kinds of women just because she had cried out in ecstasy in his arms? No, she was not! Whatever she was feeling inside, she would hide it, and he would not know because she would not let him.
Blocking the yearning desire to brush her fingertips over the dark curve of his jaw, she smiled. ‘Solajoya is buzzing and thriving and it always will be—because it’s a port and the capital. People travel here especially to see the works of Juan Lopez, so they don’t need to be housed in Solajoya. So you move the gallery somewhere else. Somewhere the tourists don’t bother to visit. Somewhere which could do with the extra revenue those tourists would bring. Somewhere like the village we just visited. Why not?’
There was a pause. ‘Why not?’ he echoed thoughtfully, and then the black eyes glittered. ‘It sounds too simple.’
‘The best ideas often are.’ But so were the worst ones. Agreeing to a picnic with him had been simple, and making love simpler still. And yet no matter how much her calm, professional expression tried to hide it she was left with a deep, dark aching in her heart. Because it was never going to be more than this, and if she couldn’t accept that she was going to get badly hurt. Stick with what you know, Ella.
‘That village is badly in need of rejuvenating. Think what this could bring. A brand-new gallery, which would make the most of the paintings, and all the stuff which would go with it. Postcards, and prints, and a restaurant or two. Of course…’ her ideas began to gallop away with her, ‘You would have to be very careful not to destroy the character of the village, but I can’t see you letting that happen.’
‘Why, thank you, Gabriella,’ he said mockingly.
She licked her lips, which were suddenly parched. ‘So, will you think about it?’
‘I will.’
‘Good.’ She had saved the day. She had done what she had set out to do, taken the heat out of the situation, but now she needed to get out of here and get her head together. She sat up and began to pull her dress down, but he reached out his hand to halt her.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Wh
at does it look like? I’m…’ Her words dried in her mouth as his fingertips began to touch her bare breasts, skating enchanting little pathways across the already sensitised skin. She closed her eyes. ‘I’m getting dressed.’
He felt the hot, hard jerk of desire as he pulled her against him, smoothing the palms of his hands over the silken globes of her buttocks and feeling her shudder. It was about time he showed her who was boss.
‘Oh, no, you aren’t,’ he negated quietly.
She wanted to stop him.
No, she didn’t.
She tried to stop him.
No, she didn’t.
Trying to stop someone should amount to more than a distracted little shake of the head. If she had really been trying to stop him then she would not now be squirming with delight as he stroked and touched her, nor be touching him back and hearing him moan so softly.
Nor would her heart be leaping with a wild and delirious kind of joy as he entered her once more. Her last sane thought was that this perfect act was going to achieve the impossible. Leaving her feeling complete.
Yet achingly incomplete.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THEY drove down the mountain road in silence, and for Ella it was a silence fraught with unanswered questions. There was none of the companionable ease she might have expected or hoped for after such a successful morning—which had culminated in that heartstoppingly erotic encounter.
For Nico had retreated.
She had seen it in his eyes once passion had faded. As if someone had suddenly changed the temperature of the tap while you were washing your hands, so that it had gone straight from warm to icy-cold, making you flinch. Even his features, which she had seen look so animated and alive during the act of love, were now simply cool and indifferent.
Oh, he had been sweet enough—he had buttoned up her dress and teased her, and drifted his lips over her skin in a teasing way—but it had felt as though he was simply going through the motions of how a lover should behave afterwards. There had been no sense of real closeness—no conviction that if she had asked him what was going on in that head of his he would have told her.
The intimacy that had been there both before and after they had made love had vanished. And something within her had been sapped. As if by pleasing her physically he had taken away her ability to talk to him as if he was just any man.
So, was this the end of her ‘assignment’? Even if he did take up her suggestion about moving the gallery—did that entitle her to stay? Would she actually want to—was she just going to allow herself to be picked up and put down at will? A plaything for a prince…
She bit her lip and stared out of the window as the white rooftops of Solajoya began to appear.
Nico flicked her a glance.
Now what did he do?
He had a choice, of course. He could treat it as a one-off. Something he had badly wanted and that he had now been given, satisfying his hunger sufficiently enough to drive that hunger away. But it had not been. Even with that stiff, slightly defensive set of her shoulders, he found that he was still turned on. He still wanted to caress her, to run his fingertips over her until she opened up again, like a glorious flower—spreading her petals just for him, so that he could lose himself in their heady perfume.
He swore softly as he crashed a gear, and she turned her head, her eyebrows raised in question.
Nico glowered at the road ahead. He was a superb driver—good enough to grace the circuit of any international motor-race, dammit! So why was he acting like a nervous pupil out taking his test?
The car slid to a halt in front of L’Etoile, and, sucking in a deep breath to give her courage, Ella turned to him. She wasn’t dealing with a normal man, she reminded herself, and she must not expect him to behave like one. No long lingering kiss, or promise to ring her. After all, they were in public now.
Keep it together, Ella, she told herself. Act like a sophisticated career-woman. If it was a one-off, then remember it as something very beautiful and take your heartache back to England with you, to nurse it in private.
She smiled. Take control. Give him a let-out. Give yourself a let-out. A plaything for a prince? Never in a million years! ‘I guess I’d better think about booking my flight home.’
Her words took him by surprise. ‘Home?’ he demanded, his brow deepening into a frown.
‘Of course.’ The smile became easier—encouraged by the almost insulting look of astonishment on his face! Did his women usually cling with all the tenacity of a rock-climber hanging on for dear life? ‘What is there to stay for now? I’ve made my recommendations to improve some of Mardivino’s problems, and you’ve managed to have sex with me.’
‘Managed?’ he shot out, affronted. ‘You make it sound as though you had nothing to do with it!’
‘Do I?’ Ella was enjoying herself now—how wonderful to see that look of indifference replaced by a genuine emotion, even if it was anger! ‘Well, obviously that’s not true. I—’
‘How very good of you to concede that!’ His mocking words sliced right through hers, his eyes glittering at her in challenge.
‘I was part of what happened.’
‘Thank God for that,’ he said drily.
‘But there is no need for me to stay now. Not really.’
Nico’s mouth hardened. She was right; there wasn’t. The bottom line was that her job here had been a ruse. A threat. A demonstration of his power and privilege—and yet she had taken him at his word. He had presented her with a problem and she had coolly solved it. She had, in fact, exceeded all his expectations—both in and out of the bedroom. But you haven’t even taken her to the bedroom! The voice in his head was taunting him, and his body began to ache even more as he realised just how much unful-filled potential there was with Gabriella.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said stubbornly.
She nearly said, And Nico gets everything he wants. Except that he didn’t. No person did—not even princes—especially not princes. She thought of his lonely childhood, spent on show—brought out on high-days and holidays like a little mannequin. She had seen that for herself in all the photographs. Why on earth should she be surprised if he did not display ‘normal’ emotions?
She arched her eyebrows at him. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No.’
She waited. She didn’t want to go, either—but there was a difference between being honest enough to admit that and being a complete walk-over. Would he come even close to admitting that the feeling between them was powerful enough to make the obstacles of his birth seem momentarily insignificant? Or was that just her own interpretation?
He leaned towards her fractionally, so that she could breathe in the raw, feral scent of him, and his proximity weakened her, as he must have known it would. Say something that means something, she begged him silently. Tell me that even if you know it can’t last, you care for me, even if it’s just the tinest little bit.
‘And surely you want to stay around to see your idea come to fruition?’ he murmured.
She felt the sharp pain of a rejection he wasn’t even aware of, but her face didn’t give a flicker of reaction. It was time to start dealing with reality, not hopeless dreams. Unless she was prepared to do that she was onto a loser.
‘I have a business to run back in England, Nico,’ she reminded him gently. ‘I can’t stay around indefinitely.’ But as soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished she could reach out and grab them back. Because it gave voice to a timespan. They asked for a time limit. She was asking the question she didn’t have the guts to voice directly.
His eyes glittered, and he knew then that he must be up front with her. He wanted her—Ah, si—but on his terms—for there was no other way.
‘I’d like you to stay on for a while, Ella. To put your idea to Gianferro and to the planners, yes—but something more than that.’ He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter—Dio, it didn’t matter! He would live if she said no. His eyes gleamed with dark intent.
He had no intention of letting her say no. ‘I want you as my lover, Gabriella,’ he admitted softly. ‘Just that.’
Just that.
As a declaration it was insulting.
Or just honest?
He was making up the rules, as he had probably done in relationships all his adult life, and Ella realised she could accept that—or not. It all came down to one thing…whether she was prepared to accept him unconditionally, or whether she was going to allow those unrealistic dreams to send her home.
He saw her silent tussle—the yearning in her eyes that she was doing her best to disguise—but he saw, too, the proud way she held her head, and suddenly it was the most irresistible of combinations.
‘I want to kiss you,’ he ground out, the blood heating like molten lava in his veins. He could feel the fire spreading over his skin. ‘But I cannot do that. Not now and not here. Indeed, I cannot come to your suite here, for the same reason that you cannot visit me in my rooms at the palace—the gossips will learn of it and your life will be made hell.’
‘And yours, too, of course, Nico,’ she observed drily. ‘Let’s not forget that.’
‘We must be discreet,’ he said, as if she had not spoken.
Discreet. As Royal mistresses had been since the beginning of dynastic rule.
‘I have a house just outside Solajoya,’ he continued. ‘We can use that whenever we please. It is very beautiful and very isolated.’
Just as he was. Ella stared at the ebony smoulder of his eyes, the soft curve of anticipation that made his lush lips so sensual. His strong, lean body was tensed and expectant. She could almost feel the pulsing of his desire as it shimmered through the air towards her, and it was a feeling that was met and matched by her own.
Shouldn’t she just take away what she had experienced in his arms? Take it away to remember it with pleasure? Like a golden treasure to be pulled out on rainy days, to remind her of a time that had been both precious and matchless? There could be no future in a relationship with this man; the only outcome that lay ahead was certain heartbreak. And not, she suspected, simply because of his Royal position.
The Mediterranean Prince's Passion (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 1) Page 11
