The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House of Cacciatore 2)

She touched the damp silken skin which covered the hard musculature of his shoulder. ‘Didn’t you say we had to see your brother?’

Reluctantly he opened his eyes, swearing quietly as he lifted his wrist to glance at his watch and then at her. With her tumble of tousled hair and the hectic glitter of her honey-coloured eyes she looked exactly what she was. A highly-sexed and wanton woman who had just been ravished. He felt himself harden, wishing himself far away from the constrictions of this old life again. What wouldn’t he give to do it to her all over again?

‘How soon can you be ready?’ The question came out more tersely than he had intended, but he was trying desperately to detach himself—and for once it wasn’t easy. Was that because she was the most equal lover he had ever had?

Lucy blushed, her already high colour deepening still further. ‘I’ll need to take a quick shower,’ she said. ‘And I’ll have to get something from my suitcase. To wear,’ she added.

‘Some of your clothes will have already been hung up,’ he said shortly. ‘The rest are being pressed. Hurry up now, cara mia. The bathroom is through there.’

Still shaky, she moved away from the bed and stumbled towards the door he was indicating.

Lucy had been flying long enough to be able to get ready in fast time, but as she stood beneath the power jets of the shower it occurred to her that there had not really been time for what had just happened. He should have stopped. She had tried to stop him—not very hard, it was true—but she had done her level best.

Was it an act of defiance? Or some basic and territorial instinct that had made Guido want to make love to her so passionately and so immediately?

She was so busy selecting what on earth she should wear to go and meet the Crown Prince, and wondering why he had requested to meet her before dinner, that a vital fact completely slipped her mind.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘HIS Serene Highness the Crown Prince Gianferro Miguel Laurens Cacciatore.’

Lucy rose to her feet as Guido’s imposing brother entered the room, aware that her pulse was racing and her mouth dry.

It was strange—though understandable, she supposed—that she had always been remarkly unfazed by Guido’s title and position, yet she felt positively nervous about meeting the heir to the throne for the first time. Maybe it was because she had met Guido socially, at a party, when he could have been just anyone—whilst here, in the Palace, she felt rather as she imagined a small child might feel if they had been chosen out of all their classmates to present a bouquet to the Queen.

Even though Guido had told her not to, she found herself making some kind of bobbing curtsey, and he nodded in response, a rather reluctant smile curving his lips.

‘Please,’ he said, and indicated a chair close to the rather more ornate one he had perched on. ‘Sit.’ He glanced at his brother. ‘Guido, you will leave us?’

Guido gave an equable nod which belied the cold gleam of anger in his eyes. ‘I’ll stay. Lucy likes to have me around—do you not, cara?’

Lucy had a brother of her own, and she recognised sibling rivalry and unsettled scores when she came across them. The two men were glaring at each other across the Throne Room and she felt like piggy-in-the-middle. This was hardly going to bode well for the baptism—unless she could manage to turn it around so that neither man lost face.

‘Yes, Guido,’ she said softly, ‘I do. But I’m happy to speak with your brother alone if you think I can manage it?’

Guido’s eyes narrowed as they engaged in a silent, clashing duel with hers. Now she was making it sound as though he was watching over her to ensure that she did not make some monumental error of manners, leaving him no choice but to withdraw. He scowled. Why did women always play such complicated games?

‘I will go and say hello to my new nephew,’ he said abruptly, and shot his brother a mocking glance. ‘Perhaps you would care to direct Lucy to the nursery, Gianferro, once you’ve finished your little…chat?’

Gianferro nodded. ‘Si.’ But when Guido had left the room he turned to Lucy, a curious expression in the black eyes which were even harder than Guido’s. ‘How strange it is,’ he observed, in a softly accented voice which seemed underpinned with a note of censure, ‘that my brothers seem attracted to women who are light-years away from them in upbringing and experience.’

She didn’t think he had meant to insult her, but an insult it undoubtedly was—though one couched in silken terms. You are not Guido’s equal. That was what he really meant, and Lucy stared at him. Did he think she didn’t already know that? That she hadn’t been aware of the great and glaring differences right from the word go? Yet pride made her want to hang on to her dignity, not to state the obvious and pick over her humble background.

Her training as a stewardess had given her an invaluable lesson in the making of small-talk, and she seized on it now. ‘Perhaps they enjoy variety,’ she said lightly.

His eyes narrowed, as if he suspected that she had deliberately misunderstood him. He paused for a moment, and when he spoke the silken veneer of his words had been replaced with the harder ring of truth. ‘I understand that you have been seeing him for almost a year.’

‘Did Guido tell you that?’ she asked in surprise.

‘Not exactly.’

And Lucy recognised then that whatever Guido did his movements would be monitored and fed back to the Crown Prince. No doubt Gianferro would have said that he had Guido’s best interests at heart, but wasn’t it really a not-so-subtle method of spying?

Suddenly she felt protective of her lover. And defensive, too. ‘We meet only infrequently,’ she said quickly. ‘Because of the nature of my job.’

‘And his nature.’

Their eyes met. Now he was telling her that Guido was not the settling-down type, and once again his words were redundant. For she knew that, too. ‘Perhaps,’ she said slowly.