The Mediterranean Prince's Passion (The Royal House of Cacciatore 1)

‘Then you must eat.’ He began to move away, as if he couldn’t wait to put physical distance between them.

‘No—wait!’

He stilled at her words, a bemused expression on his lean and handsome face. How long had it been since someone had issued such a curt order? ‘What is it?’

‘How long have I been here?’ she questioned faintly.

‘Only a day.’

Only a day? Only a day! She shook her head again to clear it, and strands of memory began to filter back. A boat. A boat trip taken with a bunch of people who, it had turned out, knew nothing of basic maritime law or safety. Who had proceeded to drink themselves into oblivion. And a man who had invited her—who had clearly thought that a woman should pay the traditional price for a luxury weekend.

She screwed up her nose. What had his name been?

Mark! Yes, that was it. Mark.

Her eyes now accustomed to the dim light within the interior of the room, Ella turned her head slowly to look around.

‘Where’s Mark? What’s happened to him?’

Nico’s mouth hardened. Had ‘Mark’ been on her mind when she had pressed her body so close to his? Or was she the kind of woman who was naturally free with her body?

‘By now—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—he will just about be released from jail.’

‘Jail!’ She stared at him in confusion. ‘How come?’

‘Because I informed the local police of their trespass,’ he informed her coolly.

‘You’ve had him put in jail?’

‘Not him,’ he corrected. ‘Them. All of them.’

Ella swallowed, suddenly fearful. Just where was she? And who the hell was he? ‘Isn’t that a bit over the top?’

‘You think so?’ His voice became filled with contempt. ‘Putting the trespass aside—you think it acceptable for people to be drunk in charge of a powerful boat? To put not only their own lives in danger, but those of others? And that includes you! What do you think might have happened if I hadn’t come along?’

Something in the stark accusation of his words made her feel very small and very vulnerable. ‘L-look, I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done,’ she said, in a low trembling voice, ‘but would you mind telling me exactly what’s going on? I don’t—’

He silenced her with an autocratic wave of his hand. ‘No more questions. Not now. Later you will ask me whatever you please and I shall answer it, but first you must eat. You have been sick. You are weak and you are hungry and you need food. You will have your answers, but later.’

Ella opened her mouth to object, and then shut it again, realising that she was in no position to do so. And even if she had been she simply did not have the strength. He was right—she felt all weak and woolly with the aftermath of fever.

Yet surely she wasn’t expected to just lie here, helpless beneath the cover, while this handsome, dominant stranger told her what she could and couldn’t do? But what was the alternative? Did she just leap out of bed, feeling strangely naked despite his T-shirt?

He turned his head to look at her and saw the fleeting look of vulnerability that had melted away her objections. Only this time he had to force himself to respond to it. Before it had been easy. While she had been sick he had been able to be gentle with her, as he would have with a child. But now that she was awake it was different. And suddenly not so easy. For she was a beautiful, breathing woman and not a child.

Almost without thinking Nico rebuilt the familiar emotional barriers with which he habitually surrounded himself.

‘You wish to wash, perhaps?’

‘Please.’ But she noticed that his voice had grown cool.

He pointed to a curtain at the far end of the simple room. ‘You’ll find some basic facilities through there,’ he said. He pulled a fresh T-shirt down from an open shelf and threw it onto the divan.

‘You might want that,’ he said. ‘All your stuff is still on the boat and your bikini is hanging outside. I washed it,’ he explained, amused to see her look of barely concealed horror. Was she afraid he was expecting her to change in front of him? Then clearly she had no memory of how her T-shirt had slithered up her naked thighs as she had thrashed around. Of how he had played the gentleman and slithered it right down again. ‘Don’t be shy—I’ll be outside.’

Don’t be shy! Ella watched him disappearing through the door, caught a dazzling glimpse of blue as it opened, and heard the hypnotic pounding music of the waves.

She was obviously in some kind of beach hut—but where exactly?