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

She was like a lioness protecting her den, thought Nico, and clearly nervous about letting him set foot over the threshold! He had never had to play by the rules of other men before, and now he was beginning to see the disadvantages.

He shook his dark head, recognising the need to get her on neutral territory. ‘No. Let’s go and eat,’ he said.

It was too warm for her to need a coat or wrap, and they walked side by side down the village street, which was washed amber with the light of the sun. An old man was in his front garden, dead-heading his roses, and he smiled at them as they passed.

‘Beautiful evening, isn’t it?’

‘It’s gorgeous,’ said Ella, stealing a look at Nico’s hard, dark profile.

The restaurant was nestled into a crook of the high street, right next to the church. It was small, and run by an e

nthusiastic amateur, but word had spread about its fresh, seasonal food, and in high season it was nearly always full and notoriously hard to get a booking. But on fine nights they put more tables out on the terrace and down onto the lawn beyond, and tonight was one of them.

Ella saw a couple of women turn their heads and stare hard at them as they wended their way to a table beneath a chestnut tree. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised—Nico was exceptionally good-looking, and he really did stand out in a crowd. And there weren’t exactly many Latin hunks strolling round the streets of Greenhampton!

‘You must order for me, cara,’ he said firmly once they had sat down, handing his menu straight back to the waitress.

‘What do you like?’

‘Everything. I like everything.’ His eyes were steady as they rested on her face. ‘I have very catholic tastes.’

Oh, heavens… Ella was aware of a sudden wave of helpless longing as she was caught in the soft ebony light from his eyes. It was as if a man had never looked at her before—though when she stopped to think about it no man had—not with such an undeniable message of sensuality. Yet his silent flirting did nothing to detract from his cool air of self-possession, which seemed so at odds with his warmly Latin exterior.

She ordered asparagus and prawns and chilled Montrachet, unable to miss the unmistakably flirtatious glance the waitress slanted at him—though to his credit he didn’t react in any way.

The sky was a pale Wedgwood blue, softened with apricot edges from the sun. In the distance could be heard the sporadic sound of birdsong and the occasional rattling brush of crickets. Nico had deliberately sat with his back to the other diners, and now he drank a glass of wine and expelled a long, low sigh as he felt all the tension leave his body.

‘That’s good wine,’ he murmured.

She looked up. ‘I know it is.’

He laughed, and captured her eyes. ‘So, have you lived here a long time?’

‘About three years. I went to university nearby and liked it a lot—but it wasn’t until I knew what I wanted to do that I put down roots.’

He ran the tips of his fingers reflectively around his chilled glass. ‘I don’t really know anything about you,’ he observed.

‘No.’ Ella laughed. ‘Maybe it’s because of the peculiar way we met.’

Her phrase had the slight resonance of permanence about it, and made him slightly wary—until he reminded himself that women had a habit of making every new encounter sound as though it was a contender for the Romeo and Juliet stakes. And if he wanted her—which he did—then surely he should indulge her?

He sipped his wine. ‘So tell me about yourself.’

‘Well, I studied History at university.’ She drew a deep breath, then told him about leap-frogging from job to job, about never quite feeling any real satisfaction in her work and being unable to settle to anything, until one day an American cousin of hers had complained that it was impossible to discover the ‘real’ England—that everywhere was just a plastic Ye Olde Teashoppe-type experience. Foreign visitors wanted to see places off the beaten track, places of historic interest and wonderful gardens that weren’t completely overrun by day-trippers with cameras.

‘So you saw a gap in the market?’ he guessed.

‘Absolutely. I sourced all the best small castles and country houses and found comfortable non-chain hotels. I went looking for simple restaurants—ones like this—the kind of places you wouldn’t normally get to hear about. I took a loan from the bank, founded the Real England Tour Company, advertised on the Internet and the business has just taken off. I’ve even got someone working with me now.’

‘Wow.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘So that’s me.’ Ella put her elbows on the table and, leaning forward, rested her chin in her hands. ‘What about you?’

They both watched in silence while the waitress put their food down in front of them. They stared at it as if it was an unwelcome intruder.

Nico ate a prawn, more for convention than hunger’s sake. ‘Actually, I work in tourism myself—but in a different kind of way.’

‘Really? Like what?’