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

And he wanted more of that passion.

He parked in the lane leading up to her cottage and slowly locked the car, pocketing the keys thoughtfully, aware of the lush green froth of the leaves on the trees and the sunshine that dappled the dusty ground. He could hear the sweet, soaring sound of birdsong and that surprised him, too—had his senses suddenly come alive?

It’s just the power of new and different sex, he told himself. His appetite had been jaded and she had simply been something fresh on his tastebuds. And, oh, how he wanted to taste her again…

He rang the doorbell.

Standing out of view in the kitchen, Ella heard the bell above her thundering heart and thought about ignoring it. Surely that would be best? Presumably he would go away and that would be that. She couldn’t see him standing waiting patiently all day—because that wasn’t the kind of thing that princes did, was it?

But if she let him walk away then there would be no sense of closure. Realistically, she knew their paths would never cross again and she would never get the opportunity to say what she wanted to say. Or rather, to tell him what he needed to hear. The conniving, deceiving snake!

How would he be expecting her to react?

It nearly killed her, but Ella fixed a look of delighted surprise on her face as she pulled open the door. Well, even that wasn’t completely false. He might have deceived her, but that didn’t stop her responding to him on a purely physical level.

And as a man, he was utterly magnificent. The endlessly long, muscular legs were encased in dark faded denim, and he wore a black T-shirt that clung to every sinew of his impressive torso. His black hair was ruffled, as if he had been driving with the roof down, and his dark eyes were set like precious jewels in his olive skin.

But the thought of jewels made her remember, and she only just stopped herself from slamming the door shut again.

‘Nico!’ she breathed, in what she hoped was the manner of a smitten woman talking to her new lover. ‘I wasn’t expecting you!’

‘I should have rung.’

She let the mildest reproach enter her voice. ‘Well, you did say you would.’

He unconsciously relaxed, the tension leaving his body as he acknowledged the undramatic greeting. So she didn’t know! Which meant, of course, that he was going to have to tell her.

But not yet.

Later…

First let him have one more heart-stopping afternoon of unburdened lovemaking in her arms. ‘May I come in?’

For a moment Ella’s nerve almost left her. It would be easier and less distracting if she told him here, now. And then she steeled herself. Surely she wasn’t so weak and wimpish that she would let his overpowering presence influence her in the light of what she had discovered?

She set her mouth into a glassy smile. Such a practised master of deceit! Let Prince Nicolo of Mardivino have a taste of his own medicine!

‘Of course,’ she said lightly, and whirled off towards the kitchen, leaving him to follow her. ‘Come through.’

Nico frowned, because now he really was surprised. Surely this time she should have melted into his arms? Was she regretting what had happened? Deciding that maybe it had been too easy last time? The frown became a smile as he acknowledged yet another facet of this unknown world. He could wait…it would do him good to wait…and the waiting would fuel his already sharpened appetite.

She was standing beside the fridge, looking as if she was starring in an old-fashioned commercial, with a bright smile on her face.

‘What can I get you, Nico? Champagne?’

He began to grow uneasy. They had been to bed, yes, and it had been pretty damned wonderful—but it was hardly a cause for celebration, was it? He racked back through his memory, trying to recall what he had said to her in those incredible few hours in bed. No, nothing to give her the idea that this wasn’t anything other than a brief affair.

‘Do you want champagne?’ he questioned.

And Ella knew then that she could not maintain this façade a moment longer. ‘Actually, I think it would choke me.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Then why did you—’

‘But that’s probably because it’s fairly ordinary champagne.’ She cut right through his words, noting his fleeting look of surprise. He probably wasn’t used to that, she surmised. People interrupting him. ‘And I expect you’re used to drinking only the finest stuff, aren’t you? Nicolo.’

His heart beat with the dull, heavy thud of something that felt a little lik

e disappointment—if only he was sure how that felt. But one thing he was sure of was his own stupidity. He had been living in a fantasy all of his own making. ‘You know?’ he said dully.