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

‘So it would rely on more than banks and tax exiles?’

‘You’ve done your homework,’ he remarked.

‘Please don’t patronise me, Nico!’

‘I wasn’t,’ he said, in a voice that was almost gentle. ‘I was applauding your work ethic, if you must know.’

She didn’t want to bask in his praise, like a cat sitting in front of a glowing fire, she wanted to remain immune to him—all of him. But she could see it wasn’t going to be easy.

She settled back in her seat and stared out of the window. The sky was as blue as a swimming pool, and the sun beat down on the magenta blooms of the trees that lined the roads. She was filled with the sudden sense of exhilaration that a new and beautiful place always gave her—until she reminded herself of the reason why she was here. Pretend he isn’t twenty-eight and devastatingly gorgeous and virile. He’s an old man. A grandfather. ‘So which is the official language of Mardivino?’ she asked politely, because her reference books hadn’t made this very clear.

He increased the speed of the car, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. More homework, he guessed. ‘The four languages of Italian, Spanish, French and English are interchangable,’ he said.

‘But isn’t that very confusing?’

‘Not for me,’ he said softly. ‘For a linguist it is extremely useful. It means that you are rarely at the disadvantage of not being able to understand what is being said.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘It also means that you can switch language so that people do not always understand you.’

Ella snorted. ‘Well, if I were you I would brush up on your interpretation skills, Nico! Because I distinctly remember telling you that I didn’t want to take this job, and yet you still twisted my arm to get me here!’

He laughed softly. ‘Ah, Gabriella—do you not know that a man finds it unbearably exciting when a woman spars with him the way that you do?’

‘Particularly when he’s not used to it?’ she queried perceptively.

‘Especially that,’ he agreed. Why, meeting such defiance and insubordination head-on was almost like learning a new language in itself!

‘That isn’t why I’m doing it,’ she objected.

‘I know it isn’t. Now, let’s call a truce for the moment. You are here, and you might as well enjoy it, so why don’t you look out of the window again and you can see how beautiful my island is?’

‘Where are we going?’ she asked suddenly.

‘You will be staying at L’Etoile Hotel,’ he replied. ‘You have heard of it, perhaps?’

Of course she had—she had spent the past few days learning as much as she could about the principality—and for a small island it had a hell of a lot of history. L’Etoile was the kind of hotel that vied with the world’s finest for style and luxury and elegance. The kind of place whose prices were beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.

With mounting dismay Ella stared down at her rather rumpled skirt. Wasn’t she going to stand out like a very sore thumb?

You’re in the travel business, she reminded herself. No one will be expecting you to compete with the jet-set.

‘That should be fun,’ she said evenly.

‘And you will work from a small office within the palace,’ he said casually.

Ella swallowed. If she had thought her clothes too ordinary for a luxury hotel, then how the hell was she going to compete in a palace? You won’t, she told herself. You’ll just be yourself.

‘Could you drive me through as much of the main town as possible on the way there?’ she asked coolly.

‘Any particular reason why?’

‘I just want to get the lie of the land. The more I know, the better prepared I will be.’ And the sooner I can get home again. But her attention was caught by a cluster of gleaming white buildings that suddenly made home seem a very long way away.

‘We’re just coming into Solajoya now. I’ll take you by the backstreets.’

And it was beautiful, thought Ella as she looked down. Utterly beautiful. The roads were narrow and winding, with tall shuttered houses decked with pots of brightly coloured flowers.

He negotiated steep curves towards what was obviously the centre, where the main streets were thronged with people—some clearly heading back from the beach, while others were clustered outside a large, white building, creating a kind of human bottleneck. There were long-haired students in jeans sitting on the steps to the building, writing postcards, and earnest-looking older groups, all studying guidebooks with rapt preoccupation.

Ella leaned forward. ‘What’s going on in there?’