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

‘It is the gallery of Juan Lopez,’ explained Nico. ‘You know him?’

Ella frowned. ‘He’s an artist?’ she remembered.

‘Was. He died over fifty years ago—an early and tragic death—but for an artist that is always a good selling point.’

‘How cynical!’ observed Ella.

‘How true,’ he retorted softly.

‘Tell me about him.’

He smile

d, realising that their relationship had been forged in relative equality, and that she had no intention of tempering her attitude towards him now, in the light of what she had since discovered.

‘He was what they call “an artist’s artist”—a student of Picasso, and he lived most of his life here. Those who know him love him, and come from all over the world to see his work. He bequeathed it all to Mardivino, on condition that it stay here. He loved this island, you see.’

And, looking out at the distant harbour, Ella could see exactly why. It was like a toy town—the buildings all pure white, the main street lined with palm trees that swayed gently in the breeze.

The car approached the sea and suddenly there was L’Etoile—white against the sapphire backdrop, and glittering as starrily as its name implied.

Nico stopped the car outside and turned to look at her, and Ella’s breath caught in her throat. It was okay in theory to tell yourself that you were going to be immune to a man’s charisma, but quite another when you were confronted with it in such close proximity—so close that you could almost feel the warmth of his breath, almost touch the silken texture of his olive skin, see for yourself the black, glittering eyes that both mocked and enticed.

‘You have a choice, cara,’ he said softly. ‘I can accompany you inside, if you prefer, but if I do there will be something of a…a fuss,’ he concluded, after a moment.

She remembered the people pointing at him at the airport, how he must live his life with a sense of being continually on show. ‘Do you go to that beach hut to escape all the fuss?’ she questioned, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be keeping this trip on a purely professional footing.

‘But of course. It is peaceful and isolated there.’ The corners of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile. ‘Bar the odd mermaid washed up on my shore, of course.’

‘Then please don’t come inside,’ she said quickly, but it was less to do with the projected ‘fuss’ than the dangers of that achingly soft smile.

He nodded and glanced at his watch. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to unpack your stuff.’

‘I haven’t brought very much. I don’t intend to stay here longer than a week, Nico.’

His eyes glittered. She would stay here for as long as he deemed it necessary—no more and no less. ‘I’ll pick you up in an hour,’ he said steadily. ‘Show you your office at the palace.’

‘Make it two. I want to wander round on my own for a bit first. Get a feel for the place before I enter the hallowed portals of the palace.’

‘I will have someone accompany you.’

‘You will not! I want to be free to explore on my own.’

Free, he thought, with a sudden sense of yearning. ‘You are a very stubborn woman, Gabriella,’ he said softly.

‘I don’t deny it.’

He opened his mouth to object, and then shut it again—for what could he do? Carry her off by force? Tell her that she was there to do his bidding?

Furiously recognising that at the moment she seemed to have the upper hand, he got out of the car, pulled her bag from the boot and handed it to her. She hadn’t been joking—he had never seen a woman travel with such a small suitcase.

His eyes travelled to the pretty little shoes she wore—delicate, sexy little kitten heels, which showed the delectable curves of her tiny ankles. ‘If you’re planning to explore the city, then I suggest you wear something more sensible than those to walk in,’ he said tightly. ‘Fino ad allora, cara.’

CHAPTER NINE

ELLA glanced around her hotel accommodation with a combination of excitement and disbelief—because the ‘room’ she had imagined staying in was actually a suite—and nearly as big as the ground floor of her home in England!

She let her eyes drift over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, which commanded a breathtaking view of the sapphire sweep of the sea beyond. Tiny cotton wool clouds batted playfully at one another in the vast blue arena of the sky, and sunlight glinted off the sleek lines of distant yachts.