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

He lifted the tips of her fingers and touched them to his lips, feeling them tremble at that one brief contact. He increased the pressure of his mouth and saw her eyelids flutter to a close.

‘Nico,’ she whispered.

They fluttered open again and her eyes were like pure gleaming emeralds amid the tangle of dark lashes. He gave a small groan, briefly tangling his hands into the tawny splendour of her hair before pulling her into his arms, the dark light of conquest firing his eyes as he stared down at her.

‘Nico, what?’ he demanded huskily.

‘This is…wrong,’ she breathed.

But she made no move to stop him, to push him away or to detach herself from his embrace, and all he could do was drink in these lips and this face, which had haunted his dreams since that all-too-brief encounter of such tender and sensual beauty. And then he could wait no longer—could think no further than the need to taste and to kiss her once more.

Her hands caught and gripped his broad shoulders as if they were magnetised, her breath escaping in a gasp that mingled with his breath as she felt the hard, seeking warmth of his mouth.

‘Oh,’ she moaned weakly against him, as his hands splayed down to cup her buttocks, bringing her closer into the hard cradle of his desire. ‘Oh!’

Urgently, he moved his hand downwards and drifted his fingers up her bare thigh, scraping the tips in soft, enticing circles. He felt her legs part in invitation.

He felt as if he was going to explode. As if he wanted to rip the cheap little dress from her and take her right there. He moved her panties aside and delved into her hot, sticky heat, and she gasped with pleasure.

‘I want you, Gabriella,’ he ground out. ‘I want you so much.’

And she wanted him, too. So badly. Boldly she touched him back, drifting her hand over his hardness to feel it increase, and he tore his mouth away from hers.

‘Come with me to my apartment,’ he said urgently. ‘Let me make love to you all the rest of the day and all through the night, until you have emptied me of all my seed.’

It was a curiously powerful and unexpected thing to say, and it shook Ella even more than the light, expert caress of his fingers and the memory of his passionate kiss. Quite what she would have done next, she didn’t know—and she never had the chance to find out because there was a loud peremptory rap on the door and Nico froze.

She looked at him in horror. ‘The door!’ she whispered.

He acted instinctively, tugging her dress down into place and moving away from her, raking his hand back through his ruffled dark hair, aware that her musky perfume was still lingering on his fingers. He let out a brief, shuddering sigh.

‘Yes?’ he shot out.

The door opened and a man stood there, and even if she hadn’t studied photos of him earlier that day Ella would have known instantly that it was Nico’s eldest brother Gianferro.

She tried to picture the scene through his eyes. Outwardly, they were both decent—no clothing in disarray—but it must be obvious just what had been about to happen. Their heightened colour and hectic eyes held a sexual tension so taut that it felt as if it might snap, as if a mere breath could shatter it—and Gianferro just had. She wished that the floor would open up and swallow h

er as the Crown Prince stared at her.

Gianferro’s dark, unreadable eyes moved from her to Nico. ‘Forgive me,’ he said icily. ‘This is obviously an inopportune moment.’

His expression was one that Nico could read perfectly, but he met the disapproving accusation head-on, brazening it out. And why the hell shouldn’t he? He was not a child, and his brother was not his keeper! If he barged in on two consenting adults, then he just might not like what he would find.

‘Gianferro,’ he said, as coolly as if he had been taking tea with a woman on some sun-dappled terrace. ‘I would like you to meet Ella Scott, who will be using her travel expertise to advise us. Ella, this is my brother, the Crown Prince Gianferro.’

Briefly and autocratically Gianferro inclined his head, and Ella sent Nico an agonised glance. Was she supposed to curtsey, or what? In silent understanding he sent her a barely perceptible shake of the head.

‘And what is your particular area of expertise, Miss Scott?’ drawled the heir.

She knew what he was implying, and if only she had been a sheet of paper she would have crumpled into a ball of shame. But adaptability was the name of the game. She couldn’t pretend that what had just happened hadn’t happened, but she could deal with it. She had committed no crime and she was not his cringeing subject.

‘Actually, I specialise in the small-is-beautiful market, Your Royal Highness,’ she said smoothly. ‘Which sort of sums Mardivino up, don’t you think?’

Nico sent her a silent look of admiration. Most women of his acquaintance would have blushed and stammered their way out of that one. He had been about to leap in to protect Ella from Gianferro’s barely veiled hostility, but now he could see that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

‘Nico hasn’t told me how long you intend staying,’ said the Crown Prince.

‘That’s because I haven’t yet decided how long I need to. I haven’t signed any kind of contract.’ She couldn’t miss the unmistakable look of surprise on his face. And on Nico’s. Presumably they were used to making the decisions, not employing people who made their own! ‘But you can rest assured that my work will be accomplished in as short a time as possible,’ she continued sweetly, seeing Nico’s eyes narrow into dark, glittering shards. He wants to call all the shots, she recognised. And I am not going to let him.