His brow creased into a frown. Nothing was turning out as he had planned. Why was she continuing to hold him at arm’s length when he knew damned well that she wanted him?
‘We’re here,’ he bit out, as the car bumped its way over the dusty road that led to the village.
It was an unprepossessing place—high and barren, the sea so far away that it looked like a sapphire strip of ribbon in the distance. Nico looked around him; he hadn’t been here for years.
The local people still harvested their olive crop, but these days they had to compete with the mass-farming methods of larger countries, such as Greece, and it showed. The place looked run-down, the small restaurant on the main street tired. They walked through the village and back, struck by its emptiness and its silence. No one was on the streets bar a couple of children scratching symbols in the dust, who stared at them with wide, curious eyes. Certainly no one recognised him. It was like a ghost town, thought Nico dazedly.
‘No one ever comes here,’ he said slowly, as their footsteps drew them back to the car. Not even him. He might tear around the island on his motorbike, but he never really stopped long enough to look. To stand and stare. He shook his head, like a man waking from a long sleep. What could he do to help these people? he wondered.
You didn’t have to be the heir to care, he realized, and part of him resented the fact that it had taken this stranger, this Englishwoman, to show him this. But who else would have dared? Who would have looked him straight in the eyes and said the things to him that Gabriella had done?
And didn’t her complete lack of connection with his island give him the rare opportunity to express himself? What would it matter to her?
‘I have neglected places such as this.’
She heard the guilt in his voice. ‘You can’t do everything, Nico,’ she said softly.
‘I could do more,’ he said suddenly.
‘I agree. In fact, I think I have a solution for places like this—well, certainly this place in particular.’
She was good at her job, he recognised suddenly. Very good. His instinct that fresh eyes would provide a fresh perspective had been a sound one. Just so long as she understood her limitations…
Her hair looked like spun gold as the sun beat down on them, warming his skin, inexorably filling him with a languid feeling of contentment. She had sensibly worn a hat to shade her face, and it had the effect of making her look very pure and innocent.
Innocent?
With breathtaking clarity he recalled her skill as a lover, and the deep aching that he had been doing his best to suppress suddenly burst into life and dominated everything.
‘Do you…do you want to hear it?’ asked Ella, suddenly breathless—because when he looked at her like that it made her feel… She swallowed, suddenly aware of the sound of a distant bird, of the strong, heavy beat of her heart.
‘Do I want to hear…what?’ he questioned evenly, deliberately misunderstanding, deliberately sending her a silent, sensual message with his eyes.
She wanted him to stop that—and yet she wanted him to go on looking at her like that for ever. ‘My…idea, of course.’
He gave a slow smile. ‘Want to tell me about it over lunch?’
Her heart was now crashing a symphony beneath her breast. ‘It’s a little early for lunch.’
‘We can look at the scenery for a while.’
Ella shrugged—as if it didn’t matter, as if she didn’t care. ‘Okay,’ she agreed, and wondered where the brisk, cool businesswoman had disappeared to. Lost in the soft ebony promise of his eyes, that was where.
He drove towards the interior, stopping the car near a small copse of trees she didn’t recognise—tall, graceful trees, with broad leaves providing a canopy and tiny blue flowers intertwined. It was beautiful but it was secluded, Ella realised, her heart beating even faster. So ask him to take you somewhere else, mocked the inner voice of sense.
‘Do you want to spread the rug out?’ he asked carelessly. ‘And I’ll bring the picnic.’
Shutting the door on sense, she did as he asked, spreading the cashmere rug out on the grass with fingers that were trembling. As he put the basket down and sat beside her she knew what was about to happen. She wondered not would she be able to resist—but whether she really wanted to resist.
Nico leaned back on his elbows and studied her. Her body looked taut, expectant—oh, God, yes. It was shady beneath the trees and the dappled sunlight rippled over them in a kaleidoscope of gold.
‘Why don’t you take your hat off?’ he suggested softly. ‘I can’t see your eyes.’
She wasn’t sure she wanted him to. Wouldn’t he be able to read in them her doubts, her fears? And, most of all, her longing. They were supposed to be working, yet working was the furthest thing on her mind right now.
But she removed it anyway, feeling as shy as if he had asked her to strip for him, and her hair tumbled down over her shoulders like heavy silk.
‘Your beautiful eyes,’ he murmured. ‘So very green.’