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

And Nico was lost…lost in something that was like new territory to him. He had always been a master of self-control, and usually he had the ability to take himself outside the act. To observe the woman and to lead—taking them both at the pace he wished them to follow, almost like a conductor of an orchestra.

But this time it was different. Was that because she had kept him on tenterhooks for what seemed like an eternity? Because he had never been quite sure whether this would actually happen, and, now that it was, its potent sweetness surpassed all his hot and wildest fantasies?

He found himself lost in a deep, dark pleasure where self was obliterated by sensation. His body no longer felt like his, but hers did. All his. His hands moved from her breasts to her hips, holding her tighter as he moved inside her over and over again. He felt that he might die if it did not end soon, yet he wanted it to last for ever.

Her cry split the air, her limbs tensed and then flailed, her eyes closing, her lips whispering his name like a prayer. And Nico followed her, dissolving into something so sweet that it felt sinful.

For a moment he felt the same heady sense of triumph he always experienced when he broke in a new and difficult stallion, or when he sailed hard against the wind.

And then the feeling was gone, and he was left with the more familiar feeling of emptiness.

He must have slept, for when he came to he was tangled in her arms, and the heart that beat beneath his was slow and heavy. He raised his head just as her eyes fluttered open, all smokily green with satiation.

‘Oh, Nico,’ she sighed.

He traced the line of her lip with a lazy finger, and desire returned with a potent power that shook him. His mouth hardened. Keep it in perspective, he told himself.

‘So, tell me all about this idea of yours,’ he drawled.

Ella stared up at him, blinking her eyes in a long moment of confusion. ‘Idea?’ she questioned dazedly. What the hell was he talking about?

He shifted away from her fractionally. Distance gave perspective, and right now he needed it. She could weave an extraordinary kind of magic in his arms, but that was all. That was all.

He turned onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes drifting over hers with a lazy look of amusement. ‘You have forgotten your idea already, cara?’ he teased. ‘If it cannot last beyond the hour then it cannot be an idea of any substance!’

His words brought Ella crashing back to reality with a painful jolt as she heard the mocking truth in them.

No substance.

No substance.

She had wanted to lie there murmuring sweet nothings, but he wanted to talk ideas! At least he had reminded her of her place in the scheme of things.

She composed her face and tried to rid it of the look of dreamy soppiness. Sweet heaven, Ella, you gave him your very soul itself just now, so make sure you claw back every last little bit of pride.

‘Well.’ She drew in a deep breath and the oxygen cleared her head. ‘I will, of course, be making a full list of my proposed recommendations, but there is one thing which I think would have immediate impact—and that’s to do something about the crowds around the Juan Lopez gallery. They’re a real eyesore, and they make a very real congestion problem.’

Had he been expecting her to pout? To tell him prettily that she didn’t want to talk about work at a time like this? Nico’s eyes narrowed. The very unexpectedness of her remark and her cool thinking caught him on the back foot, so that—perversely—he found himself struggling to concentrate on her damned idea, and not on the pure, soft curves of her body.

He stared at her suspiciously. ‘And what do you propose we do about that? Mardivino is rightly proud of her strong links with Lopez.’

‘Move it,’ she said simply.

His suspicious look intensified. ‘Explain yourself.’

Oh, but now he sounded like an autocratic Royal! Yet, oddly enough, Ella’s strength of mind and resolve was returning by the second. Was she going to suddenly become one of those wet-blanket kinds of women just because she had cried out in ecstasy in his arms? No, she was not! Whatever she was feeling inside, she would hide it, and he would not know because she would not let him.

Blocking the yearning desire to brush her fingertips over the dark curve of his jaw, she smiled. ‘Solajoya is buzzing and thriving and it always will be—because it’s a port and the capital. People travel here especially to see the works of Juan Lopez, so they don’t need to be housed in Solajoya. So you move the gallery somewhere else. Somewhere the tourists don’t bother to visit. Somewhere which could do with the extra revenue those tourists would bring. Somewhere like the village we just visited. Why not?’

There was a pause. ‘Why not?’ he echoed thoughtfully, and then the black eyes glittered. ‘It sounds too simple.’

‘The best ideas often are.’ But so were the worst ones. Agreeing to a picnic with him had been simple, and making love simpler still. And yet no matter how much her calm, professional expression tried to hide it she was left with a deep, dark aching in her heart. Because it was never going to be more than this, and if she couldn’t accept that she was going to get badly hurt. Stick with what you know, Ella.

‘That village is badly in need of rejuvenating. Think what this could bring. A brand-new gallery, which would make the most of the paintings, and all the stuff which would go with it. Postcards, and prints, and a restaurant or two. Of course…’ her ideas began to gallop away with her, ‘You would have to be very careful not to destroy the character of the village, but I can’t see you letting that happen.’

‘Why, thank you, Gabriella,’ he said mockingly.

She licked her lips, which were suddenly parched. ‘So, will you think about it?’