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

Her words took him by surprise. ‘Home?’ he demanded, his brow deepening into a frown.

‘Of course.’ The smile became easier—encouraged by the almost insulting look of astonishment on his face! Did his women usually cling with all the tenacity of a rock-climber hanging on for dear life? ‘What is there to stay for now? I’ve made my recommendations to improve some of Mardivino’s problems, and you’ve managed to have sex with me.’

‘Managed?’ he shot out, affronted. ‘You make it sound as though you had nothing to do with it!’

‘Do I?’ Ella was enjoying herself now—how wonderful to see that look of indifference replaced by a genuine emotion, even if it was anger! ‘Well, obviously that’s not true. I—’

‘How very good of you to concede that!’ His mocking words sliced right through hers, his eyes glittering at her in challenge.

‘I was part of what happened.’

‘Thank God for that,’ he said drily.

‘But there is no need for me to stay now. Not really.’

Nico’s mouth hardened. She was right; there wasn’t. The bottom line was that her job here had been a ruse. A threat. A demonstration of his power and privilege—and yet she had taken him at his word. He had presented her with a problem and she had coolly solved it. She had, in fact, exceeded all his expectations—both in and out of the bedroom. But you haven’t even taken her to the bedroom! The voice in his head was taunting him, and his body began to ache even more as he realised just how much unful-filled potential there was with Gabriella.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said stubbornly.

She nearly said, And Nico gets everything he wants. Except that he didn’t. No person did—not even princes—especially not princes. She thought of his lonely childhood, spent on show—brought out on high-days and holidays like a little mannequin. She had seen that for herself in all the photographs. Why on earth should she be surprised if he did not display ‘normal’ emotions?

She arched her eyebrows at him. ‘Don’t you?’

‘No.’

She waited. She didn’t want to go, either—but there was a difference between being honest enough to admit that and being a complete walk-over. Would he come even close to admitting that the feeling between them was powerful enough to make the obstacles of his birth seem momentarily insignificant? Or was that just her own interpretation?

He leaned towards her fractionally, so that she could breathe in the raw, feral scent of him, and his proximity weakened her, as he must have known it would. Say something that means something, she begged him silently. Tell me that even if you know it can’t last, you care for me, even if it’s just the tinest little bit.

‘And surely you want to stay around to see your idea come to fruition?’ he murmured.

She felt the sharp pain of a rejection he wasn’t even aware of, but her face didn’t give a flicker of reaction. It was time to start dealing with reality, not hopeless dreams. Unless she was prepared to do that she was onto a loser.

‘I have a business to run back in England, Nico,’ she reminded him gently. ‘I can’t stay around indefinitely.’ But as soon as the words were out of her mouth she wished she could reach out and grab them back. Because it gave voice to a timespan. They asked for a time limit. She was asking the question she didn’t have the guts to voice directly.

His eyes glittered, and he knew then that he must be up front with her. He wanted her—Ah, si—but on his terms—for there was no other way.

‘I’d like you to stay on for a while, Ella. To put your idea to Gianferro and to the planners, yes—but something more than that.’ He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter—Dio, it didn’t matter! He would live if she said no. His eyes gleamed with dark intent.

He had no intention of letting her say no. ‘I want you as my lover, Gabriella,’ he admitted softly. ‘Just that.’

Just that.

As a declaration it was insulting.

Or just honest?

He was making up the rules, as he had probably done in relationships all his adult life, and Ella realised she could accept that—or not. It all came down to one thing…whether she was prepared to accept him unconditionally, or whether she was going to allow those unrealistic dreams to send her home.

He saw her silent tussle—the yearning in her eyes that she was doing her best to disguise—but he saw, too, the proud way she held her head, and suddenly it was the most irresistible of combinations.

‘I want to kiss you,’ he ground out, the blood heating like molten lava in his veins. He could feel the fire spreading over his skin. ‘But I cannot do that. Not now and not here. Indeed, I cannot come to your suite here, for the same reason that you cannot visit me in my rooms at the palace—the gossips will learn of it and your life will be made hell.’

‘And yours, too, of course, Nico,’ she observed drily. ‘Let’s not forget that.’

‘We must be discreet,’ he said, as if she had not spoken.

Discreet. As Royal mistresses had been since the beginning of dynastic rule.