Defying the Prince

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nbsp; ‘If you weren’t so moody you’d be really sexy.’ She tilted her head back and those bewitching eyes fixed on his. ‘Why don’t you ever smile? Are you unhappy, Matt?’ That mass of soft hair whispered gently over his hand—the same hand he’d been fighting not to plant in the centre of her back.

He started to withdraw, but a curl of hair wound itself around his finger like a silken noose and suddenly, instead of letting go, his hand was touching her cheek. Control was eclipsed by raw desire and Matteo captured her face in his hands, bringing his mouth down on hers. Her shock mirrored his own and then her lips parted under the demands of his, her mouth soft, sweet and unapologetically sexual as she kissed him back. As her tongue slid over his, raw sexual heat ripped through him and Matteo locked his hands on her hips and pulled her hard against him.

They were welded together, their mouths creating a fire that devoured both of them, so wild and out of control that the next move would have been the bed behind them had it not been for the knock on the door.

He heard it dimly, through a fog of sexual excitement and primitive need, but when he tried to lift his head she gave a low moan of protest and dug her fingers into his hair, prolonging the kiss for a few more erotic moments. Or maybe he was the one who prolonged the kiss. Either way they were still kissing when the second knock came, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob turning.

With a supreme effort Matteo dragged his mouth from hers and disengaged himself just moments before one of the kitchen staff entered with a tray of food and a pot of coffee.

Twice, he thought. Twice in the space of a few hours he’d lost control with this woman.

‘Grazie. Just leave it on the table.’

If the girl from his kitchens was surprised by his unusually abrupt tone then she didn’t show it. Instead she simply took the cover off the sandwiches and was about to pour the coffee when Matteo dismissed her.

‘I’ll do it.’

The girl scurried out of the room.

Next to him Izzy stood, swaying slightly on her bare feet, her eyes not quite meeting his.

She looked slightly dazed, as if she’d been struck by lightning.

He knew exactly how she was feeling only he didn’t have alcohol as an excuse.

‘Eat something.’

She stirred and looked round her. ‘What happened to my bag?’ She spied it on the bed and walked unsteadily over to it. ‘Need to write something down before I forget.’ It took her three attempts to unclip the bag and pull out a pen and a small notebook.

Matteo watched in exasperation as she tried to focus on something she’d written.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m evaluating today. I do it every night before I go to sleep, but I’m afraid that tonight I’m going to forget, so I’m doing it now.’

‘Evaluating today?’

‘Every day should have a purpose.’ She swayed and almost lost her balance and Matteo was just stepping forward ready to catch her when she planted her hands on the bed to steady herself. The notebook fell to the floor and he retrieved it, his temper simmering.

He was about to hand it back and make his exit when he saw the words on the page.

Goal of the Day—Meet Moody Matteo.

A scalding flame of anger speared his body. ‘You actually took the trouble to write it down?’

‘Give me that—it’s private.’ Her attempt to snatch the book from him almost sent her tumbling again. ‘And yes, I write it down. It’s like making a promise to myself. I will achieve my dream.’

Feeling sick to his stomach, Matteo handed her the book. ‘I’m going to kill that dream of yours stone dead. Get this straight right now—I am not your goal.’ His palms were damp and the past flashed into his head with explosive force, blasting through the barriers he erected between himself and the world. ‘I am not your target.’

She winced. ‘Could you speak in a softer voice? My head hurts. And I do think you’re slightly overreacting.’

Matteo swore fluently in Italian and strode to the door.

Her voice stopped him. ‘Well, this has been a very interesting evening. I think we’ve each learned something about the other, which is useful as we’re going to be related. I’ve learned that despite being so uptight on the surface, underneath you’re steaming hot and you kiss like a god. What have you learned, Your Highness?’

He’d learned that what had happened to him years before remained embedded like shrapnel in his subconscious.