Royally Bedded, Regally Wedded

He did not answer, only smoothed her hair, lacing it with his fingers, and cradled her body against his as his hand smoothed along her back, drifting with slow, exhausted sensuousness until it slowed, and slackened, cupping the ripeness of her hip.

He murmured in Italian—words she did not understand but which flowed like honey through her. Like a balm, a blessing.

Then night folded over them and they slept, entwined, embracing. And she dreamt of heaven, because that was where she was already.

Lizzy was creaming his back. Rico lay face down on a lounger. Ben, having surfaced from his siesta, his energy levels renewed, was vigorously batting his w

ay along the length of the pool astride a huge inflatable dolphin.

‘Race me,’ he called to Rico. ‘You can ride the crocodile.’ He pointed to a huge, inflatable crocodile with grinning jaws that was floating disconsolately in the shallows.

‘Soon,’ said Rico, not lifting his head. ‘Very soon.’

But not that soon. It was far too good just lying here, with the sun beating down on him, the lightest of breezes playing over his skin, the drowsy sound of the cicadas, the silence of the world around him and Ben splashing happily in the pool, while warm hands glided caressingly, sensuously across his bared back, massaging sun cream deep into the muscled contours, sculpting the bones of his spine, his ribs and shoulders, with smooth, strong strokes.

Well-being, contentment—peace—filled him. He could lie here for ever.

He could be here for ever.

Life was good—so very good.

Everything—everything he wanted was here. Now. An endless now.

Time had stopped. Only day and night existed. Nothing more. There was no world beyond this.

He’d heard nothing yet from his father and Luca—and he didn’t care. They belonged in a world he was not interested in right now.

Right now, all he wanted he had. He wanted nothing more.

Footsteps sounded on the shallow flight that led to the upper terrace. A shadow fell over his body. The hands at his back stopped.

He lifted his head and looked up.

Captain Falieri stood there.

Slowly, Rico levered himself up, and stood. Behind him, he could hear Lizzy doing the same. Automatically he felt for her hand and closed his fingers around hers.

‘Captain Fally-eery!’ Ben’s piping voice called with enthusiasm. He splashed his way busily to the steps and clambered out, running up to them. ‘Have you come to tea?’ he asked convivially.

The Captain shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. I’ve come—’ his eyes flicked to Rico’s ‘—to see your uncle.’

As Falieri looked back at him, Rico could see his gaze moving past him automatically. Even so good a diplomat as he was, he could not, Rico could see, hide the flash of shock in his eyes. He knew why. The woman whose hand he was holding was all but unrecognisable. He felt her slip her hand from his and saw that she was reaching for a sarong to wind about her. Then she was holding out her hand to Ben.

‘Let’s go and get changed,’ she said. ‘Captain Falieri,’ she acknowledged.

He bowed his head in return, but did not speak. He looked disbelievingly after her as she set off, hand in hand with a protesting Ben.

But Rico was not concerned that his father’s chief of police was stunned by the transformation in the appearance of the woman he’d last seen looking so very different in England. He stretched out a hand and picked up his shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders.

‘Well?’ he asked.

Falieri’s eyes snapped back to him.

‘His Highness, your father, wishes to see you.’

Rico’s mouth pressed together. Then, with a nod of acquiescence, he headed off after Lizzy and Ben.

‘Ten minutes,’ he called back to Falieri.