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

For once the playing field was equal, when usually all the odds were stacked high in his favour. Had he not wondered over the years what it would be like if a woman treated him as a normal man, knowing that it was unlikely ever to happen? Well, now he had the chance to find out for himself.

The gods had blessed him with looks and brains, as well as the honour and burden of his birthright—so let him see whether they alone were enough to achieve what he so achingly wanted.

‘Maybe you should,’ he agreed, his voice silky with consideration.

Ella bit her lip. Hadn’t part of her been hoping—praying—that he would arrogantly override her doubts and fears by taking her in his arms and kissing them all away?

‘Would…would you like some?’ To her horror and her consternation she began to tremble violently, and Nico watched her from narrowed eyes before lifting his hand to trace a thoughtful finger around the edge of her lips. ‘Do you know what I think?’ he whispered.

She shook her head.

‘I think that you have made your entirely feminine s

tand. Honour has been maintained. But now you want me to kiss you again.’ For a second his eyes widened, like a predatory jungle cat. ‘Am I right, cara mia?’

She stared up at him. Yes, she thought. Yes, you’re right. Kiss me. Kiss me now. Right now.

He met the silent demand in her eyes and bent forwards, his mouth tracing a slow, exploratory path across her lips with the lightest of touches—barely touching her at all—which set her already racing pulse scrambling into a rapid, thready beat. The soft no-kiss kiss went on and on, until she felt that the frustration of it might kill her, but finally the tip of his tongue flicked against her, moistening her lips, and she licked at them greedily, wanting to taste him. It was more than before, but it was still not enough, and she moaned.

He raised his head then, a look of mild bemusement momentarily softening the hunger that had hardened the angles of his face as he read her expression. ‘More?’

She nodded.

‘Say it.’

‘Yes. Yes. More. More!’

‘Nice girls say please,’ he said, a sudden roughness entering his voice, and this time the kiss was urgent and seeking.

Ella felt her knees grow weak, as if her bones were dissolving, and maybe he sensed it, for he caught her up and carried her into the sitting-room. He lay down on the sofa and pulled her on top of him, so that she straddled him, warm thighs clasped against his hips.

Ella closed her eyes and gave in to it. She could feel all the sinews and angles of his hard body, the hard evidence of how much he wanted her as he ground his hips against her.

‘Can you feel me?’ he murmured.

‘Y-yes.’

He pulled her closer still. ‘And now?’

Oh, God—it felt almost indecently intimate the way he was pressing himself into her, despite the barrier of their clothes. She nodded frantically as he ran his fingertip up and down the cleft of her buttocks. She felt weak and faint—disturbed by the fact that she was letting him do this to her with such apparent ease. It was as if he had cast some kind of spell on her. It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, and yet she didn’t want to stop him. She couldn’t stop him.

‘Nico.’ Her hands fluttered helplessly, her fingers briefly coiling their way through the ebony tendrils of his hair, then drifting their way down to his shoulders. Through his cool linen shirt she could feel the muscular power sheathed by silken skin, and she kneaded the flesh with rhythmical, greedy fingers. ‘Nico!’ she gasped.

‘Nico, what?’

‘Kiss me again.’

He kissed her until there were no doubts left—until she was boneless and compliant—and only then did he move his mouth away. He began to undo the buttons of her dress, one by one, and she felt the cool washing of air on her heated skin as he peeled it down over her shoulders.

His eyes darkened as he saw the peep of her breasts edging over the delicate satin and lace of her bra. ‘I want to see your breasts,’ he murmured possessively, stroking thoughtfully at the nipple that was peaking through the silk. ‘May I?’

A dart of pleasure so fierce that it was very close to pain racked through her body. ‘Y-yes.’

His hand moved to her back, to flick the hook open with almost indolent ease, and her breasts spilled out, rose-tipped and pale and magnificent. Nico felt himself grow harder still.

‘And panties?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Are you wearing matching panties?’

Hadn’t she put them on specially. As though she had been expecting just this? ‘Yes.’