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

He realised that this was not what she wanted to hear. Like a child learning to swim, he attempted a second, tentative stroke. ‘I don’t want to be a “sad old man of fifty careering around the hills.”’

He was throwing her words back at her. Ella bit her lip. ‘I shouldn’t have said that—’

‘On the contrary, c

ara mia—you said exactly the right thing.’

‘I did?’

He heard the disbelief in her voice and knew it was justified. ‘How else could I learn?’ he questioned simply, and he smiled as he saw her lips part in sheer astonishment. ‘I didn’t want to hear it at the time, but then no one had ever spoken quite like that to me before. I don’t want those thrills and spills any more. They mean nothing. They count for nothing because they are not real.’ Now his black gaze was very steady. ‘But you thrill me, Ella, and you are real. Very real.’

She could scarcely breathe, but she knew that she wanted more than she suspected he was offering. And more than that she needed him to say it again, as if only repetition could convince her that he meant it, that it wasn’t just a whim because the physical thing between them was such dynamite.

‘You’ll get good sex with another woman, Nico, you know you will.’

His face darkened. Stubborn, obtuse woman! ‘I’m not talking about sex!’

‘You’re not?’

In the background he could hear the rippling notes of a piano being played, and the music drifted the most poignant sensation of contentment over his skin. ‘No.’

‘Then…what are you talking about?’

Nico scowled. ‘I don’t know. It feels like love.’ This was an unimaginable admission, but it was not quite the truth. Hadn’t she peeled back all the layers of his life, forcing him to look deep into the true and sometimes painful core of it? Did he now dare? For a man who had spent his life taking risks, there had never been one that seemed quite as daunting as this one. He shrugged his shoulders like a little boy. ‘It is love,’ he admitted. ‘I am in love with you. I love you, Gabriella.’

‘Oh, God,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, Nico.’

Her eyes were dazzling him—blinding him with a fervent emerald gaze that was more vivid than the shades found in any ocean. And in them he saw what she felt for him, a wordless declaration of how much he meant to her.

But was it enough? Would she be prepared to relinquish her freedom for a Royal life, aspects of which she professed to despise?

‘Do you think we can have a future together?’ he questioned softly.

Ella shook her head. ‘I can’t think beyond the next second,’ she declared, her voice breaking. ‘And if you don’t come here and hold me then I think I might just die.’

Taking her in his arms was the easiest thing he had ever had to do, and to feel her arms wrapping tightly around his neck as though she was never going to let him go felt like coming home. Nico closed his eyes against the scented silk of her hair.

It defied all logic and sense, this feeling—more precious and more rare than any of the priceless jewels contained in his family’s palaces. And he had only ever experienced it with her. Only her. In her arms. Like this. For this feeling men relinquished kingdoms, and he could understand exactly why.

‘Shh,’ he soothed as he felt her begin to tremble against him. ‘I know. Believe me, cara mia, I know.’

He tipped her chin up and their eyes sizzled frantic seeking messages, questions answered without a single word being spoken. And then his mouth moved to blot out all the pain and the heartache, touching down on her lips with a tenderness she had never thought he would show, and she cupped his face in her hands and tenderly kissed him back.

And when eventually they drew back from it their eyes were dazed.

‘Cielo dolce,’ murmured Nico, shaken by the power and beauty of the embrace, for he had never known that a kiss could be anything other than fore-play. How little he knew! How much to learn. He stroked her face, like a blind man seeking to see by touch alone.

Ella stared up at him. Could this really be happening? And even if it was, what happened now? When two people were in love, of course they talked about a future—but this was not as it was for other people. How could it be? She pressed her finger to his cheek, which was still cool and faintly damp. ‘We can’t talk here. You’re frozen—come and let’s sit by the fire.’

The sweet, sane normality of her words made him smile. ‘You’ve lit a fire? But it’s only September.’

‘And freezing! Come through. I’m going to pour us a brandy.’

He held his hands out to the blaze and sank down. It pleased her to see him sprawling on her rug, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She sploshed a measure of brandy into two glasses and went and sat down beside him. Only when they had sipped and put the drinks down in the hearth did she turn to him.

‘So what has changed you from the icy man who stormed away to this…’ She traced his lips with her finger, as if to confirm that he was real and not some dream that would evaporate in a second.

He opened his mouth and trapped the finger, sucking on it until it was quite wet. Seeing her eyes darken, he took it out again and absently wrapped it in a fold of his cashmere sweater, and left it there.