But she must be careful not to forget the boundaries, not get lost in the illusion.
Putting her cutlery down, she gestured to the table. ‘That was delicious. Thank you, and thank you for the replacement history lesson. I truly enjoyed it.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘But now you need to return to Casavalle. Of course. But you are happy to arrange another date? I believe we should attend Antonio and Tia’s wedding together in three days’ time, but if we can fit another date in before that we should.’
‘Yes. But if it is OK with you, I’ll arrange it.’ It was time she took some sort of control; before he dazzled her into seeing this proposed marriage in a soft rose-tinted light. ‘I’ll contact you with the details.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
CESAR APPROACHED THE Casavallian palace, aware of a sense of well-being, a swell of happy expectation. He frowned, suddenly uneasy though he wasn’t sure why. Campaign Marriage was going better than he could have hoped; the more he got to know Gabriella, the more he liked her, the more he believed that they could make a go of it. So there was no need for unease.
Instead he needed to continue the good work. He entered the palace, where a staff member greeted him and led him up the ornate winding stairs.
‘Princess Gabriella is through here.’ Cesar followed through a state guest apartment, through the richly furnished living area to a spacious kitchen, where Gabriella stood by the marble-topped counter.
She smiled at the retainer and thanked him and once the grey-haired man had left she turned to Cesar, who surveyed the preparations for their date. Two aprons, a recipe book and an array of ingredients, including a big mixing bowl and two wooden spoons.
‘We’re going to bake,’ she explained. ‘It’s what you wanted to do when you were little and I thought it would be fun.’
Hell, there was that warmth again; the odd sensation of...of what? Being cared for?
‘Don’t worry,’ she added. ‘I have also alerted the press, who will be allowed to come in and take photos of us in our aprons and take a picture of the fruit of our labours.’
‘What are we making?’
‘Decadent chocolate cake.’
‘Sounds good.’
‘Yes. I haven’t made it before. Imogen gave me the recipe book, said she’d heard it’s good. I’ve got the ingredients, now I need to read the instruct...’ Her voice trailed off and as he looked at her, he saw a small flush mount her cheeks.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly but she shielded the book with an arm as she spoke.
‘Come on, Gabi. Tell me.’
‘There’s nothing to tell... It’s...well...the instructions...they are a little...um...racy.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Racy?’
‘Look. It really doesn’t matter. It just implies the cake has some...well...aphrodisiac properties.’
‘I think I’d like to see this.’
‘No...really.’ Quickly she shut the book and moved it out of his reach as he headed closer to her. Grabbed it as he reached for it and turned to face him with a shake of her head, her back against the counter, holding it above her head, with a half-laugh.
‘Nowhere to go,’ he said teasingly.
And then he realised how close she was, so very tantalisingly close; he could smell the scent of pine from the tree mixed with her clean vanilla-spiced scent, and desire spun his head. As if she felt the exact same thing, her hand dropped to her side, still holding the damned book.
‘I don’t think we need any help from the cake,’ he murmured. And then he was kissing her, kissing her as if his life depended on it and it felt...incredible. Magnificent.
He heard the thud as the book fell to the kitchen floor and she moved against him, and he entangled his hands in her hair, the soft silken tresses against his fingers, deepened the kiss and tasted her gasp of pleasure. Then all that existed was the scale of his desire; he wanted this woman with an unparalleled fierceness and it was only the recognition of the depth of that yearning that penetrated the fog of desire. Reminded him who this woman was. Gabriella Ross Valenti, soon to be Queen of Casavalle. This had to stop here, before he was no longer able to stop.
He gently disengaged, his breathing laboured. Each jagged breath seemed to accelerate his heartbeat further—just looking at her flushed face, the desire-dazed look in her eyes—and he wanted to kiss her again and hang the consequences.
OK. Stop right there.