Lottie had been lonely, resentful of this wretched place Monterrato which had stolen the husband she had fallen in love with in England and replaced him with a workaholic businessman.
And nothing had changed now. The principality of Monterrato still came first. The only reason she was here was to protect its future, provide an heir. But even with that realisation gnawing away at her she couldn’t hold back her excitement as she spread her hands across her stomach. That heir might...just might...be starting life inside her now.
Hearing a sound behind her, she turned to see Rafael coming towards her, carrying a blanket over his arm.
‘I thought you might need this.’ Shaking it out, he went to spread it over her knees, but Lottie edged further along the bench to stop him.
‘I’m not an invalid, you know.’
‘I know. I just thought you might be cold.’
‘Well, I’m not.’
‘Okay. Just bad-tempered then.’ Whipping back the blanket, he threw it over one shoulder and looked down at her. ‘What would you like to do tonight?’
Lottie darted a look at him, his shadowed figure tall and imposing as he stood there, matador-like, waiting for her answer. Surely he wasn’t expecting them to do anything else today, was he? Wasn’t an embryo transplantation followed by a helicopter ride to this place enough for one day?
‘Do?’
‘I mean about food.’ His eyes glowed in the dark. ‘Do you want to go out for a meal?’
‘No, thank you. I’m actually quite tired. Not invalid tired—just...well, tired.’
‘Yes, of course. I should have thought. In that case I will cook something for us.’
‘You really are determined to make me an invalid, aren’t you?’
The barb hit its target and Rafael pursed his lips against a spreading smile. ‘That was uncalled for, young lady.’ He regarded Lottie in the dying light. ‘And, besides, I hardly think you are in a position to make accusations. Unless you have recently acquired some skills that were hitherto sadly lacking?’
‘I may have done.’ Lottie raised her chin in challenge. She hadn’t, in fact—she was still as useless as ever in the kitchen. But he didn’t have to know that.
‘Well, in that case I will look forward to some gourmet meals during our fortnight here.’
Lottie’s heart lurched inside her. However was she going to survive two weeks here, alone with Rafael? Looking at him standing there, feeling the watchful gleam of his dark eyes, food was the least of her worries.
‘Shall we go in now?’
‘In a minute. I just want to sit here a little longer.’
Indicating that she should budge up, Rafael sat down beside her.
Actually she had meant sit here alone. Suddenly the bench seemed ridiculously small for two people—especially when one of them was six feet four, with the musculature of someone who was no stranger to the gym.
‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’
Edging a little further away from him, Lottie pointedly commented on the view, watching the way the colours of the water had changed to an inky blue. The sky was still several shades lighter, the first stars starting to pierce its skin. The fact that she was sharing it with someone who was making every nerve-ending in her body stand to attention was neither here nor there.
‘Si, molto bella.’
Lottie held her breath as his arm slid along the back of the bench behind her.
‘I thought perhaps you could do some painting while you are here.’
‘Maybe.’ Her breath came out with a huff. The arm behind her suddenly felt controlling, domineering, even if the idea of painting again did excite her. It had been so long since she had done any of her own work. And this would be the perfect place to paint.
‘You mustn’t give up, you know.’ Misinterpreting her coolness Rafael held the back of the bench and swivelled round to face her, his knee touching her thigh. ‘You have a considerable talent. It would be such a waste not to use it.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Her acerbic reply was in no small part a response to the intimacy of his closeness in the dark, to the way she could feel the heat coming off his body, hear his breath as it met the cold air.
‘Come on.’ Standing upright, he gestured to her to do the same. ‘We need to go inside and get you some food. Perhaps that will improve your temper.’
The kitchen was sleek and modern, all polished concrete and brushed steel. At first sight it appeared devoid of anything edible, but opening the fridge revealed that it was fully stocked with eggs, milk, cold meats and cheese, and the larder contained an impressive array of packets and tins, all neatly lined up for their inspection.