by Donald Robyn
Flushing, she met his probing green-gold gaze. An extraordinary sensation filled her, both buoyant and sad, exhilarating and poignant.
‘Any ideas about your doctorate?’
‘A few.’ Tamping down her emotions, she told him some of the directions that interested her.
He listened intently, and made his own suggestions, impressing her with his knowledge of her world. They digressed to some of the projects she’d worked on; Rosa forcing herself to keep it light, her heart singing when he smiled at her tales of life in a laboratory.
‘I can see you’re happy,’ he said as the first course arrived—pasta in a tangy tomato sauce, with the island’s sharp cheese and scattered basil leaves making a fragrant topping. ‘It’s all you’ve ever wanted to do, isn’t it?’
‘And everything I’ve hoped for,’ she said trying to sound both brisk and convincing, although the words echoed emptily through her mind. Setting her jaw, she changed the subject. ‘This is a lovely place. Do you come here often?’
‘Not as often as I used to,’ he told her, before asking about her taste in books. From there they segued to the dangers of unfettered tourism the world over, the likelihood of the ice caps melting, the latest blockbuster film…
As course followed course—a crisp salad, then lamb roasted on a spit with rosemary and other island herbs, followed eventually by a magnificent fruit tart and coffee—Rosa let herself relax. Stimulated by his swift brain and trenchant opinions, she challenged him when she felt his views needed it, and in the process thoroughly enjoyed herself.
From beneath his lashes Max monitored the emotions playing across her face. This new Rosa—witty, sharp, sexy—fascinated him. Her quick brain and keen intelligence gave life to the subtle sensuousness of her features, and he relished her smile, and her laughter—soft and low and mischievous.
Although he’d always appreciated her sister Isabella’s blonde loveliness, Rosa’s dark bloom affected him on a more elemental level. Potent, intense, it bypassed the defences he’d erected against her, honing his awareness into a dangerously heady craving.
Chapter 4
This, Max decided, watching Rosa sip wine with delicate pleasure, had not been a good idea. He’d wanted to keep them both safe by spending the evening with other people around them; instead, he’d badly miscalculated. They were secluded behind the screen of greenery, a spell of intimacy woven around them, charging the air with crackling sexual awareness that tightened his gut and sent him to the border of craving.
Soon she’d leave Niroli; until she did, he had to keep this urgent appetite at bay. And as he’d never been one to let his libido control his will-power, why the hell was he so on edge?
Because this particular hunger—elemental, threatening to smash the constraints of will and logic—had never happened to him before.
And because the desire knotting his guts was for his cousin. He intended to keep the promise he’d made to his—their—grandfather, which meant that Rosa was out of bounds: embargoed, prohibited, off limits and taboo.
But he’d make the most of this night, this rare communion of minds they’d discovered, because that would be all he’d ever have of her.
Alertly attuned to every inflection of his deep voice, every change in expression on his arrogant, lean face, Rosa sensed a subtle withdrawal.
‘So where do you go from here?’ she asked, forcing herself to sound only mildly interested. ‘I assume Grandpapa will formally announce you as his heir soon.’
‘Yes, very soon.’
‘You’ll be an excellent king—one entirely suited to the twenty-first century. Niroli is lucky to have you.’
One ironic black brow shot up. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
It took more self-control than she knew she possessed, but she managed to produce a teasing, cousinly grin. ‘You’ve coaxed, driven, convinced and charmed thousands of peasant grape-growers—who were perfectly happy with their outdated ways—into not only working together, but adopting modern methods. More, you were the brains behind the marketing campaign that brought their wine to the top of the world’s best-seller lists. Ruling Niroli has to be a doddle compared to that.’
He leaned back in the chair, big and dominating and completely sure of himself, his smile almost mocking beneath the half-closed eyes that shielded his thoughts and emotions. ‘I hope you’re right. Are you ready to go?’
Chilled, she said, ‘Yes,’ in a colourless voice. Her lovely, enchanted evening was almost over. After this she’d live on dreams and memories.
Max looked up, and the waiter who’d spent the evening stationed discreetly some distance away so he could minister to their every need hurried towards them.
He bent deferentially and said something she couldn’t quite catch. Max’s brows met for a second, and in his face Rosa saw irritation, swiftly followed by a formidable, uncompromising assurance.
Frowning, he said to her, ‘There’s a crowd outside. Are you happy to go through it?’
After a second’s hesitation, she nodded. ‘It’s been awhile. The last time…’
The last time she’d walked through a crowd had been at her parents’ state funeral.
Max said curtly, ‘We can go out the back way.’
Drawing in a sharp breath she said more strongly, ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll be fine.’
He held her gaze with his, so keen and piercing she felt he could see into her soul. Then he said, ‘I’ll be with you.’
Oddly it almost sounded like a promise. Before Rosa had time to think about it, they’d reached the door and he took her arm. ‘Smile,’ he commanded, looking down at her. ‘They don’t mean you any harm.’
But he was alert——and, she sensed, angry at some deep, inner level. Obediently curving her lips, she went out with him onto the narrow pavement.
The crowd was made up mostly of the people of the city, gathering for a sight of their future king. Only a few tourists, made conspicuous by their clothes and curiosity, were scattered amongst them, watched with concealed interest by the two men she recognised as bodyguards.
People started clapping when they saw Max’s tall figure. When they saw her there were even cries of, ‘Ah, bella bella Rosita!’
Thank heavens she’d thought to pack a dinner dress! She waved back, her smile turning into a low gurgle of laughter when a young man flourished a bow in front of her and presented her with a rose, scarlet as sin, scented with a perfume that hung like the promise of seduction in the warm night air.
And then they were in the car, and Max leaned back, his profile arrogant and grim against the lights as the vehicle moved away.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said curtly, and reached over to take the rose from her and examine it.
‘It’s all right. I don’t worry about the islanders.’ She frowned. ‘Surely you don’t expect it to be booby-trapped?’
‘Of course not,’ he said, and handed it back.
But the little crowd, kindly though it was, had ruffled her. Born so long after the other royal children, more reserved and considerably less attractive than her older sister, she’d been raised out of the public eye. As soon as her parents had realised her fascination with science she’d followed Isabella to a Swiss boarding school where she’d just been another of the pupils—a princess, but also a nerd, tall and plain and awkward.
Well, she’d done something about that; she might not be anywhere near as beautiful as Isabella, or Max’s lovers, but at least she didn’t look like someone’s poor relation anymore!
Without looking at her, Max said, ‘You did well. What made me think you were shy? You show no signs of it now.’
‘I don’t think I am,’ she said, surprised. ‘It’s just that Isabella was always the one who attracted attention. Fortunately she doesn’t seem to mind it.’
‘I remember you as a child—you used to look at the world with such solemn interest. It became a matter of pride for all of us when we were able to coax a smile from you. My mo
ther used to say that still waters run deep, and that you were interesting.’
The words hung in the air, reminding her not only of the forbidden nature of any relationship, but the ten years between them.
She should thank him, because heat was stealing like a swift, lethal poison through her veins. Surely something like this—this radiance—couldn’t be wrong…
That was the excuse of the weak-willed, she told herself with stern ruthlessness as they got into the helicopter. Although loving Max mightn’t be morally wrong, it was banned by the rules.
And it was useless. He’d made it more than clear that his duty was to Niroli.
She fought back her emotions, pretending to doze as the helicopter took them back to Cattina. Once inside the great hall of the castello she said sedately, ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening, Max.’
‘I should thank you.’ But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Good night,’ she said firmly, and walked towards the stairs. She had almost reached them when she heard him call her name.
Startled by the urgency in his voice, she turned, and saw him with a servant. ‘What is it?’ she asked, her heart speeding up to keep pace with her footsteps as she ran back. ‘Grandpapa?’
‘No. It looks as though another vineyard is afflicted.’
Her heart dropped. ‘Hell!’ she said fiercely.
His formidable features tightened. ‘I know you’re tired, but can you change and come with me?’
‘Of course.’
Ten minutes later, clad in jeans and a shirt, she raced down the stairs. It had been warm in the capital, but here in the foothills it was crisp enough to warrant the jacket over her arm.
Max was on the telephone, speaking with clear precision. Rosa stopped just out of listening range, watching him, her eyes hungry beneath lowered lashes.
He was utterly gorgeous, she thought hungrily. Kate would swoon over him—and Max would probably respond to her with the sexual confidence of the experienced lover he was.
He looked up and beckoned her closer, his beautiful mouth compressing into a thin line as he demanded curtly, ‘You’re sure? Why wasn’t I told?’
The answer clearly didn’t please him. In a low, deadly voice he said, ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Stay where you are.’
He snapped the telephone closed. Anger still icing his words, he said, ‘When the owner of the vineyard noticed the first shot holes he kept quiet and sprayed the vines with every spray he had. If one of the lab assistants hadn’t come to take the tests you recommended yesterday we wouldn’t have known about it until the vines started dying.’
She winced. ‘Where is it? Close to the others?’
‘No. On the other side of the valley.’
‘Oh, God,’ she whispered.
‘Exactly. We’ll meet Giovanni out at the vineyard.’
Neither spoke as he drove them there. Lights in windows in the small village a few hundred metres down the road indicated that the locals knew what had happened. Police were already guarding the gate and the disinfectant trough had been put in place; after a glance at Max’s stony face they waved the vehicle through.
Inside the walled courtyard, Giovanni waited in a pool of light beside the owner and the rest of his household. As Rosa and Max got out of the car the white-haired patriarch squared his shoulders.
‘I am sorry, Highness,’ he said bleakly. ‘Blame an old man’s stubbornness.’
Max said, ‘I don’t blame. You stand to lose most by this.’ Briefly he introduced him to Rosa.
‘Your Highness,’ the old man said with a bow that was close to courtly. ‘It is always a delight to see you back on the island. Can you save my vines?’
‘I doubt it,’ she told him with sympathy, ‘but we might be able to stop the disease spreading to cover the island.’
He spread his hands. ‘It is a thing of the devil, this, but perhaps God sent you to help us.’ He covered his grief with a sharp command to his wife to stop crying.
Max turned to the watchful group in the courtyard. ‘Does anyone know of any other vines that might be affected?’ he asked.
Through the general disclaimers, Max fixed one young man with a hard gaze. ‘You have something to tell me?’
‘Some of the vines at Papa Vitelli’s do not look healthy,’ the man said reluctantly. ‘There are holes in the leaves…’
Max said, ‘Thank you,’ and spoke briskly into his phone.
That done, he surveyed the group of people, keen gaze going from one concerned face to another. ‘We need to know as soon as vines are found to be sick. We might be able to control this disease and save most of the vineyards, but if people hide the symptoms everyone will lose their vines. You have my word that, apart from the vineyards closest to the infected ones, no one will lose vines that are not sick, and that those who do will be helped to plant other crops until the ground is free from taint.’
There was a general shuffling of feet, but no one else volunteered information, and Rosa couldn’t see signs of secret knowledge in any of the faces.
If she’d been a grape-grower she’d have told, she thought. Max had been frank, but an implacable note in his voice had ramped up her own tension. She wouldn’t like to be the next grower who tried to conceal an outbreak.
If there was one…
Pray heaven there wasn’t.
She picked up her kit and went to look at the vines; the technician had rigged up lights, and in their cold white glow she examined the leaves, her gut knotting as she recognised the signs.
‘We don’t need to wait for the test results. It’s shot blight,’ she said wearily.
Max turned to the grower. ‘I am sorry, but they must be pulled out and burnt.’
The old man was silent, then he shrugged. ‘So,’ he said. ‘I shall grow flowers until the ground is clean again.’
Rosa bent and kissed his cheek. ‘There speaks a true islander,’ she said quietly. ‘Indomitable and brave as Hercules.’
‘And blindly stubborn,’ he countered ruefully, and everyone laughed a little.
On the way home Max said, ‘That was well done, little cousin. He’ll tell his great-grandchildren about that kiss.’
Irony tinged her smile. ‘While they pick flowers. I feel so sorry for them. But at least they won’t starve, as they might have fifty years ago.’
Dismissing her words with a shrug of his broad shoulders, Max asked, ‘What about the Vitelli vines?’
‘I can’t be certain without lab tests, of course, but it certainly looks like the first stage of shot blight.’ She concealed a massive yawn. ‘I wish I could find out what vector spreads it.’
‘You and me both,’ he said grimly, pulling up in the castello forecourt.
A chill little wind echoed Rosa’s emotions as she got out. She huddled further into her coat, and Max said instantly, ‘You’re cold.’
‘Not really.’
Brows drawn together, he examined her face. She looked pinched, her lush mouth held under such firm control that he had to stifle a wild impulse to kiss it into relaxation.
‘And you’re exhausted,’ he said decisively. ‘Come into the study and I’ll pour you a drink. You need to wind down before you get to bed—otherwise you’ll stay awake all night with your mind racing around in circles.’
When she couldn’t hide her surprise he felt a pang of remorse. His blatant physical response to the grown-up Rosa had shocked him into withdrawal, and he must have seemed cold and aloof. Poor kid—except that she was no longer a kid in spite of her untouched air.
Could she possibly still be a virgin? Shocked by the primitive response that question aroused, he wished he could take back his suggestion. Thoughts of initiating her into the manifold pleasures of love-making were a distraction he couldn’t afford.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her husky tone sliding through his defences, seductive as honey and wine. ‘I’d like that. No coffee, though.’
Max led the way into a comfortable study
where a fire flared golden light on the tall bookshelves around the wall. With easy, graceful strides, Rosa went across to the fire and held out her long fingers to it.
Max banished a tantalising image of those elegant hands on his skin. ‘No coffee,’ he agreed in a clipped voice. ‘You’re already wired.’
He poured brandy into two glasses and handed one to her, cursing inwardly when their fingers came in contact. Next time use a tray, he told himself as his whole body tightened in a clamour of primitive hunger.
Better still, make sure there is no next time.
‘Thank you,’ she said in a subdued voice, her lashes hiding her thoughts.
She looked around and put the glass down on the small table by the chair. ‘It’s lovely and warm in here,’ she said, and peeled off her jacket.
Max had to stop himself from helping her, but he could no longer trust his reactions to her closeness. A hooded glance at her maddeningly serene face revealed that she was quite unaware of the way her clothes clung provocatively to her breasts and her narrow waist, and the long, pleasingly racy line of her thighs and legs.
Turning abruptly away, he stopped himself from gulping his brandy and noted with ironic detachment that his hand shook when he set the glass down with a surprisingly sharp chink. Alcohol was probably the worst thing he could drink right now. His body was on fire with the elemental desire to kiss her sensuous mouth until it softened in reciprocated desire.
He understood basic sexual attraction—hell, he’d succumbed to it a couple of times in his youth, letting his hormones run away with his common sense. He’d despised himself, and since then he’d been more discriminating, seeking a meeting of minds beyond the heated excitement of sex.
But this was something else again. Ever since Rosa had come to the castello he’d been walking a knife-edge, feeling his self-discipline crumble under the onslaught of her innocence and charm.
A taut awareness sharpened the silence. Did she sense it? Max watched her take a small, delicate sip of the liquid. He wanted her more than he’d wanted any other woman.