by Donald Robyn
Max almost turned away, but he fought down the exhilarating tide of adrenaline and set his jaw. Now that he knew how sweet she felt in his arms, all he wanted to do was gather her up and hold her, lose himself in her warmth and her sweetness and give in to the reckless need that gripped him.
Last night should never have happened, but she’d treated his kiss the best way—as an unimportant aberration.
So he’d wake her gently, be as indifferent and remote as he could be, and he’d make sure that they didn’t touch—not even fingertips—ever again.
Poker in hand, he reached into the fireplace and stirred the embers, making as much noise as he could. Then he piled more wood onto the fire, dusting his hands as he stood up.
She was awake, her sleepy gaze lingering on him with vulnerable intensity.
‘Max,’ she said drowsily, as though he was everything she needed in her life.
And she smiled, a lazy smile that held an undercurrent of hunger.
Sheer, potent passion gripped him with talons both painful and compelling. Every muscle tightened at an image of waking to the sight of her, sleek and sated, in his bed, with that exact soft, addictive smile.
He concealed his body’s betrayal by sitting down in an armchair opposite her and asking in his most matter-of-fact tone, ‘How did your day go?’
‘As well as could be expected,’ she said, her voice slow and husky. ‘Better than yours, I imagine; at least I was dealing with people who hoped their vines would be safe.’
Max recalled an old woman who’d shrieked her agony as the bulldozers bit into the stony ground. She’d turned to him and said bitterly, ‘Anyone else I would curse, but you—you would not put us through this if you didn’t know it had to be done.’
‘I’m always surprised at their trust,’ he said. ‘It’s taken time, and it would never have happened without Giovanni to vouch for me from the beginning.’
‘They’d have come to trust you eventually.’
Don’t, he wanted to snarl. Don’t look at me like that, with glowing appreciation as though I’m some sort of god. It tempts me beyond bearing.
He said with cool detachment, ‘I doubt it. He stood sponsor until they accepted me, but this—’ He stopped abruptly, letting his hands indicate his emotions. ‘This is so much to ask of them.’
‘It has to be done.’ Because he was gazing at the flames, Rosa let herself examine his face, hardened by weariness. ‘In their hearts they know that.’
‘Having you here made a big difference.’
Astonished, Rosa asked, ‘Why? They don’t know me. Except for holidays, I’ve been away at school and then at university since I was a child.’
‘You came to help them,’ he said, his eyes still fixed on the fire. ‘They won’t forget that. Neither will I.’
She turned her head away so he couldn’t see the soft colour that heated her cheeks. She didn’t want to be remembered for doing her duty, damn it!
In a tone that came close to curtness, he said, ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to bed. You look tired too, so I’d suggest an early night.’
Chilled, she scrambled to her feet. The barriers against her were locked in place again; their fragile relationship was out of bounds.
And although she tried to tell herself that it was for the best, she had to struggle with a flash of mutiny before she could say, ‘Have you had dinner?’
‘I ate with Giovanni at his place.’
Had Elena cooked it for him? Rosa repressed the shoddy spark of jealousy as he went on, ‘I hope you had a pleasant, if solitary, meal.’
He spoke with the cool politeness of a host, and for both of their sakes she had to accept it and return it. ‘It was lovely, thank you.’
That got her to the door. But her heart was splintering slowly, crumbling into small shards of pain.
‘Do you want to take the book with you?’ he asked, picking it up from the chair, where it must have fallen while she’d slept.
‘Oh—thank you.’
He handed it over, and before his black lashes shut out his thoughts she saw a glint of golden fire in the depths of his eyes. Ignoring the swift, futile lift of her heart, she headed for the door, clutching the book as though it held the secrets of the universe.
Side by side, but not touching, they walked up the stairs, filling the silence with discussion about future tactics for fighting the outbreak.
At her door he said, ‘Good night.’
Rosa gave a bleak little smile, keeping her gaze on his chin. She didn’t dare meet his eyes, and she certainly wasn’t going to look at his mouth.
He said harshly, ‘Stop looking so tragic. It isn’t the end of the world.’
‘It might be for the grape-growers.’
‘They’re the descendants of survivors; they’ll keep going because they’ve got guts and determination and a sense of what’s due to their descendants.’
This wasn’t about the islanders.
Rosa understood what he was telling her, and her whole being rose in rebellion. ‘If they have any,’ she said, a catch in her voice.
Tension—taut as steel wire—stretched between them.
‘They will,’ he said grimly. And when she didn’t answer he stated, ‘Any other way is cowardly, Rosa.’
Not daring to speak because her voice would reveal too much of her turbulent emotions, she shook her head and turned to go into her room.
‘Rosa!’ He caught her arm, swivelling her around to face him.
She looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears. Max’s angular, aristocratic features clamped into an arrogant mask, and then he swore, low and ferocious through gritted teeth, and pulled her into his arms, crushing her against him with the full force of his strength.
Stunned, she lifted a hand and touched his cheek, her fingers lingering as glittering sparks of anticipation raced through her bloodstream.
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered, not really knowing what she was saying. ‘Max, I’ll be fine.’
‘I know,’ he muttered, his voice deep and driven, and kissed her with an unrestrained passion that should have scared the wits out of her.
But this was Max, and she loved him. Her mouth softened beneath his demand, then staked its own claim, every bit as hungry and compelling as his.
Shuddering at the impact of his unique scent in her nostrils, his taste in her mouth, his body urgent with a reckless appetite, Rosa surrendered to the prompting of her own blazing need.
Mindlessly she met the sensual thrust of his hips when he gathered her even closer to kiss the corners of her lips. She groaned with helpless excitement as he traced the length of her throat with his seeking mouth; she had never felt so vulnerable, or so safe.
She let herself lace her hands in his hair, delighting in the silken warmth against her skin. Desire drummed between them, an insistent drive beneath the wildfire anticipation of being close to him.
And when he stroked her breast, then cupped its soft weight, turbulent arousal rioted through her, swift and fierce as a forest fire, burning away every last tiny shred of inhibition…
Max froze. The seething carnality ebbed, and an unbearable silence fell around them. Rosa’s breath blocked her lungs. Moving slowly, carefully, he put her away from him and stepped back, the hands that fell to his sides clenching into fists.
Rosa looked up into a face as stony as the bronze warrior he so resembled. Her heart dropped in endless free fall.
He said tonelessly, ‘I am sorry for that. I seem to be saying this far too often, but it should never have happened.’
She should accept the apology, pretend that those kisses, that searing tide of emotion, meant nothing. Then life would go on as it had for years. They would avoid each other at official functions, make sure they never met at any other time.
She said tersely, ‘I know, but it did. What are we going to do about it?’
His hooded gaze, hard as quartz, didn’t flicker. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Not now, no
t ever.’
And he turned and left her standing alone, as she would always be from now on, watching him walk away.
Gulping, she opened her door and fled into the safety of her room.
But once there, frustrated adrenalin surging set her to pacing the floor. And because anything was easier to bear than grief, she let anger take its place, fuming because life was so utterly unfair.
Why should she be so stupid as to want the one man she couldn’t have?
She stopped in front of the mirror and stared at the woman reflected there—a stranger with bright, sleepy eyes, her mouth eager and red and tender from Max’s kisses…
That primal stimulation still thrummed through her body, making her dizzy with reckless longing. Her skin felt too tight, her clothes dragging at it with erotic effect, stirring up sensations she’d never experienced before. Beneath the material of her shirt her nipples were tightly budded, prepared for an ecstasy she’d never know.
She closed her eyes and turned away.
Max wanted her—although not enough to let his desire overwhelm his integrity.
It was knowledge for which she’d paid a bitter price, because it made his rejection so much harder to bear. If only they weren’t cousins, if only he weren’t the next King of Niroli…
‘If only you could find a way to save the world from war and violence,’ she muttered savagely at her reflection. ‘Even if only you could find a cure for shot blight. It’s not going to happen, so forget it.’
Tears sprang into her eyes. Dashing them away, she resumed pacing. It would take at least two weeks to see whether the precautionary measures were working.
She had to prove she was as strong as Max, who’d rejected her so comprehensively—for all the right reasons, she reminded herself bitterly. And once she’d left Niroli, she wouldn’t see him again until his coronation, and after that it would be at his wedding to some ideal candidate with the right bloodlines.
Who would that be? With his ruthless good looks and sophistication and his magnetism, Max could choose any woman in the world for his bride.
But it would probably be the elegant Scandinavian princess with whom his name had been linked.
Or the beautiful American heiress…
Rosa stripped off her clothes, pulled on her nightclothes and crawled into bed. Hideous pictures of each exquisite blonde paraded mockingly behind her eyes. She pulled the covers around her and resolutely recited the periodic table until the clamour in her body settled to a manageable level and she finally slept.
After another wretched night she woke to a cloudy sky and the prospect of rain—rain that might spread the infestation. At least it gave her something else to worry about, she told herself forlornly, then mentally chided herself for being so selfish. All she had was a cracked heart; the islanders were facing the destruction of a way of life that had lasted for over two thousand years.
Whatever, she had people to train and a report to write for the lab back in New Zealand.
The next few days flew by. Apart from at dinner, when Max made sure they were chaperoned by guests, she saw little of him. Giovanni escorted her around the vineyards, and she found herself growing quite fond of the elderly man. It even hurt a little that he seemed to have some reservations about her.
She didn’t see Elena again, and when she asked Giovanni he told her that she had gone back home.
On a warm, clear day towards the end of the week Max flew to Porto Di Castellante to talk to his grandfather. Rosa would have liked to go too, but she wasn’t surprised when he told her that the king had strength for only one visit a day.
‘He must be very frail,’ she said anxiously before Max left, trying not to watch as he picked up a slim leather briefcase from a table at the foot of the stairs.
This was Max in another persona—the cool, astute businessman who’d not only parlayed the fortune he’d inherited into a position of power and untold wealth, but also masterminded the campaign that saw the wines of Niroli reach the top.
‘Physically,’ Max agreed. He inspected his mobile phone and tucked it into his pocket. Then he gave her a sharp glance. ‘He’s not deliberately keeping you dangling. He fully intends to see you before you go.’
‘I know,’ she said, adding with a wry twist to her lips, ‘Just as I know that for Grandpapa women shouldn’t aspire to be more than decorations when they’re young, and then the mothers of sons.’
Max nodded. ‘I’m afraid he’s irretrievably stuck in the nineteenth century, but it’s not personal. He loves you.’
Touched, she smiled a little mistily at him. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Do you know what he gave me for Christmas? The most magnificent diamond necklace, and a set of antique scales, exquisitely balanced.’
Since the night they’d kissed Max had treated her with either avuncular friendliness or aloof detachment, so his swift grin warmed her heart.
He said drily, ‘Let me guess—the necklace is in a vault somewhere, while you use the scales at work?’
‘You know me too well,’ she admitted, laughing.
Time froze; they looked at each other, and for an instant she saw a kind of bitter longing in his eyes. Voice trembling, she said, ‘It’s all right. I’ll be gone soon.’
‘You’re never gone,’ he said as though the words were torn from him. ‘But it’s impossible—unthinkable.’
Her heart gave a sudden leap. For a second she allowed herself to really feel what his words meant. ‘Unthinkable,’ she repeated numbly.
‘You’re so young—one day you’ll meet a man who’ll raise your temperature and make you laugh, a man you’ll like as well as want. A man who’ll be what I can never be—your husband.’
She shook her head.
‘Yes,’ he said, his flat, lethal tone telling her more than his words. ‘It must happen.’
‘And you?’
He shrugged, his face closing against her. ‘As always,’ he said evenly, ‘I’ll do my duty.’
‘Max—’
‘No.’ He turned away from her and walked across the great hall towards the huge front doors.
Chapter 6
Giovanni made his way into the great hall from the kitchen, where he’d been drinking coffee with the cook. Now on his way to join the prince, he blinked when he saw Princess Rosa, her white, strained face shuttered against a grief so intense she hadn’t even noticed him as she’d hurried up the stairs.
Frowning, he stopped in the shadow of one of the great pillars and switched his attention to Prince Max, standing just inside the doors.
The prince was looking after her, his normal relentless control over his expression loosened. In that proud, masterful face Giovanni saw the bleak confirmation of his suspicion. The older man lowered his gaze, something tightening painfully in his chest.
Almost immediately the prince said curtly, ‘Ah, Giovanni. Are you ready?’
Giovanni met his cool, commanding scrutiny. ‘The helicopter is ready, and so am I,’ Giovanni said quietly. He had to think—but not now, not here.
Back in her room, Rosa forced herself to face reality. It seemed that she was a one-woman man; if she couldn’t have Max then she didn’t want any other. And as it was impossible—unthinkable!—to have Max, she’d never marry, never bear the children she’d always seen in her future.
At least she had her work.
But even that let her down. Science had been her passion, yet for the first time the day dragged—because Max wasn’t there.
Late in the afternoon she spent an hour talking to the people who were going to check the vines; young and enthusiastic, they crowded around her, asking questions and absorbing her comments. Giovanni had been right; she hadn’t needed to impress on them the importance of regular, accurate record-keeping. They were the sons and daughters of grape-growers; they knew what was at stake.
Siesta time had been taken up with intensive discussions with the lab technicians, suggesting things that could be implemented to further safeguard the
vines, revealing the current thinking on shot blight and its possible causes.
It was almost dark when she walked back to the castello, and she realised that unconsciously she’d been waiting all day for the sound of the helicopter. How dreary was that! She pushed up the collar of her coat and shivered. Max had probably decided to stay in Porto di Castellante.
It was better that he should. His admission that morning still ached in her heart. Oh, his ironbound sense of duty meant that he hadn’t revealed his feelings in words, and she didn’t fool herself that he loved her. But she’d always treasure that stark statement.
You’re never gone. How many women had had a declaration of desire and a rejection delivered at the same time?
Probably millions, she thought wearily. If only she could fight for her love—but she couldn’t rearrange their fates to suit herself. The stark truth was that Max was her cousin and also the future King of Niroli, the last male heir. Niroli needed him, and what was her one little life in the scheme of things compared to the welfare of the millions of people who looked to him for their future?
Hands deep in her pockets, she lifted her head sharply, sure she heard the distinctive chop-chop-chop of the helicopter’s rotors.
Excitement rode her hard, bringing colour to her cheeks and a fleeting, excited smile. She started across the road to the castello, hearing—too late—the agitated tooting of a car horn. After a moment’s flaring pain as she was hit and hurled into the air, darkness swallowed her up.
Max looked at the lights of the little city below, thinking over his interview with the king. Their relationship had always been rocky; as a kid he’d thought it personal, but growing up had changed his mind. The king’s favourite grandchildren were those from his first—and dearly loved—wife. He wasn’t nearly so attached to those from his second wife.
Max understood why. Basically cold, his grandmother was driven by ambition, a trait she’d passed onto her only child. Max’s father had never reconciled himself to being born second in line to the throne, and then demoted even further by his half-brother’s sons.