by Sarah Morgan
And that record had taught her the second most important lesson of her life….
That if her chance ever came again, she’d sing nothing she hadn’t written herself and nothing that she didn’t love.
If she bombed again then she’d only have herself to blame.
But clearly getting another chance to bomb wasn’t going to be easy.
Pride held her smile in place as she pulled open the door. ‘I’m obviously as much use to you as a swimming pool without water so I’ll let you get on with your day.’
‘Wait!’ His voice thundered through the open doorway and she saw Serena’s eyes widen in surprise as she glanced up from her desk in the reception area.
So clearly he didn’t usually speak to people like that, Izzy thought blankly.
Just her.
She was about to walk through the door when it slammed shut in front of her nose. Six foot four of muscular angry male stood between her and the exit.
‘You don’t just walk out when I’m talking to you.’
‘I do when I don’t like what I’m hearing.’ Anger mingled with a much more dangerous emotion. This close she could feel the power pulsing from him, almost taste the lethal flash of his temper. Resisting the terrifying explosion of excitement that came from being this close to him, she tried to walk past him. ‘Excuse me.’
‘Where are you going? You don’t know your way around.’
‘I’ll find my own way.’ She hated the fact that there was a lump in her throat. Hated the fact that she’d let him get to her.
‘I cleared an hour this afternoon to give you a tour of the grounds. I’ll do it now.’
Not an apology. No ‘I’m sorry if I was rude.’ No ‘Let’s hear you sing then’ or ‘Prove me wrong, Izzy.’
A tour of the grounds.
‘Save it for the coach parties.’
‘You need to know what’s off limits.’
She gave a humourless laugh, horrified to discover that the sound was almost a sob.
She needed to get out of here.
‘I think I know what’s off limits, Your Highness.’ She risked a glance and then wished she hadn’t because even a brief glimpse of those moody, sensual features was enough to throw her off balance. ‘I can find my own way around and I’d hate you to waste another minute of your working day having to nursemaid someone like me.’
Someone like me.
If that song hadn’t already been written, she would have written it.
Except that no one would have wanted to listen.
Pushing past him, she stalked out of his office and slammed the door behind her.
She’d targeted him because of his role in the music industry.
Not because she’d seen herself as a future princess.
Adapting speedily to that shift in his perceptions of her, Matteo strode after her and eventually caught up with her as she stalked across the courtyard and into the English rose garden.
It didn’t need a glance at those stiff shoulders to know that he’d hurt her feelings badly and he cursed himself for his lack of tact, because the last thing he needed was an upset woman on his hands. Along with everything else, he didn’t have time to handle female tantrums. Even on such short acquaintance he knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t hesitate to walk out and he couldn’t allow that to happen. He couldn’t allow anything to detract from his brother’s engagement.
He needed Izzy to stay here.
Which presented him with a dilemma. In order to keep her happy was he supposed to lie? Tell her that she had a great voice and that she was going to be the ‘next big thing’?
Apart from the obvious fact that there was no useful role someone like her could play in planning the final details of the concert, he knew just how many popstar wannabes had wasted their lives hoping they’d make it big, only to remain in obscurity forever.
Exasperation shot through him. He could never understand why the millions of talentless hopefuls couldn’t hear the difference between their own voices and those of true singers. Even if their mothers heaped on false praise, surely they’d listened to themselves? Were they deaf?
‘Izzy, wait!’
Her hair swung with each angry stride and she didn’t pause.
‘I said wait.’ He thundered the order, injecting his tone with an authority that would have had his staff jumping. Unfortunately for him Izzy was made of sterner stuff. She carried on walking, her espadrilles crunching on the gravel path until his hand closed on her shoulder. ‘I’m not accustomed to having to chase guests round the palazzo.’
‘But I’m not a guest, am I?’ She shrugged him off. ‘Let’s drop the pretence. You can’t stand the sight of me, which is fine because I can’t stand being here. If I’m here for more than a day I’m going to suffocate in this formal atmosphere.’
‘Maledizione, will you stand still and listen when I talk to you!’ Opting for his last resort, he caught her arm and spun her back towards him but the movement knocked her off balance and her body flattened against his. The flare of attraction was immediate and fierce and Matteo sucked in a breath and released her instantly.
Blue eyes blazed into his. ‘Yes, that’s right, Your Highness, we’re jolly well going to ignore that too, because I don’t want to find you attractive any more than you want to find me attractive.’
She was the most aggravating, infuriating woman he’d met.
Ballsy one minute, insecure the next.
But always sexy.
And it was the most disturbing level of sexy he’d ever encountered. It was precisely because of the chemistry that he knew any relationship between them was absolutely out of the question. He never allowed his libido to compromise his judgement and yet with Izzy he found himself right on the edge of control. Not wanting to dwell on the fact that he’d slipped over that edge at least once, he swiftly changed the subject. ‘You’re angry because I don’t want you helping out with the concert, but frankly I have no idea what you could do to help. It’s the biggest live event of the concert calendar. And you’re—’
‘I’m what? I’m what, Your Highness?’ Those eyes darkened like the sky before a thunderstorm. ‘I’m just a manufactured pop singer? How would you know what I am? You were in such a hurry to separate me from that microphone last night you didn’t bother to listen to me singing. Say anything you like about me, but don’t tell me my voice is bad because I know that isn’t true.’
Confronted by that degree of conviction, Matteo proceeded with the caution of a man treading onto very, very thin ice. ‘I watched a few episodes of Singing Star.’
That statement was greeted by silence.
He watched as the flush spread over her pretty face and waited for her to explode in a defensive tirade, but instead she flushed scarlet and wrapped her arms around herself.
‘Oh, well, in that case I probably can’t blame you for not rating me. It was rubbish. Seriously crap.’
Thrown by that unexpectedly honest response, Matteo was forced to acknowledge that Izzy Jackson continually surprised him. ‘That sort of show isn’t there to showcase musical talent. It’s there to make money.’
‘I happen to agree. But that doesn’t mean that no one who appears on the show has anything to offer. There are all sorts of reasons why a person goes on a show like that.’
‘What were yours?’
The silence stretched on and on while the sun beat down on them. Given that she was a talker, her lack of response was all the more marked. He’d seen wicked Izzy, flirty Izzy and cheeky Izzy, but there was something about vulnerable Izzy that tugged at him deep inside.
Her slim shoulders lifted. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘You must have decided to go on the show for a reason.’
‘I’m an incurable exhibitionist as you’ve pointed out. Why perform to a hundred people if you can perform to several million?’ Her response was flippant and transparently not reflective of the truth but Matteo resisted the urge to dig deeper.
What did it matter what her reasons were for appearing on that awful show? The less he knew about her, the better. The less time he spent with her, the better.
In fact, he should leave her right now and get back to work instead of standing here noticing that she’d caught the sun on her face.
It was obvious she didn’t expect him to nursemaid her so there was no reason for him to hang around. She could occupy herself without him.
His eyes slid to the tempting curve of her mouth and he felt that same explosion of sensation that had tormented him the night before. His brain was telling him one thing and his body another. ‘I’ll show you round.’ His hard tone reflected his own inner conflict. ‘And you’d better wear sunscreen. You’re English. You’re not used to the heat.’
Her eyes lifted to his and he knew she was thinking what he was thinking. That nothing the sun produced was as powerful as the heat they generated between them.
‘I thought you were snowed under with work.’
Battling an inexplicable urge to kiss her, Matteo took a step back. ‘That doesn’t mean I intend to neglect my duties as host.’
‘Host?’ She laughed. ‘You mean host as in “keep an eye on Izzy” duty, don’t you? I think you’ve done enough of that for one week. Or maybe you mean “host” as in the sort that gives a home to a parasite. That’s how you see me, isn’t it? A user.’
He wasn’t sure how he saw her. He couldn’t see clearly through the fog of sexual tension that pressed in on them. ‘You were the one who told me I was your goal, so if there was a misunderstanding then you are to blame. And picking a fight is not going to make this any easier.’ He noticed that her hair had dried curly. It tumbled over her shoulders in unrestrained wildness and he had a vivid memory of the way those silky soft waves had felt against his skin. ‘We’ll start with the swimming pool as you seem to like water so much.’
‘Fine—’ she gave him an odd look ‘—if that’s what you want then lead on. Give me the guided tour, complete with commentary. Show me the official swimming pool, although I still think the unofficial one is more fun. And if there was a misunderstanding it was because it didn’t cross my mind that you’d think my goal was anything other than professional. Do women seriously do that? Target you for marriage?’
‘Yes.’ Trying to block out the memory of her twirling in his fountain wearing nothing but a bright fuchsia bikini, Matteo strode through the rose garden and took the steps that led to the pool.
‘So women target you just because you’re a prince. That’s weird. Oh—’ she stopped next to him and stared at the pool with the stunning sea views beyond ‘—this is gorgeous. OK, maybe it’s not so weird. If I married you I could look at this all day.’ She grinned and punched his arm gently. ‘Just kidding by the way. Do you realise that you turn pale when people mention marriage?’
Matteo breathed deeply. ‘There are changing rooms through that door.’
‘Or I could just strip off here.’ Her hands dropped to the zip of her shorts and then she burst out laughing. ‘I wish you could see your face. You really need to chill, Your Highness. Is this just because of the concert or are you always this uptight?’
‘I am not uptight.’ He spoke through his teeth and she gave him a sympathetic look.
‘It might help if you took off that suit. It’s too hot for that.’
‘I had meetings this morning.’
‘Until I dragged you away from them. I like it here. It’s peaceful. To be honest I wasn’t sure I’d like “peaceful” because I’m used to something different, but I do.’ Stooping, she fished out a leaf that had fallen onto the surface of the pool, the movement exposing even more of her long, slim legs. And there, high on her thigh, was a tiny tattoo in the shape of a butterfly. ‘Let’s call a truce because frankly all this conflict is messing with my concentration.’
His own concentration was shot to pieces so it should have been a welcome suggestion but he couldn’t stop looking at that butterfly. ‘Truce?’
‘Yes.’ She straightened and brushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘You get on with your work, I’ll get on with mine.’
‘Five minutes ago you were deeply offended.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m resilient. One of the advantages of being crushed a lot is that you become very experienced at bouncing back. Of course it’s a blow that you won’t let me help but I never bear grudges. Life’s too short. So are we cool?’
Matteo had never felt hotter in his life and it made no sense. He spent plenty of time with exceptionally beautiful women whose daily focus was grooming—so how could a pair of frayed denim shorts and one single tattoo have such an inflammatory effect on his libido?
Blue eyes twinkled into his. ‘Are you OK? Say something. Preferably something nice and not “Izzy, your voice is crap.” That way we’ll maintain this lovely harmonious atmosphere.’
It was her mouth, he decided. Yes, her hair was wild and her clothes casual, but her mouth was a work of art. An almost perfect curve announcing her sexuality and he had a clear memory of the way that mouth had felt under his.
Matteo couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to fight his own impulses and he knew she was fighting the same impulse from the way she suddenly frowned and looked away from him.
But eye contact wasn’t necessary to fuel chemistry this intense. It had a life of its own and the heat scorched both of them, burning up willpower and good intentions.
‘Um, this is awkward.’ She drew in an unsteady breath, watching as a tiny bird skimmed water from the still surface of the pool. ‘So let’s just talk about it and get it out of the way. You’re thinking about that kiss. So am I. But you kissed me because you were angry with me, no other reason. I drove you a little crazy.’ Delving into the pocket of her shorts she pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slipped them onto her nose. ‘We’d both been drinking. End of story.’
But he’d drunk virtually nothing and the absence of an excuse made his behaviour all the more disturbing.
Her expression was hidden by the glasses. ‘Let’s just finish this tour so you can get back to work. How do I get down to the beach? I’m more of a sea girl than a pool girl.’
And now he’d seen her in the fountain it was all too easy to imagine her in the sea, those long limbs kicking gracefully through the water. And from there it was a small step to imagining those same long limbs wrapped around his waist.
Matteo undid the top button of his shirt. ‘There’s only one path and it’s very steep. You need to be careful not to go close to the edge of the cliffs or you could fall. I’ll show you.’ Striding ahead of her so that she was out of his field of vision, he led her down a set of stone steps and back onto the sweep of grass that led from the palazzo to the cliffs.
‘So that amphitheatre place where you hold the concert—is it near here?’ Once again she’d taken off her espadrilles and this time they dangled from her fingers as she walked across the grass, as light on her feet as a ballerina.
‘It’s about an hour south of here.’ He dragged his gaze from her bright pink toenails. ‘You seem to carry your shoes more than you wear them.’
‘That’s because I fall in love with pretty shoes and then discover I can’t walk in them. I watched the concert on TV last year. Incredible.’ She stretched out her arms and lifted her face to the sun. ‘I suppose it’s useless to ask if you can get me a ticket? Given that you won’t let me help, at least you could let me watch. I could hover backstage.’
The last thing he wanted was Izzy backstage, distracting him with her soft mouth and her laughing eyes. ‘You’ll be back in England before the concert.’
‘I suppose you don’t trust me not to grab the microphone. So how did you get involved in the music industry anyway? I mean, it isn’t exactly a normal focus for a prince.’ She stooped to pick a daisy from the grass, the movement once again bringing that tempting tattoo into his line of vision.
Matteo felt as if he was being suffocated. ‘I had friends in
the music industry. Some of us decided it would be fun to raise money through a rock concert.’
‘So you get to enjoy yourself and raise money at the same time. Smart move.’ She threaded the head of the daisy through the stalk of another. ‘The concert has some really high-profile sponsors. You have powerful friends, Your Highness. I suppose you speak a million languages?’
‘Didn’t you discover the answer to that when you did your “research” on me?’ Matteo found himself fascinated by the dexterity of those slim fingers as she skilfully wove herself a daisy chain. And somehow his brain managed to move from daisy chains to something altogether less innocent.
‘I found out that you have a shockingly high IQ.’ Her voice was matter-of-fact. ‘And that you joined the air force. You flew fast jets until the palace decided it was too dangerous and you had to switch to helicopters. That must have been difficult for you.’
‘Did your research tell you that?’
‘No need to be snappy, especially when someone is being sympathetic.’ She tilted her wrist so that the delicate daisy chain slid to the right place on her arm. ‘Being forced to give up something you are burning to do can sometimes feel like not breathing.’
It had felt exactly like that but Matteo had no intention of discussing anything that personal with anyone, let alone her.
Undaunted by his lack of response, she glanced at him. ‘So why did you give up flying helicopters?’
That was a more comfortable question to answer. ‘I had a heavy workload of official engagements. That became my priority.’
‘Because your brother was too busy pursuing his own business interests to do his share.’
Matteo’s eyes narrowed. ‘Just how in depth was this research of yours?’
‘If we’d got as far as a conversation I wanted to be prepared. I wanted to understand you. So while he was off doing his own thing, you were covering for him. And last night, you were protective of him…. Hmm …’ Twisting a daisy between her fingers, she glanced at him thoughtfully. ‘So I’m guessing you’re just relieved not to be the eldest and have all that rule-the-world stuff ahead of you. You have powerful ideals and a strong sense of duty but you don’t want all the pomp and attention that goes with being Crown Prince. That’s why you like it here. You can fulfil the role expected of you, but still live by your own rules.’