by Raye Morgan
She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing she could get orientated. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, as though her muscles couldn’t really respond. But maybe that was because her mind didn’t seem to be working at all. She was so tired. Maybe when she opened her eyes, this would all fade away and she would be home in her own bed….
Prince Maximilliano Di Rossi looked down at the woman who was clinging to him and frowned. He was surprised that she’d turned to him for protection the way she had, but he was also surprised at his own reaction to her move. His first impulse was to pull away, to reject all contact. That was his way, the style he’d been living with for the last ten years. The only people he allowed near him were those who had always been closest to him, a few people who had known him since childhood—since before the accident. He never had other visitors. He’d been stepping out of character even to bring her here.
But something in the easy, open way she’d clung to him had stirred old memories. She was shivering and turning toward him as a lover would. Something deep inside him hungered for this. It had been so long since he’d held a woman in his arms, since he’d felt that warmth, that contrast between his own hard body and the soft, rounded responsiveness of a woman. He’d thought he might never feel it again. And yet, here it was, like a gift out of the blue.
But not for long. He knew she’d been trying to see his face and he’d been keeping it averted. Once she really saw him in full light, any instincts for touching him in any way would dry up like summer rain on a hot pavement.
With a cynical twist of his wide mouth, he turned and led her into the palazzo through the tall, heavy wood door. Their footsteps echoed down the long empty hallways. Someone coughed. He looked up. There stood his man, Renzo, in his nightclothes and dressing gown, and wearing what appeared to be a pair of aging woodchucks on his feet. He looked sleepy and ridiculous, but definitely alarmed at the same time.
“Nice slippers,” he commented wryly, cocking an eyebrow.
“Thank you, sir,” Renzo responded, shuffling his feet and looking slightly abashed.
Max paused for a moment. He knew he could very easily hand over this piece of womanly baggage to the individual who had been his combination valet, butler, and personal assistant most of his life. Hand her over and turn his back and walk away and never give her another thought. He knew very well that Renzo would take care of everything discreetly and efficiently. Doing just that would fit the pattern of his life, the way things were done around here. He made a move as though to do it. He could see that Renzo expected it. How easy it would be to follow through.
And then he glanced down at the woman. She was still turning to him for refuge. She’d reached for him, given herself into the comfort of his arm, pressed her beautiful young body against his as though she was trusting that he would keep her safe. Something moved inside him—and that was dangerous. Just looking down into her gorgeous thick, tangled hair, he could feel his emotions stirring in a way he didn’t need.
And still, he didn’t leave.
Later he told himself it was nothing more than a typical impulse of the male role of guardian, the same he might have had for a puppy or a kitten that needed his attention. Despite his background, despite his guilty past, the urge to safeguard those smaller and more vulnerable rose in him and he’d followed his instincts.
But for once, he wasn’t convinced. No, there was something about this woman—something threatening. He knew he should walk away and leave her to Renzo to deal with.
But he didn’t do that.
Looking up, he shook his head at his man. “I’ll handle this,” he said, shedding his long black cloak and dropping it on a chair along the side of the room. He was going to see to her himself.
At the same time he realized what this meant. He was going to be forced to go against habit and his recent tradition. He was going to have to do something he almost never did these days. He was going to have to turn and let her see his face.
Renzo looked alarmed. “But, sir—” he began.
The prince cut him off. “Notify Marcello that I would like him to join us in the Blue Room,” he said.
Renzo blinked. “Excuse me, sir, but I think the doctor is asleep…”
“Then wake him,” Max said crisply. “I want him to take a look at this young lady. She’s had a fall.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Renzo said faintly, but he didn’t leave the room. Instead, he cleared his throat as though to say more, but Max wasn’t listening. He was steeling himself for the moment that was about to come.
He knew his hesitation would seem strange to others. Most would let anyone see their face at any time. After all, it was the side they showed to the world, the representation of just who they were.
But he wasn’t like everyone else. His face was scarred, horribly damaged and ugly to see. It couldn’t represent him, because he wasn’t like that inside. But it was all he had, and therefore it was something he avoided showing to strangers.
To turn and let her see his face would be a serious step for him. Still, he was going to do it. He was impatient with himself for even wavering. It was time he got over this weakness. He would turn and let her see just what she was dealing with. And he would hold his gaze steady so that he would be forced to take in every ounce of the shock and horror in her eyes. It was best to stay real.
“Come this way,” he told her brusquely, turning to stride down the hall. She almost ran to keep up, holding onto his hand as though she would be lost if she let go. The huge portraits that lined their path were a blur, as were the long, aging tapestries that hung from the walls. He swept her into a room lined with heavy blue velvet drapes. The embers of a dying fire were smoldering in the large stone fireplace.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing toward an antique Grecian couch. “My cousin Marcello is a physician. I want him to take a look at you.”
“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head and looking down at herself. Everything about her seemed to be dripping. “I’m filthy and muddy and wet. I’ll ruin the upholstery.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said shortly.
She raised her dark gaze and cocked her head to the side, trying to see more than the left half of his face. Was he joking? This was one of the most sumptuously embellished rooms she’d ever been in. Not what she was used to, but most people she knew didn’t do much decorating in velvet and gold leaf.
“Of course it matters,” she responded, beginning to feel some of her usual fire returning. “I may not look like much right now, but I’ve got manners. I know how to act in polite company.”
“Polite company?” He gave a little grunt, not even sure himself if it were partly a laugh or not. “Is that what you’re expecting? We’ll have to see if we can muster some up for you.”
He was pacing about the room in a restless way and she turned to keep him in her line of vision. She was pretty sure she knew who he was by now. After all, she’d seen him all those years ago at the hot springs. If only she could get a full view of his face she would know for sure, but he seemed to have a talent for keeping in the shadows.
“You’re making me dizzy,” she said, reaching out to steady herself with a hand on the back of an overstuffed chair.
He grunted again, but he didn’t stop moving. She watched nervously, wondering what he was planning to do with her. Luckily, he didn’t seem inclined to lock her in a cell, so Susa was wrong there, but she supposed he could call the police and have her arrested if he wanted to. This was his castle and she didn’t belong here.
She watched and waited. She liked the way he moved. There was a controlled, animal strength to him, and every action, every turn, presented with a certain masculine grace. And yet there was the sense of something more to him, something hidden, something leashed and waiting. He was new to her, unpredictable. Once again she realized that she was in a presence she didn’t know how to handle. That made her heart thump.
Stopping to look out into the hall, he muttered s
omething she couldn’t quite make out, but it sounded slightly obscene.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, tensing as though to be ready to run for it.
He started to turn toward her, then stopped. “My cousin is taking his own sweet time about it,” he said evenly. “I’d like to get this over with.”
“So would I,” she said, her tone heartfelt. “Listen, why don’t I just go and—?”
“No,” he ordered firmly, glancing at her sideways. “You stay right where you are.”
That put her back up a bit and sparked a sense of rebellion in her soul.
“Much as I appreciate your warm and welcoming hospitality,” she began with a touch of sarcasm, taking a step toward the door, “I think it’s time—”
“No.”
He took a step closer and his hand shot out and circled her wrist. “You’re staying right here until I permit you to go.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” Her lower lip jutted out and she pulled hard on his hold but he wasn’t letting go. “Your rules are on the medieval side, you know. These days one doesn’t take orders from another person unless they are being paid money.”
He pulled her closer, his face half turned her way. “Is that what you’re after?” he asked harshly. “Is it money you want?”
“What?” She stared up at him, shocked by the very concept. “No, no, of course not.”
“Then what do you want here?” he demanded.
She swallowed hard. Somehow this didn’t seem to be a good segue into asking for monthly access to his hillside. “N…nothing,” she stammered.
“Liar.”
She gasped. He was right but she didn’t like hearing it. “You…you wouldn’t understand,” she stammered senselessly. “But I meant you no harm.”
He gave a sharp tug to her wrist, pulling her up close. “Harm.” He said it as though it were a pointless word. “All the harm’s been done years ago,” he added softly.
She winced at the bitterness in his voice. It was clear something about his life just wasn’t going well. The gloomy, bleak atmosphere was only reinforced by his dark attitude. Negative people usually turned her off but there was a lot more here than a bad mood. She felt it like a vibration in the air, and her heart began to beat just a bit harder.
He felt her pulse quicken under his hold on her wrist and he knew what he had to do. Slowly, very deliberately, he turned and faced her, the light from the lamps and the fire exposing his horrible scars.
Was it pride that kept him from showing this to anyone who didn’t know him intimately? Was it conceit, arrogance, egoism? Was it really that hard to think that his face, which had once been considered quite handsome, was now so repellent, people turned away rather than be forced to look at him?
It was probably all those things. But he’d known from the start there was something deeper and harder to face than that. He knew very well there was a large measure of guilt mixed into his motivations. His scars were retribution for his sins, but, even more painful, they were his own fault. That was the hardest thing to live with.
He’d spent years now, hidden away, traveling in limousines with tinted windows, moving anonymously from one house to another. It was a strange, lonely existence, and he was sick of it. But in order to change things, he would have to get used to people seeing his face, and he wasn’t sure he could do it. Or that he deserved to.
But tonight, he wasn’t going to dodge anything. It was high time he accepted his fate and learned to live with it. He was going to stare directly into her huge blue eyes and read every scrap of emotion that was mirrored there. No more avoidance. His jaw tightened and he steeled himself. And then he presented himself to her, scars and all.
Her eyes widened as she took in the totality of his face. The shock was there. He tensed, waiting for the disgust, the wince, the hand to the mouth, the flood of pity, the eyes darting away, looking anywhere but at him. He’d seen it before.
The only mystery was—why did he still let it bother him? It was time to harden himself to it. And so he stood his ground and met her gaze.
But things weren’t going quite as he’d expected. The quality of her surprise was somehow different from what he was used to. No curtain of instant distance appeared, no revulsion, no reserve tainted her manner.
Instead of dread, instead of a cold drawing away in repugnance, a warm, curious light came into her eyes. Rather than pull away, she was coming closer. He watched in astonishment as she actually cocked her head to the side, then reached out for him.
He didn’t move as she edged closer and touched his face, her fingertips moving lightly over the scar, tracing its path down his cheek and into the corner of his wide mouth.
“Oh,” she said, letting it out in a long sigh.
But there was no pity. Maybe there was a hint of sorrow. But other than that, only a touch of confusion along with much interest and curiosity. It seemed almost as though she’d found a wonderful piece of statuary with a tragic flaw that deserved a little exploring. And she felt no inhibitions in doing exactly that.
CHAPTER TWO
ISABELLA was moving in a haze of unreality, as though she really had stepped into a fairy tale. She saw the jagged, fascinating scars, the tragic flaw that split his face in two and made her heart ache with compassion, but there was so much beside that. There was power and presence in the man, and, even more, there was overwhelming beauty in him. His shirt was open, exposing the tanned skin of a hard, sculptured chest, and his wonderful male heat filled her with a strange sense of longing that scared her more than anything else had—and at the same time it tugged at her with an impossible attraction.
He reached out as though to steady her, his hands gentle yet firm on her shoulders, and she felt herself melt into his touch, wanted to lean closer yet. She had a sudden, wild desire to press her lips to the pulse she could see beating hard at the base of his throat. She stared at it, irresistibly drawn.
But she recoiled in time, shocked at her own impulses. What next—was she going to offer herself to the man outright? She gasped softly, then began to think she ought to pull away. Ought to—but couldn’t quite summon up the will.
Max couldn’t have been more amazed if she had kissed him. The moment crystallized in time, her body arched toward his, her fingertips on his face, his heart pounding, his gaze locked on hers. Something twisted in his chest and he realized he was holding his breath. He was feeling something new and strange and he didn’t like it at all. But she’d touched him. No woman had done that since the accident. No woman had wanted to. That lit a fire inside him he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. Whatever else this young woman was, she was unique in a way he’d never seen before. She didn’t make him feel like a freak. He savored the moment.
And in the same instant he became aware that Renzo had come into the room at last and was now lurching forward as though he was prepared to push this woman back away from his prince. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. And it all seemed to be so very beside the point, but it had to be dealt with, and so he did.
Turning to block Renzo’s ridiculous protective lunge with the position of his body, he pulled the young woman up against him and out of Renzo’s reach. Looking down, he sank into the clouds in her dark eyes, searching for the mysteries they might contain. She seemed to hold worlds he’d never visited deep inside her. Those worlds were suddenly the most interesting places he’d ever had a glimpse of. He suddenly found it very hard to pull away from her gaze. Or maybe, the truth was, he didn’t want to.
Who was she? Where had she come from? Should he get away from her as fast as he could—or should he find a way to keep her here? He knew what his instincts were telling him. But he knew from experience that his instincts could lie.
Renzo still hung at his shoulder. “Sir…”
It took Max a moment to respond. He was still looking deep into the young woman’s eyes. “I thought I told you to get Marcello,” he said without turning.
“But, sir�
��” Renzo was blinking rapidly, obviously upset by this strange behavior.
“Go.”
Renzo averted his gaze, bowed deeply, and gave in. “Very well, sir.” Turning on his heel, he left the room.
And at the same time Max’s sister, Angela, appeared in the opening. She took in the scene and her eyebrows arched even higher than usual.
“Well, Max,” she said, starting into the room at last. “Who’s this?”
The sound of her voice snapped them both to attention as though a spell had been broken. They turned to look at her. She came closer, circling and gazing with wonder at the two of them.
“Where on earth did you find her?”
Max drew in a sharp breath and stepped away from Isabella as though she’d suddenly grown too hot to touch. She reached out to steady herself against the back of the couch, not sure if she was reacting to general dizziness, or to the man himself. She was still in a muddle, but at least her head was clear enough by now to fully understand whom she was dealing with. After all, if you trespassed on a prince’s property, you were likely to run into the prince at some point. And maybe even a princess or two.
“I found her wandering around down by the river,” this particular prince was saying. “The dogs were loose and I was afraid they might attack her.” He made a gesture and looked down at Isabella, still swaying next to the couch, then back at his sister. “I must have startled her. She fell down the hill.”
Angela nodded, looking her over, then glanced sharply at Max. “Right into the water, I see.”
“Yes.”
“And you…you rescued her?”
His hands curled around the back of a chair and gripped so hard his knuckles were white. “Yes, Angela. I rescued her.” He turned to stare at his sister with a measure of hostility.
“I see.” She stared back, but looked away first, looking Isabella over again. “That still doesn’t tell me who she is.”