The Mediterranean Prince's Passion (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 1)

by Sharon Kendrick

  He ran the tips of his fingers reflectively around his chilled glass. ‘I don’t really know anything about you,’ he observed.

  ‘No.’ Ella laughed. ‘Maybe it’s because of the peculiar way we met.’

  Her phrase had the slight resonance of permanence about it, and made him slightly wary—until he reminded himself that women had a habit of making every new encounter sound as though it was a contender for the Romeo and Juliet stakes. And if he wanted her—which he did—then surely he should indulge her?

  He sipped his wine. ‘So tell me about yourself.’

  ‘Well, I studied History at university.’ She drew a deep breath, then told him about leap-frogging from job to job, about never quite feeling any real satisfaction in her work and being unable to settle to anything, until one day an American cousin of hers had complained that it was impossible to discover the ‘real’ England—that everywhere was just a plastic Ye Olde Teashoppe-type experience. Foreign visitors wanted to see places off the beaten track, places of historic interest and wonderful gardens that weren’t completely overrun by day-trippers with cameras.

  ‘So you saw a gap in the market?’ he guessed.

  ‘Absolutely. I sourced all the best small castles and country houses and found comfortable non-chain hotels. I went looking for simple restaurants—ones like this—the kind of places you wouldn’t normally get to hear about. I took a loan from the bank, founded the Real England Tour Company, advertised on the Internet and the business has just taken off. I’ve even got someone working with me now.’

  ‘Wow.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘So that’s me.’ Ella put her elbows on the table and, leaning forward, rested her chin in her hands. ‘What about you?’

  They both watched in silence while the waitress put their food down in front of them. They stared at it as if it was an unwelcome intruder.

  Nico ate a prawn, more for convention than hunger’s sake. ‘Actually, I work in tourism myself—but in a different kind of way.’

  ‘Really? Like what?’

  ‘Well, it’s complicated. It would take hours to explain.’ And he didn’t have hours. Not to spend on talking. He leaned towards her and the faint scent of lilac drifted to him. ‘Let’s not talk about boring stuff like jobs, Ella. Because on a night like this the stuff we aren’t saying is deafening us—can’t you hear it?’

  She stared straight into his eyes, feeling herself beginning to melt, knowing what was coming next and both scared and longing to hear it. ‘Stuff like…like what?’

  ‘Like the fact that I have waited just as long as it is possible to wait and now I want to kiss you. And that if we order any more food it is going to be completely wasted because I would prefer to take you back home, where I can kiss you in private.’ His dark eyes glittered unrepentantly as they lingered on her lips. ‘Shocked?’ he drawled.

  ‘Not shocked, no,’ she said slowly, because his words had scraped sharp, jagged fingernails over her senses, leaving her raw and aching.

  There had been men she had wanted before, of course there had, but never like this—with a wave of longing so powerful that it seemed to have punched out all her breath and heartbeat and sense and reason. She shook her head again.

  ‘What, then, if not shocked?’ he murmured.

  His eyes caressed her and she could feel the warm, honeyed throb of her blood urging her on, compelling her to tell him what she really wanted.

  ‘Impatient, I guess,’ she said huskily, and swallowed.

  His eyes narrowed, her reaction taking him momentarily by surprise—but the unexpected was a very potent aphrodisiac. He withdrew a wallet, peeled off several notes and threw them down on the table.

  ‘This was supposed to be my treat for all your help,’ Ella protested.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said softly.

  ‘And you’ve left far too much,’ she commented as he stood up.

  ‘Then it will be a pleasant surprise for the waitress, won’t it?’

  She hoped he could afford it—that he wasn’t making an expansive gesture just for the sake of impressing her. But then he was putting his arm around her shoulders, and his fingertips were brushing against her bare skin, and all she could think about was his touch.

  They walked breathlessly into the street, and as soon as they were out of sight of the customers he pulled her hard against him, choosing a darkened alcove where they could not be seen—like a college boy who wanted to get intimate without ruining his bachelor reputation.

  It seemed to have taken a long time to get here, but at last she was in his arms, and he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, and suddenly things began to spin out of control.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘NICO!’ Ella gasped as his lips drove down on hers, shocking and cajoling them into an instant, yielding response.

  ‘Si? Che cosa?’ he whispered impatiently, circling his hips against her and hearing with triumph yet another gasp.

  ‘We can’t do this!’ She closed her eyes as he blatantly pressed the rock-hard cradle of his desire against her. ‘Not here!’

  Nico stilled. She thought he was going to take her there? Unzip himself and pull her panties down and do it up against a wall? His desire rocketed almost out of control and he pulled his mouth away and closed his eyes, trying desperately to steady his breathing.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he bit out.

  He took her hand and Ella let him, in such a daze that it might as well have been his village, not hers, as she blindly mirrored his footsteps until they arrived back at the cottage.

  Her hands were trembling so much as she tried to unlock the door that he took the key from her. Once they were inside the hall, he turned to her, lifted her chin and stared down into her troubled face, creasing his forehead into a frown. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What must you think of me?’ she breathed.

  Ah! He hid a smile. He knew this game. Women wanted sex just as much as men did, but nature made them need to dress it up as respectable—if sex could ever be described in such a way.

  ‘What do I think? I think you are very beautiful, cara, and I want to make love to you very much.’

  She pulled away from him, her eyes dark with hunger—but years of conditioning was hard to get rid of in just a couple of short hours. She pointed towards the kitchen. ‘Maybe…maybe I should make us some coffee?’

  For a moment he was incredulous. She had been in his arms, just seconds away from instant surrender, and now she was distancing herself? It was unknown—and unheard of! A pulse beat deep in his groin. If he moved towards her again and touched her would she have the strength to repeat her actions? He thought not.

  But something stopped him, and it was more than the unimaginable idea that she might hold firm in her resolve. No, once again it was the tantalising prospect of experiencing what other men must encounter every day of their lives. Having to fight for what they wanted.

  For once the playing field was equal, when usually all the odds were stacked high in his favour. Had he not wondered over the years what it would be like if a woman treated him as a normal man, knowing that it was unlikely ever to happen? Well, now he had the chance to find out for himself.

  The gods had blessed him with looks and brains, as well as the honour and burden of his birthright—so let him see whether they alone were enough to achieve what he so achingly wanted.

  ‘Maybe you should,’ he agreed, his voice silky with consideration.

  Ella bit her lip. Hadn’t part of her been hoping—praying—that he would arrogantly override her doubts and fears by taking her in his arms and kissing them all away?

  ‘Would…would you like some?’ To her horror and her consternation she began to tremble violently, and Nico watched her from narrowed eyes before lifting his hand to trace a thoughtful finger around the edge of her lips. ‘Do you know what I think?’ he whispered.

  She shook her head.

  ‘I think that you have made your entirely feminine s
tand. Honour has been maintained. But now you want me to kiss you again.’ For a second his eyes widened, like a predatory jungle cat. ‘Am I right, cara mia?’

  She stared up at him. Yes, she thought. Yes, you’re right. Kiss me. Kiss me now. Right now.

  He met the silent demand in her eyes and bent forwards, his mouth tracing a slow, exploratory path across her lips with the lightest of touches—barely touching her at all—which set her already racing pulse scrambling into a rapid, thready beat. The soft no-kiss kiss went on and on, until she felt that the frustration of it might kill her, but finally the tip of his tongue flicked against her, moistening her lips, and she licked at them greedily, wanting to taste him. It was more than before, but it was still not enough, and she moaned.

  He raised his head then, a look of mild bemusement momentarily softening the hunger that had hardened the angles of his face as he read her expression. ‘More?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. More. More!’

  ‘Nice girls say please,’ he said, a sudden roughness entering his voice, and this time the kiss was urgent and seeking.

  Ella felt her knees grow weak, as if her bones were dissolving, and maybe he sensed it, for he caught her up and carried her into the sitting-room. He lay down on the sofa and pulled her on top of him, so that she straddled him, warm thighs clasped against his hips.

  Ella closed her eyes and gave in to it. She could feel all the sinews and angles of his hard body, the hard evidence of how much he wanted her as he ground his hips against her.

  ‘Can you feel me?’ he murmured.

  ‘Y-yes.’

  He pulled her closer still. ‘And now?’

  Oh, God—it felt almost indecently intimate the way he was pressing himself into her, despite the barrier of their clothes. She nodded frantically as he ran his fingertip up and down the cleft of her buttocks. She felt weak and faint—disturbed by the fact that she was letting him do this to her with such apparent ease. It was as if he had cast some kind of spell on her. It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, and yet she didn’t want to stop him. She couldn’t stop him.

  ‘Nico.’ Her hands fluttered helplessly, her fingers briefly coiling their way through the ebony tendrils of his hair, then drifting their way down to his shoulders. Through his cool linen shirt she could feel the muscular power sheathed by silken skin, and she kneaded the flesh with rhythmical, greedy fingers. ‘Nico!’ she gasped.

  ‘Nico, what?’

  ‘Kiss me again.’

  He kissed her until there were no doubts left—until she was boneless and compliant—and only then did he move his mouth away. He began to undo the buttons of her dress, one by one, and she felt the cool washing of air on her heated skin as he peeled it down over her shoulders.

  His eyes darkened as he saw the peep of her breasts edging over the delicate satin and lace of her bra. ‘I want to see your breasts,’ he murmured possessively, stroking thoughtfully at the nipple that was peaking through the silk. ‘May I?’

  A dart of pleasure so fierce that it was very close to pain racked through her body. ‘Y-yes.’

  His hand moved to her back, to flick the hook open with almost indolent ease, and her breasts spilled out, rose-tipped and pale and magnificent. Nico felt himself grow harder still.

  ‘And panties?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Are you wearing matching panties?’

  Hadn’t she put them on specially. As though she had been expecting just this? ‘Yes.’

  ‘May I see them?’

  She knew what he wanted her to do. She was like a puppet, being worked by a consummate master, and she crossed her arms over her chest and pulled the dress over her head, letting it tumble unnoticed onto the floor. She heard his breathing change as his eyes drank in the indentation of her waist, the way the silk skimmed her hips and the bare thighs that straddled him, then looked at her in a way that made her feel suddenly shy. But her shyness changed into feminine pride when she saw the look of fierce and possessive hunger on his face.

  He leant back a little, like a man appraising a painting, and he noted the curves and shadows of her body. The skin that had been burned by the sun had now softened to a pale golden glow, providing a creamy backdrop for the underwear. He wanted both to rip it from her and yet to make love to her while she was still wearing it. But of course it was entirely possible to indulge in both fantasies…

  He moved his hand down to the camiknickers, watching the pleasured darkening of her eyes as he touched her most secret place, feeling the warm, honeyed moistness through the scrap of silk and watching the way she instinctively squirmed against his fingers.

  ‘Nico!’ she cried out.

  He wanted to tell her to unzip him, was filled with a desperate longing to have her undress him as though he was any other man. But he was not, nor ever would be, and his body was his own and always would be.

  He lifted her effortlessly while he rasped the zip down and impatiently kicked off his trousers and his shoes, seeing that she was now totally in his thrall as slowly and deliberately he ripped her panties, then tossed them away. He lowered her back down towards him and Ella’s eyes snapped open. She looked down at him in alarm and confusion, prepared and yet unprepared as she felt the first naked nudge of him against her.

  It had all happened so quickly—too quickly. Should it be this way? To make love on her sofa for the very first time, when they were still partially clothed? The blood was pounding in her ears and she quivered as she felt him pushing against her. ‘Don’t…don’t you want to take me to bed, Nico?’ she breathed.

  There was something unworldly and innocent about the question, something that nagged and tugged at his conscience, as if he had broken some fundamental rule he had not been aware of.

  God forgive him for plundering—for taking just what he wanted as if it was his due! And—dear God!—for forgetting to take any precautions! He bit back a groan of frustration and forced the overwhelming heat of desire to still for an instant as he lifted a hand to smooth back a sunset-coloured strand of hair.

  ‘But I do not know where the bed is!’ he bit out, in a voice made tight with tension. ‘Will you show me the way, Gabriella?’

  She meant to. Which was why she tried to wriggle away from him. But the movement had entirely the wrong effect, since it positioned them so that the tip of him was now inside her, and she knew that she could not move from that spot. A delicious and unstoppable warmth began to well up within her.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Too late?’ he guessed silkily.

  Oh, much too late. ‘Later,’ she breathed. ‘I’ll show you later.’

  Maybe it was just the offer of propriety she required, for now she was urging him on like there was no tomorrow. Nico could barely think straight as he reached blindly for his trousers and slid on the necessary protection. His eyes transfixed by the swaying of her breasts, he drove into her with a groan, holding onto her hips so that he could go deeper still.

  ‘Nico!’ The cry of delight was torn from her lips.

  Sweet heaven! She was like a wildcat! She began to scrabble at his shirt, tearing at the buttons and whispering his name as he moved inside her, then moaning it, over and over, as if she couldn’t say it enough times. He attempted to subdue her with deep, drugging kisses, but all they did was send his hunger spiralling out of control. And he was free to indulge it. Free as a lion. He had never felt this free before. Unknown and free. Just Nico.

  Still lost in the rhythm, he touched her breast, feeling the nipple pucker and harden beneath his fingers and a fierce dart of pleasure threatened to take him under.

  ‘Gabriella.’

  He said her name on a shudder of broken wonder that was almost a plea, and Ella opened her eyes to stare deep into his, to see straight into his soul, into the very essence of the man himself—and that was when the pleasure engulfed her.

  ‘Oh,’ she cried softly. ‘Oh. Oh. Oh!’

  He felt himself follow her, drowning in w
ave upon wave of sensation, rocked and silenced by it, holding her closely, almost reverentially, until after the storm had subsided.

  The muffled beat of his heart pounded a primitive rhythm and Ella lay, dazed and satiated, as she felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. It took her a few minutes to realise that he had fallen asleep, and she was glad of the moment of respite, shocked by the depth of her response to him.

  She had never been so uninhibited—never, ever, ever. Absently, she dropped a kiss on the warm silken skin of his shoulder, and as he stirred lazily she turned her head slightly. The last of the setting sun’s rays spilled in through the French doors, spotlighting them like two dancers as they lay sprawled and still intimately locked together on her sofa.

  With an inbreath of horror she bit down on her lip, realising that she hadn’t given a thought to privacy—not a thought—and that it didn’t get dark until gone ten!

  Why, anyone might have seen them! She might discourage casual callers, but that didn’t mean they didn’t come visiting. Oh, Lord. Ella felt the flush of guilt creep up to tinge her already rosy cheeks and shook Nico gently. But she couldn’t resist running her fingertips over the smooth surface of his skin. He felt like silk to touch.

  ‘Nico!’ she urged softly. ‘Nico! Wake up!’

  Nico stirred. It was warm here, and…peaceful…yes…utterly peaceful. And that beautiful featherlight stroking. Total relaxation was such a rare and precious state for him, and he sighed and drifted back towards sleep. He didn’t want to leave this place. He shook his head. ‘Non!’

  ‘Nico! Wake up! You must!’

  The female voice drifted in and disturbed him, bringing him back to life in her arms. It was the word must that jarred the most. An unfamiliar word.

  Nico opened his eyes to her soft pink face bent over him, her russet hair all mussed, her mouth dark from kissing, her breasts naked and soft, digging into him.

  Che cosa stava accendendo?

  It took a second or two for him to realise.