She paused for a second by the glass doors to the balcony. Maybe she should shower and dress before heading out. But the coffee smelled so good...
‘If you don’t get out here quick, I’m going to eat all the pastries,’ Matteo called from outside. ‘I’m starving.’
Well, that made the decision for her. There was no way she was missing out on pastries.
Matteo was already sitting at the table they’d shared the night before—at some point in the night, it must have been cleared and reset, as it was now laden with pastries and steaming hot coffee. Isabella looked around and spotted a small staircase she’d missed the previous night, leading down to where she imagined the kitchen door must be at the side of the house. Whoever their house fairies were, sent to take care of them this week, they were certainly discreet and silent.
Taking a breath, Isabella stepped forward, her princess smile in place, and took her seat opposite him. ‘Good morning.’
His eyes widened as he looked up and clocked her nightwear, but he didn’t say anything, which she appreciated. And he poured her coffee, which she appreciated even more.
‘Have you been up long?’ She took the cup and lifted it to her lips, breathing in the bitter scent and taking one cautious, hot sip.
Matteo shrugged. ‘A little while. Went for an early morning run by the lake, then came back for a shower. When I came out, I found breakfast ready.’
‘You still run on holiday?’ Exercise for Isabella was limited to yoga classes with Gianna, and walks around the palace estates.
‘It’s a habit,’ he replied. ‘Plus I’m still strengthening my leg. The physio gave me exercises, but now it’s more about rebuilding my stamina.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that driving was a particularly fitness-focused sport.’ Although given the way his muscles showed through his thin white T-shirt—dampened in places from the water dripping from his tight black curls—she wasn’t really surprised to learn that he took his physical fitness seriously.
‘I hear that a lot.’ Matteo leant back in his chair, one foot propped up on his other knee, his arm sprawled across the railing on the edge of the balcony. Just looking at him made her cheeks feel warm at her suggestion. Of course he was in peak physical condition. ‘Actually, fitness is really important in racing.’
At least he didn’t seem annoyed by her comment. ‘How come?’
‘Well, first off there’s the strength needed for controlling the car at high speeds.’ Matteo ticked that point off on his finger before raising another one. ‘There’s the heat to contend with in there, too. But most of all, it’s our hearts.’
‘Your heart?’
‘A race can be two hours long,’ Matteo explained. ‘And our hearts are pumping at way above normal levels for that whole time—like we’re exercising hard for a sustained period. The G-forces over a two-hour race are immense—you feel like your head weighs ten times what it normally does.’
‘I hadn’t thought about any of that,’ Isabella admitted.
‘No reason you should,’ he replied, with a shrug. ‘For me, the biggest thing is my brain.’
‘Yeah?’ She also hadn’t really thought of racing as a particularly cerebral activity either, but she figured it probably wasn’t a good idea to mention that.
‘Racing needs split-second reactions, it needs me to be able to think ahead, to calculate risks and take them quickly. If my body is tired, my brain gets tired too and my concentration starts to lapse. I can’t afford that in a race; it could cost me too much.’
Not just the winner’s flag, Isabella realised. If Matteo lost focus out of the racetrack, if he wasn’t up to the rigours of a two-hour race, it could cost him—or someone else—their life. She shivered, even though the morning was warm.
He seemed to sense her discomfort with the topic and moved on.
‘So, what do you have planned for today?’ Matteo topped up her almost empty cup of coffee and she took it gratefully, sipping the hot liquid carefully while she considered her answer.
Planned? She didn’t have anything planned. There was no Gianna standing there with her schedule for the day, reminding her of appearances she’d reluctantly agreed to make, or letters she needed to write. No member of the royal household summoning her for another awful, awkward date with a man she didn’t want to marry. No rules keeping her from escaping into the city and exploring alone. No security guard trailing after her, even—although she suspected that if she tried to pass the gatehouse where the security staff were staying, she’d soon pick one up.
The point was, there was nothing she was supposed to be doing today. Which meant she could choose for herself.
What a luxury.
And a pity she had no idea what to do with it.
‘I saw a well-stocked bookcase inside,’ she said eventually. ‘Maybe I’ll read.’
‘Sounds good,’ Matteo replied, not really sounding as if he meant it.
She supposed that was a little antisocial, considering she was supposed to be getting to know her companion better. ‘There were some board games too, I think?’
A wide smile spread across Matteo’s face. ‘Now, that sounds more like it. But I warn you—I’m very competitive.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’ Isabella asked, grinning in return.
By later that afternoon, Matteo was regretting almost everything about this week.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Mostly, he was just regretting his personal promise to himself to keep his hands off the Princess.
From the moment she’d appeared that morning, dressed in those indecently short pyjamas and a wrap that was basically see-through, he’d been struggling to keep his eyes—and his libido—where they belonged.
He’d thought that playing board games would help. After all, he associated them with being a kid, playing with his brother. They were inherently unsexy, and she’d even put real clothes on to play them. It was the perfect ‘new friend’ activity, right?
Except it turned out that Princess Isabella had a competitive streak to rival his own, and the wicked smile that flashed across her lips every time she was winning sent heat flashing through his body.
And that wasn’t the only problem.
Isabella reached past him for the dice, her warm skin pressing against his arm as she moved. The dark curls of her hair hung over her face, and he could smell roses when he breathed in.
He tensed, waiting for her to retreat again—but when she did, the softness of her breasts brushed against his shoulder, forcing him to swallow hard.
This was unbearable.
Because M knew what it was doing. The agency, or Madison Morgan herself, had picked his perfect woman—at least in one way. Isabella was beautiful, curvaceous, oozing an unconscious sex appeal that was driving him insane.
He had a whole week alone with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in real life, and he was going to spend it playing Monopoly.
This was why he needed to get out of the villa and do something. Sitting around only let him think and feel and imagine, and that wasn’t good for either of them right now.
As soon as she’d passed go and collected her money, Matteo grabbed for the dice and rolled them. Isabella moved his piece for him, since it was on her side of the board, and gleefully shouted, ‘Rent!’
Thank God. Handing over the remains of his pretend savings, he sprang to his feet. ‘Then that’s me out. You win. Uh... I need to go for a run.’
Her forehead creased adorably. Not adorably. Just normally. Like any normal woman.
‘Didn’t you already go for one this morning?’
Yes. Yes, he had. ‘Gotta catch up on training, right?’
‘Sure,’ she replied, not sounding convinced. ‘Um, I’ll see you for dinner, then?’
‘Definitely.’
Because even he wasn’t as
unchivalrous as to leave his only companion all alone for dinner. Nothing to do with the almost orgasmic look that crossed her face whenever she was eating the food here.
He was almost certain she wanted him too, not that she’d been obvious about it. It was the little things, the ones he only saw because he was looking for them. The way her eyes darkened when she smiled at him, the way she bit into her lower lip and looked away when he smiled back. The heat that seemed to sizzle between them, whenever they got too close...
In the end, he didn’t bother changing into his running gear, and just walked straight out along the path that meandered down towards the edge of the lake and around it. He needed to think, not run, this time.
Identify the problem, Matteo. This was no different from a problem with a car, or a bend of the track he couldn’t quite hit right. No different from any of the challenges in his life he’d overcome to get where he was now.
He’d taken trips and risks other people didn’t even dream of. He’d trekked Machu Picchu, done solo skydives, skied mountains others just sat and looked at. He’d come from nothing and made his billions. He risked his money as easily as his life, and he always came out on top, whatever the concerns of his management team.
He beat the odds, every time.
And he wasn’t going to be thrown off his game by a princess who was too scared to leave the house.
Maybe the problem wasn’t that she was beautiful. He’d met many beautiful women in his life, and had plenty of them in his bed, come to that. But none of them had ever filled his mind the way Isabella had over the last day—to the point where even an innocent game of Monopoly had led to him imagining making love to her on top of the damned board.
Was it the princess thing? No. He’d never had any particular interest in royalty, and his money and his fame had put him in plenty of aristocratic company before now without problems. Royalty were just one more type of celebrity really, weren’t they? And he had enough celebrity of his own.
Except...there was one aspect of the princess thing that made a difference.
The untouchable part.
Matteo groaned aloud as he realised, scaring a bird in a nearby tree into flapping off in a hurry. Lowering himself to sit on a flat rock by the water’s edge, he looked out over the huge expanse of Lake Geneva towards the distant mountains and thought his way through to the heart of the problem.
He’d promised himself, even before he’d met her, that he’d keep this week light. That he’d focus on friendship. Because the woman he’d be spending the week with was looking for her perfect match, and he wasn’t offering true love to anyone. He was there under false pretences, and it would be wrong to lead her on.
Except, of course, by making Isabella forbidden fruit, he only wanted her more. And the fact that she was a princess, that the royal family would never allow her to date him, let alone marry him, well...
Matteo had never done well with being told what he could and couldn’t do. Even by himself.
So. He’d identified the problem. Now he just needed to figure out what to do about it. Because nothing had changed—
Wait.
Yes, it had.
He’d been assuming that Isabella was here looking for her Prince Charming. But she wasn’t. She’d been manipulated into coming, just as he had.
She wasn’t looking for love from him.
Matteo smiled to himself, as Lake Geneva shone in the June sunshine.
Because that opened up all sorts of possibilities.
Isabella was nowhere to be seen when he finally returned to the villa, so Matteo headed to his room and showered and changed for dinner. As he towelled off his hair, he heard movement on the balcony—but by the time he’d dressed and went to investigate, whoever had been out there had gone.
Their discreet housekeeping staff had left them another feast, though. Obviously they’d observed their preference for eating on the balcony and brought dinner straight to them this evening. Tonight’s dinner, when he peeped under the silver cloche keeping it warm, appeared to be some sort of fish dish with rice that smelled amazing.
‘Is it time for dinner?’ Isabella appeared in her doorway. The jeans and T-shirt she’d worn during the day had been replaced by a bright red sundress, and the matching lipstick she wore made Matteo all the happier he’d figured out his issues during his walk.
She did appear subdued, though, and dinner passed relatively quietly, without any of the chatter they’d enjoyed at breakfast, or the night before.
Her eyes lit up as he unveiled the tiramisu waiting for them on the nearby trolley, though, and Matteo decided it was time the address the elephant in the room.
Except Isabella got there first.
‘I think we need to talk,’ she said as he reached for the serving spoon for the tiramisu.
‘I agree,’ he replied.
He heard her take a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something unpleasant. He added an extra spoonful of pudding into her bowl, just in case.
‘The thing is...we’re stuck here all week, right? Together. And since playing board games clearly isn’t your cup of tea, neither of us are actually looking for true love, and we’re both supposed to be staying out of trouble...what do you suggest we spend this week doing?’ she asked.
Matteo handed her the over-full bowl of dessert and sat back in his chair, trying not to smile. She’d given him the perfect opening.
‘Well, I see it as an opportunity.’ He hadn’t, until he’d spent the day trying to keep his hands off her. Now, it was all he could think of.
‘An opportunity?’ She took a spoonful of tiramisu and slipped it between her lips, her eyes fluttering shut with pleasure as she tasted it. ‘Mmm, you have got to try this.’
It wasn’t the pudding he wanted to try, though. It was her. He wanted to taste her lips, and the cream still lingering there. He wanted to kiss every inch of her curves. He wanted to learn all the other things he could do to coax that satisfied, pleasured moan from her mouth.
And after a day of fighting it, he was done.
‘I will,’ he said, swallowing. ‘And yes, an opportunity. After all, we still have everything M promised, right? A week of seclusion. The freedom to do whatever we want, without anyone watching. And we were chosen to spend the time together because we’re supposed to be perfectly matched. Compatible, if you like.’
What was the point of trying to resist a temptation that had been so perfectly selected to tempt him? If she didn’t expect true love from him...what was stopping them?
Her eyes were open now, wide and wondering—so wide he could almost read the thoughts passing behind them. Maybe she hadn’t been thinking them before, but now he could tell that her thoughts echoed his own. She was seeing the possibilities, too.
Matteo couldn’t be the only one feeling the chemistry between them. That kind of sensation only happened when it went both ways, in his experience. And M had got one thing right, at least—the chemistry between them was like nothing he’d ever felt before.
He wanted to know where that would lead. Where it could take them. And from the look in Isabella’s eyes, she did too.
She wasn’t saying anything, though. And he didn’t want to rush her.
She was thinking about it. That was enough for tonight.
Leaning closer, over the table, Matteo dropped his voice to a low purr—the one an ex-girlfriend had told him sounded like his engine warming up. ‘I’m not a prince, Isabella. And I’ve got no interest in being one, either. After this week, we’ll both go our own ways, right? Back to the lives we live in our own worlds. But until then...why not make the most of the freedom we’ve been given this week? Live a little dangerously.’
Reaching out, he swept way the morsel of cream that clung to her full lips, then sucked his finger into his own mouth to taste it, hearing her breath hitch at his movements.
‘I... I don’t know.’ He could feel her holding herself back. Was that just her royal upbringing, or something else? Was it just because he wasn’t a prince? Because the attraction between them definitely wasn’t all in his imagination. He could see it in her glassy eyes, pupils blown. In the way she swallowed and her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip and, God, he wanted to kiss her.
But he wouldn’t. Not until she told him herself that she wanted that too.
‘Think about it,’ he murmured. ‘And I’ll see you in the morning.’
Then he turned and headed for his lonely bedroom, knowing he wasn’t going to be thinking about anything but her tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
ISABELLA DID NOT have a second restful night.
She left the dinner dishes on the balcony and retreated to the calm, cool bedroom to follow her usual bedtime routine, just as she had the night before. A bath, with the lavender oil she always travelled with, followed by her skincare regime—the one her mother said would keep her looking ‘acceptable’ for longer. Then, wrapped up in her pale pink silk pyjamas, she curled up on the bed with her book.
She barely read a page.
In fact, she’d gone through her whole routine on autopilot.
Think about it, Matteo had said. It seemed as though she’d be doing nothing but.
He’d barely touched her—just removed a blob of cream from her lips. A mother or nanny might have done the same, brusquely or absently. But when he did it...
His fingertip brushing against her lip had sent sparks firing through her body—sparks she hadn’t been sure she was capable of even feeling, any more. That slight pressure had been enough for her to imagine his touch everywhere else—over every inch of her body.
There was no ambiguity in what he’d been suggesting. In fact, she was almost surprised neither of them had mentioned it before. Gianna had hinted at it, of course, but Isabella...
The Princess and the Rebel Billionaire Page 4