The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 2) Page 4

  But once the storms of passion had abated Lucy felt different. Something had changed, or at least in her imagination it had, and she wondered if she had given away something of herself in her shamefully easy acceptance of his gifts. Her independence, maybe?

  She snuggled into the crook of his arm, for he was sleeping, and her own eyelids began to drift down.

  I will only wear the clothes on Mardivino, she vowed.

  And after that I’ll go back to being me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘LOOK down now,’ said Guido, above the sound of the engines. ‘And you will see the mountains of Mardivino.’

  Lucy did as he said, though she was so distracted by his proximity that she might as well have been looking at the skyscrapers of a city for all the impact the breathtaking scenery made on her.

  Was it the fact they were now most definitely moving into his exclusive territory that was making her feel very slightly disorientated—or just the rather daunting prospect of what might lie ahead? With an effort she forced herself not to think about the sexy and sophisticated Prince who sat beside her on the luxury jet, and to drink in the beauty of his homeland instead.

  Beneath her lay a bewitching-looking island which sparkled like a jewel set in a blindingly blue sea. In the distance she could see the mighty peaks of the mountains he had mentioned, and as the plane circled she could see beaches and brilliant white buildings clustered together, like a handful of pearls.

  ‘Wow!’ she breathed. ‘Is that a city there?’

  He smiled. ‘It’s Solajoya—our capital. I don’t know if it qualifies as a city, as it’s pretty small—though it does have a cathedral.’

  ‘Then it’s a city,’ said Lucy firmly.

  Guido leaned over her to stare down. How long since he had been back? He had paid fleeting visits to see his father, of course, but he had not been back since his younger brother Nico had surprised them all and married the English girl.

  At first it had been considered the most unsuitable of liaisons, and Guido had been expecting an explosive firework response from his elder brother Gianferro. But Ella seemed to have won him round, and Gianferro—against all the odds—had accepted her into the bosom of the family. And now she had secured her place there permanently, by giving Nico a son and heir.

  His mouth hardened. Even Nico—the wild and devil-may-care Nico—had succumbed to the expectations which were his birthright!

  He stared at Lucy’s smooth cheek and the sweep of glossy Titian hair which contrasted so beautifully against it. Yes. She would make a very enjoyable deterrent against the subtle pressure of the Palace to settle down at last, with a suitable bride. Her presence at his side would shield him from the attentions of Mardivino’s maritally ambitious women. His lips curved into a smile. And—best of all—he could relax and enjoy just about the best sex he’d ever had in his life.

  ‘Excited?’ he questioned softly.

  Lucy nodded, because there seemed to be some kind of lump in her throat preventing normal speech. Excited? Well, yes—if excitement also incorporated sheer terror. She had always thought of herself as adaptable, and her job had taken her to all kinds of places to meet all kinds of people—but there was nothing in any rule book to tell her how to deal with a situation like this.

  For a start, she didn’t feel like herself—nor even look like herself, either. The pale linen trousers were cut low on the hip and were the most flattering pair of trousers she had ever worn. You got—as everyone always said—what you paid for, and Guido had paid a hell of a lot for these! They were teamed with a T-shirt which didn’t really look like a T-shirt—its fit was so perfect that it seemed to take what should have been an everyday garment into a completely new dimension.

  And beneath the expensive clothes were equally expensive undergarments—silk and satin which glided like honey over her curves and which managed to make her feel very sexy indeed.

  Not that there was much point in feeling that, because Guido had been as untactile as it was possible to be ever since they had boarded the private jet.

  She could understand it—but that didn’t make it any easier. He was on show now—to the two pilots and the unbelievably beautiful stewardess, as well as to all the officials who had fussed them onto the plane. He might have rejected life as a prince, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t conform to it when he needed to. That was simply good manners and aristocratic breeding.

  Consequently, he hadn’t touched her, nor kissed her, nor even murmured provocatively in her ear, promising what he was going to do to her in bed later—not once, during the entire flight.

  He had been cool almost to the point of being indifferent, and that had scared her—because it seemed to reinforce what she knew in her heart. He might like her enough to bring her here for the weekend, and he might like going to bed with her, but he certainly didn’t love her—and therefore it was vital she didn’t fall in any deeper than she already was.

  So how did you stop yourself falling in love?

  She looked out at the clouds which drifted like dry ice past the windows. What would she do if she knew that there was a bad case of flu going around? She would go out of her way to protect herself. She should do the same with her emotions. Enjoy the weekend for what it was.

  The engine noise changed and the plane began to dip down towards the tiny airport. Lucy smoothed her hair back, hoping that the gesture didn’t look nervous.

  ‘Will anyone be there to meet us?’ she questioned.

  ‘Just a driver. I told my brother not to send a deputation.’

  ‘Did he want to, then?’

  Guido gave a hard smile. ‘Gianferro likes pomp and ceremony—which is fortunate, since he’s going to have a hell of a lot of it one of these days.’

  Lucy hesitated. ‘How is…your father?’

  ‘He is slowly dying,’ said Guido matter-of-factly, and he saw her flinch. But how could he explain that being pragmatic was his way of dealing with it? He had learnt early on about the finality and pain of death when his mother had been torn away from her family. Nico had been just a baby and Gianferro—as the oldest and the heir—had always been surrounded and protected by an extra layer of courtiers.

  But Guido had been at the worst possible age for maternal deprivation, which was probably why they had flown him to stay with his mother’s sister in America. He had loved his aunt very much, but she had not been his mother, and away from his brothers and Mardivino his sense of lonelieness and isolation had increased.

  And when he had returned it had not felt like home any more.

  No place had ever since.

  A low black limousine was waiting on the runway, and it whisked them off to a palace which Lucy hadn’t imagined could exist outside the pages of a fairy story.

  ‘The Rainbow Palace,’ said Guido, as the mosaic building glittered in the distance in a multicoloured dazzle.

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ breathed Lucy. ‘Is this where you were born?’

  ‘It is,’ he said curtly.

  ‘And where did you go to school?’

  ‘I didn’t. We had tutors at the Palace.’

  So he would have been cut off from the outside world—in the same way that he now seemed to have cut himself off from the island itself.

  Lucy sneaked a glance at him. His dark profile was hard and noncommittal as the gates opened and the car swept through onto a vast forecourt which was studded with beautiful statues and bright with tropical flowers.

  ‘Do your brothers mind me coming?’ she asked him hesitantly.

  There wasn’t a flicker of reaction on his face. Nico had been interested—rather too interested, in Guido’s opinion—and had quizzed him about actually bringing a woman with him to Mardivino until Guido had set him straight. He had told his younger brother that Lucy was his lover—nothing more and nothing less. ‘Don’t start writing hearts and flowers,’ he had said wryly. ‘Just because you’ve fallen in love yourself.’

  Gianferro had been a diff
erent matter altogether—stating flatly that it was unthinkable for Guido to bring a woman to the Palace if she was merely a casual consort.

  There had been a hot-headed exchange about this use of terminology, with Guido telling Gianferro that he was a modern, urban man who didn’t go along with such a derogatory description of a woman.

  Gianferro had gone to great pains to try to explain himself. ‘I am not trying to insult this…Lucy,’ he had said exasperatedly. ‘But while you may consider yourself a “modern, urban man” you are still a prince. I am afraid that I cannot countenance the idea of you cohabiting with her on Mardivino.’

  Knowing that he held all the cards, Guido had responded coolly. ‘Then I shall not come.’

  ‘That is unthinkable!’

  ‘Precisely.’

  It didn’t matter how much Gianferro raged, on this Guido had been adamant—not only would he be bringing Lucy, but he wanted them to share a suite of rooms at the Palace.

  ‘I am not going to behave like a seventeen-year-old schoolboy!’ he had stormed. ‘Sneaking into her room late at night.’

  ‘Think of your birthright!’ his brother had retorted.

  ‘I do—constantly! I have chosen to live my life by my own rules, and I am asking you to respect that.’

  He looked now into Lucy’s honey-coloured eyes and gave a thin smile. ‘No,’ he said lightly. ‘My brothers do not mind you coming.’

  He supposed that some people might have called this a distortion of the truth, but in his world he would prefer to define it as diplomacy. Sometimes it was better all round if you told people what they wanted to hear.

  The luxury car purred to a halt and various servants appeared from within the ornate doors of the Palace. As Lucy stepped out of the car, to feel the sun beating down on her bare head, the feeling of being in a dream was stronger than ever.

  Guido was speaking to one of the servants in low and rapid French, while others were removing their baggage and taking it inside. He turned to her and his black eyes glittered.

  ‘Shall we go to our rooms?’ he suggested casually. ‘You might wish to change.’ His eyes glittered. ‘And my brother Gianferro would like to meet you before we go down to dinner.’

  It was not a question, Lucy realised, it was an order—subtly and charmingly couched, but an order nonetheless. As much as Guido might declare that he had left his Royal life behind, it was ingrained in his psyche, running as deep as an underground river. You couldn’t escape your upbringing—leave it behind and forget it—simply because you wanted to.

  On Mardivino he would inevitably be the Prince, and as his lover Lucy had her own part to play. So play the part, she told herself, but don’t let the barriers slip—not by a fraction.

  She remembered what Gary, her house-mate, had told her before she left: ‘Everyone will love you! Just be yourself, darling!’. But what did that actually mean? That she should let rip with her feelings? Not in this case, no. She suspected that it was more a case of being natural and easy-going—in other words being the perfect guest. She would go along with everything and drink in the experience of a lifetime.

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ she agreed equably.

  Guido took her to their suite via a maze of wide marble corridors, hung with spectacular oil paintings, and then through an inner courtyard which was cool and scented, with a fountain sprinkling water which sounded like music.

  He stood watching her for a moment as she sucked in a deep breath of wonder, for it was impossible not to be awed by such beauty.

  ‘You like it,’ he observed.

  Lucy turned to face him, seeing the shuttered look in his black eyes. ‘Don’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I grew up here. You always look at things differently from the inside. And memories change how you view something.’

  She heard the rawness in his voice. Had his bereaved and fractured childhood caused scars which could never be healed? But to ask him would be intrusive, even if he were the kind of man who invited such questions. And Lucy did not want to pry, or to add to his pain. There were other ways of telling someone that you understood.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘It’s like if you live by the sea—you get so used to seeing it that you take it for granted.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘And I guess that nothing can prepare you for growing up in the kind of place that most mortals pay ticket money to see!’

  There was a pause, and then, unexpectedly, he began to laugh. His social status was so lofty that rarely did people tease him about it—though when he stopped to think about it rarely did he let anyone tease him.

  His laughter broke some of the tension and replaced it with a new, much more acceptable kind. He stared at her. In the linen trousers and clinging T-shirt she looked like a sleeker and more expensive version of the usual Lucy. As if he had upgraded from a run-of-the-mill car to something top-of-the-range.

  Had he tried to alter her? So that the woman he admired and lusted after would now slip away, like sand between his fingers?

  Suddenly he wanted to see her naked, stripped of all the finery that he had insisted on dressing her in.

  ‘Let’s go to our suite, cara,’ he said unsteadily.

  She knew exactly what he wanted to do from the look in his eyes, but she was hardly going to challenge him in the public arena of the Palace courtyard. Or rather she sensed that it was public—there was no one to be seen, but she could not shake off the idea that there were eyes watching them.

  Maybe they have closed-circuit TV installed, she thought, with a slight touch of hysteria.

  She barely had a chance to take in the sumptuous ice-blue and golden surroundings of their suite, for Guido pulled her into his arms, pressing his hard, lean body against hers. She felt the unmistakable evidence of his desire for her, and the melting response of her answering need.

  ‘Guido,’ she breathed against his ear as he began to tug at the waistband of her trousers and slide his hand inside them. ‘We mustn’t.’

  ‘Mustn’t what?’ he questioned, his eyes gleaming like some dark, indefinable metal as he watched her pupils dilate, felt her syrupy moistness as he began to move his finger.

  She closed her eyes, her knees growing weak. ‘Your brother…’ she gasped. ‘He’ll be waiting.’

  The trousers pooled in a whisper by her ankles and he gave an unseen smile of triumph.

  ‘And so, cara,’ he said harshly, ‘am I. And I can wait no longer!’

  It all happened very quickly. He divested her of her costly garments, flinging them carelessly onto the floor as if they were of no consequence, and Lucy suddenly felt like a mannequin he could clothe and then unclothe whenever the fancy took him. As if she were his possession. And she was not!

  Damn you, she thought. Damn you, Prince Guido Nero Maximus Cacciatore, with your cavalier attitude and your determination to get just what it is you want!

  But didn’t she want it, too? Oh, so badly…

  She tugged viciously at his silk shirt, so that several buttons popped off, skittering and bouncing on the marble floor, and she heard him give a low laugh of delight as she scraped her fingernails against the dark hair which arrowed down over his torso.

  ‘Lucy,’ he moaned.

  His sound of helpless pleasure fuelled her on, and somehow they made it to the bed, frantically pulling at their remaining clothes.

  Lucy’s breathing was frantic as she began to straddle him. ‘Have you…have you locked the door?’ she demanded, her voice shaking.

  ‘Si!’

  Sweet saints in heaven! His one word of assent was enough to have her lowering herself down on him, playing with him, easing the tip of him against her and then seeming to hesitate, as though she was about to change her mind.

  ‘Lucy—’ he begged, gasping with the exquisite pleasure of it as she sank down onto him, taking in every bit of him, and he was so full, so tight, that he felt he might burst.

  He buried his face in her breasts as she began to move, tauntin
g and tormenting him as she changed the rhythm until he could bear it no longer. He caught her by the hips, increasing the speed, watching with pleasure as her eyes became slitted and her head fell back and she hissed out the word yes over and over and over again, until all his seed had pumped deep within her.

  He shook his head slightly with disbelief and sank back against the rumpled pillows, pulling her sweat-sheened body against him. He wanted to sleep, but she was shaking him, her face all flushed and her silken hair falling about her pale freckled shoulders.

  ‘Guido—wake up!’

  He shook his head and wriggled his hips comfortably.

  She touched the damp silken skin which covered the hard musculature of his shoulder. ‘Didn’t you say we had to see your brother?’

  Reluctantly he opened his eyes, swearing quietly as he lifted his wrist to glance at his watch and then at her. With her tumble of tousled hair and the hectic glitter of her honey-coloured eyes she looked exactly what she was. A highly-sexed and wanton woman who had just been ravished. He felt himself harden, wishing himself far away from the constrictions of this old life again. What wouldn’t he give to do it to her all over again?

  ‘How soon can you be ready?’ The question came out more tersely than he had intended, but he was trying desperately to detach himself—and for once it wasn’t easy. Was that because she was the most equal lover he had ever had?

  Lucy blushed, her already high colour deepening still further. ‘I’ll need to take a quick shower,’ she said. ‘And I’ll have to get something from my suitcase. To wear,’ she added.

  ‘Some of your clothes will have already been hung up,’ he said shortly. ‘The rest are being pressed. Hurry up now, cara mia. The bathroom is through there.’

  Still shaky, she moved away from the bed and stumbled towards the door he was indicating.