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

Lucy turned her head to look at him then, and very deliberately he ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. He saw her eyes darken and waited to see what she would do next, and he felt a hot jerk of sensual frustration to see her coolly turn her head and continue to talk to the man beside her.

  After that the evening became an ordeal to be endured. He could barely wait to get her alone again, and yet he knew he had to—and matters were made even more exasperating by the fact that she seemed to be taking her time over everything.

  It seemed to take for ever until he could get near her, and when he did he dipped his head to her ear. ‘Shall we slip away now?’ he suggested silkily.

  Lucy looked at him askance, though inside she was simmering. Ever since they had visited the Nursery he had virtually ignored her—apart from the occasional studied sexual stare. And now, at the very first opportunity, he wanted to whisk her away to bed. He hadn’t even asked her to dance!

  ‘Why, that would look terribly rude, Guido!’ she reprimanded him softly. ‘What are you thinking of? The band have only just started playing and I’ve had at least three offers to dance!’

  He’d bet she had! He didn’t like the tone of her voice, and neither did he like what she was saying. Had a few hours in the Palace been enough to make her forget her place in it? ‘I don’t need advice from you on how to behave in my own home!’ he snapped.

  ‘Well, I think you do!’ she retorted sweetly. Let him stew! Let him… ‘Oh—oh,’ she gasped, as he pulled her into his arms without warning, his hard body pressing against the pliant softness of hers. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ he questioned as he slid his hand over her back, possessive against the bare skin, his fingertips tracing tiny unseen circles on her flesh which set her shivering. ‘I’m claiming the first dance.’

  Claiming. It sounded territorial—let’s face it, it was territorial. So why was she letting him stroke her like that? Was she powerless to resist him, or simply unwilling? Close call.

  Her head tipped back as if it was too heavy for her neck, and she could feel his warm breath close to her skin. ‘Guido,’ she said weakly, ‘you must stop this.’

  ‘But I’m not doing anything,’ he said, as he pressed his hard heat against her.

  ‘You know exactly what you’re doing,’ she gasped softly. ‘You’re using the dance to seduce me.’

  God, yes. He could smell the desire on her skin, and he breathed it in like a man who had been drowning. ‘And you don’t like it?’

  She opened her eyes very wide then, aware that her breath was coming in short, frantic bursts—like someone who had been running in a long, long race. How on earth was it possible to feel overwhelming passion at the same time as the heavy, stone-like ache of her heart at the realisation that this was what he wanted from her. Probably all he wanted from her.

  But he had tortured her, so now let him have a taste of his own medicine. ‘Oh, I love it,’ she whispered. ‘But it’s making me wish that no one else was around. So that you could slide my expensive dress up…’

  ‘And…and why would I want to do that?’ he questioned shakily.

  ‘To find out whether or not I was wearing any knickers, of course.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ he groaned.

  ‘Well, yes—I am, actually. But we could soon dispose of those, couldn’t we?’ Fractionally, she pushed her breasts against him, and now it was his turn to moan. ‘And then you could lift me up, wrap my legs around your waist, and we could do it here…here…right here and right now, Guido. Because that’s what you’d like, isn’t it?’

  He closed his eyes, because now the hot jerk of desire was threatening to render him incapable of doing anything—except maybe acting out her outrageous fantasy. ‘Can you feel what you’ve done to me?’ he bit out.

  Could she? Lucy swallowed. ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘So how the hell am I going to get off this dance floor.’

  ‘You think of something so abhorrent that it completely freaks you out and makes you lose all that desire in an instant.’

  There was a long pause. Oh, that was easy! He thought of marriage, and suddenly he was right back where he wanted to be. In control.

  Lucy stared at him, aware that the black eyes had grown icy, and suddenly she was furious with herself. Why had she played that stupid game with him?

  ‘Guido?’ she questioned, and uncharacteristically her voice sounded weak and uncertain.

  The smile he gave her was anticipatory, almost cruel. He was enjoying the sensation now that the situation was reversed and she was the one left doing the wanting.

  ‘I’ll leave you to your dancing, Lucy,’ he said softly. ‘Let me know when you want to go to bed.’

  And something in his eyes made her feel unaccountably scared.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE following day, resplendent in a close-fitting jade-green suit, with a huge black picture hat trimmed with feathers, Lucy stood in Solajoya’s small but majestic cathedral as Leo was baptised. The music of the organ and the accompanying choir soared celestially up to the high domed ceiling, and the church was filled with the great and the good of Mardivino as well as immediate family. Only the King was unable to attend—his health was too frail and these days, according to Guido, he rarely left his suite of rooms at the Palace.

  Yet, despite the splendour and the grandeur, it was essentially a family occasion. Just as with every other family on the planet, there were small swapped smiles when Leo began to bawl as the water was sprinkled onto his forehead.

  It was only when they stepped outside into blinding sunlight, where banks of fragrant flowers were massed, to the sound of cheers and the sight of what seemed to be the entire population of the island, that Lucy realised that it was a significant and very regal occasion, too.

  Lunch was at the Palace—and far less formal than the State Banquet of the night before. This time Lucy was seated next to a woman named Sasha—a beauty not much older than herself, whose olive skin and dark eyes marked her out as a native of the island. She was sweet and charming, and incredibly interested to know all about Lucy.

  ‘I can’t believe that Guido has actually brought a woman home,’ she confided softly.

  Lucy smiled, though it felt brittle and unnatural.

  When eventually they had gone back to their room last night, they had circled each other like two warring creatures. She had been wary of him, confused by him, and had wanted to distance herself from him—as he had done from her. To try to show him—and prove to herself—that he did not have an irresistible power over her.

  How typical that her very reticence had seemed to entrance him and he had pulled out all the stops where charm was concerned. He had stroked her hair and told her that she was beautiful. Had undressed her slowly…oh, so slowly…as if he’d had all the time in the world.

  Who could have resisted such advances, as he cajoled and soothed and incited her, all at the same time?

  Even though a part of her had tried to fight it she had been unable to do so. He had made her molten and receptive and aching for him, as she always ached for him, and then they had fallen into bed and spent almost the whole night making love. Though maybe that was just her slant on what they had done.

  The trouble was that there didn’t seem to be any description which fell in between ‘making love’ and ‘having sex’. It certainly hadn’t been the former—certainly not where Guido was concerned—and the latter sounded so…so clinical. And, whatever else it might have been, it had certainly not been clinical. It had been heavenly. Heartstopping. And once her turbulent emotions had melted under the onslaught of his caresses Lucy had had to bite back words of endearment.

  Oh, why had she become involved with a man as unobtainable as Guido Cacciatore? And why had she not had the insight to realise that compartmentalising her feelings for him was as useless as whistling in the wind?

  ‘So where did you two meet?’ queried Sasha, with a smile.


  ‘At a party.’ Sasha’s eyebrows were still raised in question. Lucy took another mouthful of champagne. ‘In New York.’

  ‘He loves New York,’ said Sasha thoughtfully. ‘But of course, it’s where he went to live with his aunt, when his mother died.’

  ‘I…I didn’t know.’

  Sasha shrugged. ‘Well, you of all people know how closed-in he can be.’

  She certainly did. ‘Have you known him long?’

  ‘Oh, all my life.’ Sasha smiled again. ‘Believe me, I’ve seen Guido in all his guises. We used to play together as children. He’s a bit like…’ She frowned, creasing up her nose. ‘Not a brother, exactly—we’re not close enough for that. More like a cousin—once or twice removed, I guess!’

  Lucy hadn’t thought he was particularly close to his brothers, but she didn’t say anything—and besides, she knew that the subtext to what Sasha was saying was that there was no romance—or longed-for romance—between her and Guido. Her reassurance was oddly comforting, and Lucy smiled.

  ‘And you’re a definite improvement on the last woman I saw him with!’ said Sasha fervently.

  It was one of those situations that you read about in women’s magazines—where you knew you ought to completely ignore the statement and carry on talking about something else. But she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Oh?’ questioned Lucy casually. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Oh, you know.’ Sasha pulled a face. ‘One of those sooty-eyed blondes who look like they’re composed of plastic and silicone!’

  In spite of herself, Lucy laughed. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that Guido had come to her bed as a virgin! ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh…ages ago. Last fall, I think. Yes. I’d flown to New England, and then called in to see Guido on the way back here.’

  The sounds of chatter retreated and were replaced by a sudden roaring in her ears. Lucy’s mouth dried and she quickly drank some more champagne, which made it even drier. She was aware that a pulse was slamming somewhere in her temple, as if someone was repeatedly knocking a hammer hard against it.

  Last fall? Autumn?

  So when would that have been?

  September, maybe? Or even October?

  But she had started her affair with him in June!

  She felt the bitter taste of betrayal which made the champagne a distant memory. Had he been…oh, that horrible phrase…two-timing her?

  How she kept her face from reacting she never knew. Maybe she had become an expert through hiding her real feelings from Guido. But whatever it was, she just managed a cool, grown-up smile. After all, there could be any kind of explanation…wasn’t that what always happened in books? That the sooty-eyed blonde was really his sister?

  But he didn’t have a sister!

  His cousin?

  She kept the cool smile pinned to her lips. She would not jump to conclusions. Nor would she put Sasha in an uncomfortable position. She would ask him herself. Later.

  And then, disturbing her thoughts with the rippling precision of a flat, round pebble thrown into an already turbulent pool, she heard his deep, dark accent.

  ‘Are you having a good time, cara mia?’ he murmured.

  She turned her head to look up at him, grateful for the large hat which shaded her face and the troubled look in her eyes. He was wearing a suit and a snowy shirt, and a silken tie as sapphire as the blue waters of the sea which could be seen quite clearly through the Palace windows.

  Last night he had been edgy, almost irritable, but it was amazing what a night of brilliant sex could do—for today he was as sunny as it was possible for a man like Guido to be. His black eyes were glittering with life and fire, and his olive skin gleamed with a kind of soft inner luminescence. He looked vibrant and vital and thoroughly irresistible, and her pulse began to scramble in a thin and thready way.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said quietly, because in a way it was. If you had shown someone a photograph of the scene, they would have longed to be there themselves. The baby was now sleeping, and there was the smooth and easy flow of chatter which came at the end of a very agreeable gathering. ‘Quite lovely,’ she repeated, looking around as if she wanted to freeze-frame the scene, to lock it away in her mind so that she would never forget it.

  Guido’s eyes narrowed. There was something in her expression which he couldn’t quite read, and he thought—not for the first time—what an enigmatic person she really was. She seemed to buck the modern trend of spilling her innermost feelings and thoughts within a nanosecond of knowing someone—and wasn’t there something both intriguing and devastatingly appealing about a woman who always kept something back?

  He bent his head even closer, so that his words were murmured enticements in her ear. ‘Things will be breaking up here soon. What do you say to going back to our room—for a siesta? Mmm?’

  Lucy swallowed. She would bet that his idea of a siesta didn’t fit the traditional definition, but in a way wasn’t that exactly what she needed? Not the physical part—which was doubtless his reason for asking her—but the opportunity to ask him about the blonde, and to ask him something else, too…

  She smiled. ‘Only if you’re sure your brother and sister-in-law won’t think we are rude to leave.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘My brother would consider me lacking in any kind of sanity to do otherwise. Come.’

  Quietly, they slipped away, and Lucy felt almost light-headed as they stole through the cool marble corridors. For this was all a farce—this pretence that no one knew where they were going, or guessed what their—his—intention was. The other guests would notice their absence, but it was more than that—there were servants along the way—always servants. Sometimes, like now, knowing they were not wanted, they would melt away—as if they were not composed of flesh and blood at all.

  Yet Lucy knew that if Guido had the slightest wish or desire—for a drink, say, or a newspaper or book—then those self-same faceless servants would magically interpret what he wanted and would appear discreetly by his side to do his bidding.

  Did that kind of attention all your life change you? It must do. When you became used to having a small world revolve around you then surely you could be forgiven for thinking that the normal rules of restraint and fidelity did not apply.

  Did they?

  Well, she was soon going to find out.

  Once they were back in their suite, he carefully took her hat off and then, with equal care, unpinned her hair so that it spilled down over the green jacket of her suit. The suit that he’d bought for her. If you allowed a man to buy you clothes, then weren’t you selling something of yourself into the bargain?

  ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked today?’ he murmured, stroking at the tip of her chin and then lifting it slightly with his fingertips, as if wanting to examine her face more closely.

  She had planned not to let him touch her, but oh, how seductive a gentle, almost protective touch could be. Perhaps if he had gone all out for a blatant and hot-blooded seduction then she might not have been so responsive. As it was, all her nerve-endings seemed acutely sensitised, as if her skin was raw and new, craving the healing of his caress.

  Should she let him continue? she thought wildly. Pretend that there were not questions bubbling away at the back of her mind and give herself up to his embrace and everything that would follow? Knowing deep down that it might be the last chance she could do so? One last taste of enchanted food before she went back to more normal fare?

  But no. Passion was strong, but pride could be even more powerful. She pulled away from him and went to stare out of the window instead.

  Outside, the soft breeze made the petals of the fragrant roses shimmer like a heat-haze. There were pink and gold and crimson flowers, and softest apricot, too. And a mass of white blooms surrounding a statue—looking as pure and as perfect as the clouds which scudded across the azure sky.

  Who would have thought that an ordinary girl like her could end up s
omewhere like this? In a Palace. With a devastatingly handsome prince standing in the room behind her, desperate to take her clothes off and take her into his bed once more.

  Sweet dreams are made of this, she thought—but inside, as relentless as the beating of her heart, was the awareness that the dream was in danger of turning sour.

  She turned round and found his dark eyes narrowed, watchful—but then, Guido was a very perceptive man. He had sensed that something was not right but, like a consummate poker player, he was biding his time—waiting for her to play her hand before he came back with something to trump her. And could he? Were her misgivings and her unvoiced fears completely groundless? She prayed they were, conscious of the lack of conviction of her hopes.

  But her question, when it came, was not the one she had been planning to ask. It was almost as if she was seeking background knowledge for the question which would follow. Like someone doing research into motive.

  ‘Why did you bring me here with you, Guido?’

  ‘You know why. I thought you would enjoy it.’ He frowned. ‘I thought you were enjoying it. Aren’t you?’

  She didn’t answer that. ‘Is it just because of that? I mean—there is no ulterior motive?’

  There was a pause. She was not only an independent woman, but an intelligent one, too. Would it insult that intelligence if he tried to convince her that a dip into Royal life in the luxurious surroundings of Mardivino had been his only objective?

  The question was whether she was grown-up enough to accept him as the man he really was—with all his faults as well as the qualities of any other man.

  He shrugged his shoulders and accompanied the very Gallic gesture with a rueful smile. ‘It is useful, having you here,’ he murmured.

  Of all the most insulting words he could have used, Lucy would have put useful in the top five. But what exactly did he mean? ‘Useful?’ she echoed, perplexed.

  He began to loosen his tie. Could he make her understand? ‘My presence here always invites a kind of feeding frenzy.’

  ‘Feeding frenzy?’ she echoed again, feeling like someone who was learning a new language by the simple repetition of a phrase. ‘What do you mean?’