The Mediterranean Prince's Passion. Sharon KendrickЧитать онлайн книгу.
room. âYouâll find some basic facilities through there,â he said. He pulled a fresh T-shirt down from an open shelf and threw it onto the divan.
âYou might want that,â he said. âAll your stuff is still on the boat and your bikini is hanging outside. I washed it,â he explained, amused to see her look of barely concealed horror. Was she afraid he was expecting her to change in front of him? Then clearly she had no memory of how her T-shirt had slithered up her naked thighs as she had thrashed around. Of how he had played the gentleman and slithered it right down again. âDonât be shyâIâll be outside.â
Donât be shy! Ella watched him disappearing through the door, caught a dazzling glimpse of blue as it opened, and heard the hypnotic pounding music of the waves.
She was obviously in some kind of beach hutâbut where exactly?
She stared at the closed door and half thought of running after him, and demanding some answers. But she was too weak to run anywhere, and she was also naked, sticky and dusty. Surely she would be better placed to ask for explanations once she was dressed?
Never had the thought of washing seemed more alluring, though the sight that greeted her behind the curtain was not terribly reassuring. There was a sink, a loo, and the most ancient-looking shower that Ella had ever seen. It didnât gush, it trickled, but at least it was halfway warm and there was soap and shampoo, tooâsurprisingly luxurious brands for such a spartan setting.
Basic it might have been, but Ella had never enjoyed or appreciated a shower more than that one. She washed all the salt and sand away from her skin and hair, and roughly towelled herself dry, then slithered into the clean T-shirt that fortunatelyâbecause its owner was so tallâcame to mid-way down her thigh. It wasnât what she would call decent, but it was better than nothing.
He was standing by the small table, dishing out two plates of something she didnât recognise, the scent of which made her empty stomach ache. He had left the door open and Ella discovered why the sound of the waves was so loud. It looked directly out onto the most glorious sea view she had ever seen in her life.
Pale, powdered sand dotted with shells gave way to white-topped sapphire waves that glittered and sparkled and danced and filled the room with light. But the room seemed suddenly to have kaleidoscoped in on itself, for all Ella could see was the dark power of the man who was silhouetted against the brilliant backdrop outside.
Now that she was on her feet she didnât need the T-shirt as an indicator of just how tall he was. She could see that instantly from the way he towered, dominating the small room, making everything else shrink into insignificance. His hair was dark and ruffled, tiny tendrils of it curling onto the back of his neck. She felt an odd, powerful kick to her heart as he looked up and slowly drifted his eyes over her.
âMy T-shirt suits you,â he mused softly.
It was an innocent enough remark, but something in the way he said it, and the accompanying look of approbation in his eyes, made her feel all woman. She could feel her breasts tingling, and the soft, moist ache of longing. It was a powerful and primitive response, and it had never happened to her quite like that before.
Filled with a sudden feeling of claustrophobia, and unsure of how to deal with the situation, she walked to the open door and breathed in the fresh, salty tang of the air, staring at the moving water in silence for a moment.
âBeautiful, isnât it?â came his voice from behind her.
Composing her face into an expression of innocent appreciation, Ella turned round. âUnbelievable.â And so was he. Oh, he was just gorgeous. âThatâ¦that smells good,â she managed, in an effort to distract herself.
âMmm.â He had seen the perking breasts and the brief darkening of her eyes and he felt himself harden. âCome and eat,â he said evenly. âWe could take our food outside, but I think you need a break from the sun. So weâll just look at the view from here.â
But Ella didnât move. âYou said you would give me some answers, and Iâd like some. Now. Please.â
Nico gave a slow smile. The novel always stirred his blood, and it was rare for him to be spoken to with anything other than deference. âQuestions can wait, cara, but your hunger cannot.â
His words were soft, but a steely purposefulness underpinned them. As if he were used to issuing orders; as if he would not tolerate those orders being disobeyed. The scent of the food wafted towards her and Ella felt her mouth begin to water. Maybe he was right. Again.
She went back inside and sat down at the table.
âEat,â he said, pushing a plate of food towards her, but it seemed the command was unnecessary. She had begun to devour the dish, falling on it with the fervour of the truly hungry.
He watched her in fascinated silence, for this, too, was a new sensation. In his company people always picked uninterestedly at their food. There were unspoken rules that were always followed. They waited for him to begin and they finished when he finished. It was all part of the protocol that surrounded himâand yet for all the notice she took of him he might as well not have been there!
She ate without speaking, unable to remember ever having enjoyed a meal as much. Eventually she put her fork down and sighed.
âItâs good?â
âItâs delicious.â
âHunger makes the best sauce,â he observed slowly.
There was red wine in front of her, and he gestured towards it, but she shook her head and drank some water instead, then sat back in her chair and fixed him with a steady look. His eyes were as black as a moonless night and they lanced through her with their ebony light.
âNow are you going to start explaining?â
Nico found that he was enjoying himself. He had played the rescuerâso let him have a little amusement in return. âTell me what you wish to know.â
âWell, for a startâwho are you? I donât even know your name, Mrâ¦?â
There was a pause while he considered the question. It seemed sincere enough, although the Mr tacked onto the end could have been disingenuous, of course. Was it?
âIt is Nico,â he said eventually. From behind the thick dark lashes that shielded his eyes he watched her reaction carefully, but there was no sign of recognition in her emerald eyes. âAnd you?â
âIâm Ella.â
Ella. Yes. âItâs a pretty name.â
âItâs short for Gabriella.â
âLike the angel,â he murmured, letting his eyes drift carelessly over the pale flames of her hair.
It was that thing in his voice againâthat murmured caress that made her conscious of herself as a woman. And him as a man. A man who had seen her sick and half-naked. But he was the angelâa guardian angel.
âWhere am I?â she asked slowly.
Now his expression became sceptical. âYou really donât know?â
She sighed. âHow long are we going to continue with these guessing games? Of course I donât know. One minute I was on a boatâand the next Iâm in some kind of beach hut, eatingâ¦â She stared down at her empty plate. Even the food had been unfamiliar, just as he was, with his strange accent and his exotic looks. Disorientated, she found herself asking, âWhat have I just eaten?â
âRabbit.â
âRabbit,â she repeated dully. She had never eaten rabbit in her life!
âThey