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Alix took his hand away and scooped Leila up into his arms before she knew what was happening. He was soon climbing up the stairs and Leila hissed, ‘She’s making lunch, Alix. We can’t just disappear—’
They were at the bedroom door by now, and the sight of the tumbled bed made Leila stop talking. Apparently they could.
* * *
When they finally did make it down to the terrace, much later that day, Matilde was totally discreet and delivered a feast of tapas-like food. Salads and pasta. American-style wings and ribs. Seafood—spicy fish and rice, crab claws with garlic sauce. Lobster. Chilled white wine.
Leila had wondered if they would even make a dent in the feast laid before them, but just when she was licking her fingers after eating spicy fish she caught Alix’s amused gaze.
‘What?’
He leant forward. ‘You have some sauce on the corner of your lip.’
Leila darted out her tongue and encountered Alix’s finger, because he’d reached out to scoop it up. Immediately a wanton carnality entered Leila’s blood and she moved so that she could suck Alix’s finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip, much as he’d shown her how to—
She let his finger go with an abrupt pop, aghast at how easily she was becoming a slave to this man and her desires.
She found herself blurting out the first thing that came into her head to try and diffuse the intensity. ‘Is it true that you’ve never brought a woman here?’ She immediately regretted her words. Damn her runaway mouth!
Hurriedly she said, ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to answer that—it doesn’t matter.’
Alix’s voice was wry. ‘I should have known Matilde couldn’t resist. She’s a romantic at heart after all—as I think are you, Leila.’
She looked at Alix, horror flooding her at the thought that he might think— She shook her head. She forced all the boneless, mushy feelings out of her body and head and said firmly, ‘No, I’m not. I’m a realist, and I know what this is—a moment in time. And I’m fine with that— believe me.’
Alix looked at Leila in the flickering candlelight. The island was soft and fragrant around them. Like her. Apparently he didn’t need to be worried that she’d got the wrong idea from Matilde, and he wasn’t sure why that thought wasn’t giving him more of a sense of comfort. What? Did he want her to be falling for him?
She had her profile towards him and he was stunned all over again at her very regal beauty. Totally unadorned and all the more astounding because of it. In the last couple of days her skin had lost its pale glow and become more rich. Her Indian heritage was obvious, giving her that air of exotic mystery. Her green eyes stood out even more.
He felt a pang of guilt when he recalled the conversation he’d had with Andres to set up the photo opportunity. It would be a far less intrusive photo than most of those he’d had taken with other women, so why did he feel so uncomfortable about it? And guilty...?
It didn’t help to ease his conscience when Leila looked at him then and he couldn’t read the expression on her face or in her eyes. It irritated him—as if she’d retreated behind a shield.
‘Do you think you’ll ever regain your throne in Isle Saint Croix?’
Alix blinked, jerked unceremoniously back to reality. Immediately he was suspicious—but then he felt ridiculous. She wasn’t some spy from Isle Saint Croix, sent to find out his movements.
Even so, Alix had kept his motivation secret for so long that he wasn’t about to bare his soul to anyone—even her.
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Perhaps some day. If the political situation improves enough for me to make a bid for the throne again... But there is a lot of anger still—at my father.’
Leila had turned more towards him now, and put her elbows on the table, resting her chin on one hand. The diaphanous robe she was wearing made it easy to see the outline of her perfect braless breasts and Alix was immediately distracted. He had to drag his mind out of a very carnal place.
‘What was he like?’
The question was softly, innocently asked, and yet it aroused an immediate sense of rage in Alix. He felt restless, and got up to stand at the nearby railing that protected the terrace and looked down over the lawns below.
He heard Leila shift in her seat. ‘I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it...’
But he found that he did. Here in one of the quietest corners of the earth. With her.
He didn’t turn around. Tightly he said, ‘My father was corrupt—pure and simple. He grew up privileged and never had to ask for anything. It ruined him. His own father was a good ruler, but weak. He let my father run amok. By the time my father married my mother—who was an Italian princess from an ancient Venetian family line—he was out of control. The country was falling apart, but he didn’t notice the growing poverty or dissent. My mother didn’t endear herself to the people either. She spent more time gadding around the world than on the island—in Paris, or London, or New York.’
Alix turned around and leant back against the railing. He looked down into his wine glass and swirled the liquid. When he looked at Leila again she was rapt, eyes huge. It made something in Alix’s chest tight.
‘My father took mistresses—local girls, famous beauties, it made no difference. He had them in the castle whether my mother was there or not. I think her attitude was that once she’d given him his heir and a spare she could do what she wanted.’
Leila said softly, ‘You had a younger brother...?’
