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He stared across the steam at the vision she made, with her elbows resting on the sides of the bathtub. Her thick hair was piled high on top of her head, damp tendrils spilling down against her damp cheeks. Although her nipples peeped rosily above the water line, he thought how wholesome she managed to look, and how innocent. Even now. Every time he looked at her, he wanted to be inside her. It was a powerful and visceral instinct. It was unfathomable. And surely, the more he indulged it, the sooner it would go away.He needed it to go away. His throat thickened.
‘When we go to New York—’
‘It’s okay, Corso,’ she put in quickly. ‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘Really?’ He raised his brows. ‘Am I so predictable?’
‘You don’t have to worry.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’m not expecting this to continue when we take the collection to America.’
Beneath the water, he began to massage her ankle. ‘Why not?’
‘Because...oh! Stop deliberately misunderstanding me!’ With a return of customary fire, she slapped her hand on the surface of the water so that bubbles flew above them in disintegrating perfumed clouds. ‘You know perfectly well why not! You’re a king and I’m your employee.’
‘How does that impact on how we spend our downtime?’
‘Is that a serious question?’
‘Of course it is. There’s no need to stop what we’re doing—as long as we’re both enjoying it.’ He slanted her a hooded look. ‘And can accept the natural boundaries of such a liaison.’
‘You mean we would have to be discreet?’ She licked her lips. ‘Never be seen in public—that kind of thing?’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not what I meant, no. We’re not doing anything wrong, so I think we should just act normally. And since you’re going to be sharing my bed, I see no reason why we shouldn’t be seen out together from time to time.’ There was a pause. ‘But you do need to accept that this is never going to end in a wedding.’
Some people might have considered his words brutal, but not Rosie—because didn’t his honesty help squash her occasional pangs of longing for what could never be? He was warning her off. He was advising against nurturing unrealistic dreams about him. But his warning was unnecessary. She knew the rules. She knew them better than anyone. Just as she knew there were a million reasons why she ought to call a halt to this right now.Before you get in too deep. Before you get your heart broken into a million pieces.
But every single reason was blown out of the water by the man himself, because who in their right mind would willingly walk away from Corso Andrea da Vignola? Even now she could hardly believe he was here. Tiny droplets of water glittered like diamonds in the fiery depths of his hair and his skin was like oiled silk. She could feel one hair-roughened thigh pressing insistently against hers and already she could sense he wanted her again. She was sitting in a bathtub with the King of Monterosso—yet his exalted position in the world seemed irrelevant. Because it washimshe wanted. Not his power or his privilege, but him. The man, not the King. And wasn’t that the most dangerous thing of all?
‘Of course I realise that there isn’t going to be a wedding. Even if it’s very pompous of you to assume that I’d even want one,’ she said coolly.
‘So you wouldn’t?’
‘Oh, I never deal in hypotheticals—it’s such a waste of time,’ she answered airily. ‘But if we’re seen together in public, it will invite speculation.’
‘Speculation about my love life I can deal with,’ he said roughly.
The sudden harshness of his words brought their banter to an abrupt end and Rosie wondered what had made the lines around his mouth deepen like that. But that was irrelevant. This wasn’t about trying to burrow her way into his heart or his mind. This wasn’t about the future, because they didn’t have one. She wasn’t going to be needy, or demanding. For the first time in her life she was going to have a bit of fun, with a man who just happened to be a king. And if she found herself back in her cottage in a few weeks’ time—alone and missing him—well, surely she’d come through enough stuff in her life to be able to deal with the brief inconvenience of a broken heart.
‘So are you going to have dinner with me tonight or not, Rosie?’
‘I suppose I am,’ she said shakily, because he had started tiptoeing his fingertips all the way up her inner thigh and the bubbled water was slopping over the side of the tub as he found his quivering target.
And suddenly she wasn’t thinking at all.
