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Her eyes widened. ‘No servants?’
‘No servants,’ he agreed. ‘My staff can easily accommodate themselves in the rest of the apartment. It might be...interestingnot to have anyone else around. Liberating, don’t you think?’
‘Very,’ she said shakily as he began to unbutton her little cashmere cardigan.
It was early evening by the time they roused themselves, waking up to find themselves tangled together in a bed whose size really had lived up to the hype. Corso yawned. ‘Shall I ring down and ask one of my aides to get us a dinner reservation?’
She hesitated. ‘Or we could have a meal delivered here. They do great take-out in New York, apparently.’
‘Is that what you’d like?’
She nodded. ‘We could even ask the aides to organise some shopping so we can make our own breakfast in the mornings.’ She rolled onto her stomach, propping herself onto her elbows. ‘It means I don’t have to dress up and get stared at. It’s not very relaxing if all the time you know people are wondering why the King of Monterosso is eating out with someone like me.’
‘You don’t know what people are thinking, Rosie.’
‘Corso,’she said patiently. ‘Come on. It’s always been that way for you. Every move you make and word you speak is analysed.’
He stared out at the lights of the distant skyscrapers and then reached for her. ‘True.’
‘So let’s stay in.’
Corso nodded. ‘Let’s stay in,’ he echoed, the weight of her breast in his hand driving everything else from his mind.
He was aware that she had won that minor battle in the most subtle of ways but unusually he wasn’t unduly perturbed at having made a rare concession. Because, in a way, playing house with her distracted him from the fact that somewhere in this city, his brother was walking around. The unwelcome knowledge hovered like a storm cloud on the horizons of his mind. It twisted darkly at his heart. It reminded him that he was here on a mission he had no real appetite for.
Who could blame him for seeking temporary refuge from reality, by losing himself in Rosie’s sweet embrace? He’d never thought of sex as a refuge and a comfort before. That it could be layered with things other than satisfaction. And if, from time to time, the sombre toll of his conscience rang too loudly in his ears, it was all too easy to silence it by listening to the more pressing demands of his body.
On the morning of their penultimate day he walked into the kitchen, feasting his eyes on the voluptuous curve of her bottom as she leaned over to poke at something sizzling in a frying pan. Funny. He’d never realised just how sexy an apron could be.
She switched the hob off and turned round, a frown on her face.
‘What’s wrong?’ he questioned as he reached for the coffee pot, even though several weeks ago it wouldn’t have occurred to him to enquire after someone’s welfare. Or, indeed, to pour them a cup of coffee.
‘I’m a bit nervous about going to this cocktail party later,’ she said, as he pushed the cup towards her.
Corso tensed. You and me both he thought grimly, though he would never admit to the weakness of nerves. Instead, he threw her a reflective look. ‘Why?’
She wiped her hands down the front of her apron. ‘I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. It’s you they want to see, not me. Why, I might even be cramping your style. Didn’t you say that representatives from the royal kingdoms of Maraban and Mardivino are going to be attending?’ She gave a smile, which looked distinctly forced. ‘You never know—your future spouse might be there.’
‘I doubt it,’ Corso offered drily, lifting the cup to his lips. Didn’t she realise he had eyes for no other woman but her? No, of course she didn’t. He’d made certain of that. She was inexperienced enough to mistake sexual compatibility for something deeper, and he had been careful not to give her any false hope. Emotional indifference had been a skill he had refined into a veritable art form over the years, and never had he needed it more than he did tonight.
He could feel adrenaline pumping through his body as it prepared for what lay ahead. His heart was racing, his mouth dry. Because tonight was the night. The seemingly innocuous social event he’d planned with the dedicated focus of a military campaign, which would at last bring him into contact with the mysterious billionaire he had no real desire to meet. Whose very existence made a mockery of all that he had believed and been taught to believe.
Xanthos Antoniou.
The man whose blood he shared.
‘Corso?’
Rosie’s puzzled voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Why are you frowning like that?’
He shook his head as if rousing himself from a dream. Or a nightmare. As he walked across the kitchen towards her and pulled her into his arms, he felt the beat of apprehension. And, yes, of fear. What would tonight’s reception reveal, and would he live to regret his curiosity?
‘I want you by my side tonight,’ he instructed harshly, before crushing her mouth with a kiss which left them both breathless.
It all got out of hand, very quickly. Summarily, he dealt with their clothing—removing only the most essential items before bending her over the kitchen table and thrusting into her, to the accompaniment of her mewled cries of pleasure. He blamed his own particularly explosive orgasm for his wandering attention during the rest of day, though he disguised it well enough during back-to-back meetings with CEOs, environmentalists and movers and shakers. But he was glad to get back to the penthouse, and to stand beneath the punishing jets of an icy shower, telling himself that at least the wait was over.
He was staring out at the New York skyline when Rosie emerged from the bedroom wearing a floaty dress the colour of claret, shot through with threads of silver which echoed the colour of her eyes. But for once he didn’t compliment her, or allow his eyes to linger on the bright fall of blonde hair. His head was too full of conflicting thoughts to offer anything other than the kind of nod he might give to one of his drivers.
