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Alessio swung her into his arms and strode down the deck like a man bent on completing a mission—that of making her cry his name to the room.
Alessio woke to the lull of slapping water on the side of the yacht. The gentle sway of the ocean. For the first time in an age, he was at some kind of peace. Sleepy, sated. Barely caring whether he moved all day. There was one reason for this newfound satisfaction—a person. He reached to the side of the bed for Hannah and brushed only the warmth of empty sheets. Not long gone, then. He lay for a moment, listening for her, but there was no sound, so he rolled over and sat up, scraping his hand through his hair.
She was curled on a sofa opposite the bed at the other side of the room. Feet tucked under her. Drawing on a sketch pad on her lap with a stick of charcoal.
‘You’re naked,’ he said. The sight of her perfect skin made the blood race down low. Would he ever get enough of her? He feared not.
She glanced up at him, the merest of smiles touching her well-kissed lips.
‘Rule number two, remember?’
He lounged back on the bed. ‘And you did what I said. Rule number one. It’s a miracle.’
She snorted, such a cute sound, as she peered up at him again, then returned to the page before her. Sketching, rubbing at the paper with her fingers. ‘I think I liked you better when you were asleep.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, his body heating each time her insightful gaze returned to him. Arousal, heavy and low, snaked through him again. This attraction, it overtook everything, an overwhelming need only Hannah could satisfy. ‘You like me very much when I’m awake.’
He didn’t hide how much she affected him. He’d not hold anything back from her. The freedom of such a short time frame meant he didn’t have to. Yet the realisation of how little time they had left stung like a forgotten wound exposed to seawater. A surprising and unwelcome jolt. He ignored it. There were better ways of using their day than musing over things like that. He patted the bed next to him. ‘Come here.’
‘Does your ego need stroking?’
An insistent pulse of desire kept beating its demanding tempo. ‘Something needs stroking.’
She didn’t even look up at him, her focus all on the page, a slight frown creasing her brow. ‘No. I haven’t been doing enough sketching. You keep distracting me.’
Hannah being more interested in what was on the piece of paper in front of her than in the real man put him in his place, firmly rooted in a world where he was not the most desirable, sought-after person. It made him feel normal, feelreal.
A blessed relief.
‘Can I see what you’re doing?’
‘You get the final painting. Everything else is mine. Just lie back and enjoy it. Everyone needs to stop some time.’ She looked up at him, that frown still present, her face a study of intensity, making him believe she saw all of him. His sins, his flaws. There was no hiding them with her. And it made him curious.
‘What do you see when you look at me?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘I asked the question.’
She put down her charcoal. Placed her hand flat on the page in front of her so her drawing was hidden.
‘You like to think you begin and end as Prince of Lasserno. That there’s nothing else. But you’re more.’
Inside of him, something clenched. Almost like a warning, but she’d piqued his interest now.
‘Tell me.’
‘Someone who works hard. Too hard.’ A shaft of sunlight filtered through the cabin window, painting her pale skin in its warm glow. She looked a picture of perfection sitting there. Alessio didn’t want the moment to end. He shrugged.
‘It’s all part of the job description. My father didn’t work hard enough. Saw life as a prince for only what he could get from it. He almost drove Lasserno into ruin.’ A tightness rose inside again. Of things unfinished, of work yet to do. It was relentless, exhausting. Never-ending. A needling sensation interrupted the moment. He raised his left wrist, but his watch wasn’t there.
‘I’ve put it away for a few days. You need to relax. You’ll have plenty of time to save the country. Years of it, in fact.’
The certainty carried in her voice, as if there was no doubt. When, deep down, he doubted himself often. ‘Thank you for your confidence. What else do you see?’
She smiled again, a beautiful thing which lit up the room better than the late-morning light.
‘Fishing for compliments?’
