trail over the lace coverlet of the bed, her eyes resting on the flounced brocade of the skirt of the dressing table, where antique silver brushes lay. It was old-world and beautiful. Yet, as her eyes roamed, she noted a phone and a fax machine. In the corner an almost invisible panel hid a flatscreen TV.
‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ he replied with a formal bow. ‘Please feel free to stay for as long as you wish.’
‘Oh, gosh, that’s terribly generous. I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ she exclaimed, suddenly realising how unexpected her visit was—and perhaps inconvenient.
‘Such a beautiful woman as you could never be an inconvenience to anyone,’ he murmured, his eyes fleeting over her. ‘Why don’t you freshen up and join me downstairs for a drink?’
‘Great. Thanks.’ Victoria smiled nervously, brushed her golden hair back, and watched as he retreated and closed the door behind him.
She let out the breath she’d been holding. It was like a dream. Only this morning she’d been going through hell and now here she was, in a magical setting with the best looking, most sophisticated man she’d ever met.
To her surprise, when she opened the old rosewood armoire, a shimmering white and silver full-length sheath-style gown hung on one of the hangers. She lifted it out on the hanger and stared down at the high heeled silk sandals accompanying it. Was this for her? Then her eyes fell on a note, and she drew in her breath and opened it.
I hope this may serve its purpose until your luggage arrives.
She held the note, biting her lip, gazing at the bold black writing on the thick crest-emblazoned stationery. How had he managed to have this dress conveyed here so swiftly? And how did he know her size? A less agreeable thought crossed her mind. He probably dated so many women that judging their dress size was child’s play. Well, whatever. She would slip into the shower and then don the beautiful gown. At least she’d feel in tune with the setting.
An hour later dusk had settled over the island. The clear inky sky was dotted with bright flickering stars. Crickets chirrupped in a friendly fashion as she made her way down the wide stone staircase, hoping she wouldn’t slip in her finely tied silk sandals. Victoria had worn many gorgeous gowns since hitting Hollywood, but none compared to the ethereal beauty of this one, chosen for her by a man she barely knew.
When she reached the terrace she saw him, dressed in a dinner jacket, leaning against the stone parapet and gazing thoughtfully out to sea, a glass held loosely between his fingers. She stood a moment and watched him, etched against the horizon. How incredibly good-looking he was.
And how totally out of reach.
All at once reality sank in and she realised how poles apart their lives were: she, the unknown girl from a small English village who by a miracle had been chosen to star in a Hollywood success story; he, the noble Prince, whose lineage dated back a thousand years. She swallowed. Oh, well. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted, she reflected moving towards him. Perhaps it was just a ploy to get her to invest on his island, she reminded herself. In a way she wished it was. It would make it easier, and perhaps temper the irregularity of her heartbeat whenever he appeared.
‘Good evening,’ she said, trying to sound nonchalant and sophisticated. ‘Thank you for having this dress put in my cupboard. It was most thoughtful of you. The luggage still hasn’t arrived, so it came in very handy.’
‘I’m glad you like it. If I may say so it suits you very well.’ His gaze roamed critically over her.
A flush rushed to her cheeks. There was nothing bold in his look, but still she felt as though his eyes saw far more—as though they were divesting her of the flimsy fabric, and caressing her skin. A tiny shiver coursed up her spine and she felt her stomach tighten.
‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked turning to a tray of ice that hosted an array of soft drinks. He poured her choice into a crystal tumbler and handed it to her.
‘Thanks.’ Victoria took a quick gulp and then another. Suddenly she remembered the pills. Until last night she would have relied on them to help her through the evening, yet tonight she had no sudden urge to rush and pop one. Not that she felt terribly bad or ill at ease with Rodolfo, but he did seem so terribly suave and elegant in this magnificent setting, so terribly out of her league…
‘Come,’ Rodolfo said, as if sensing her discomfort, reaching for her hand. ‘Let me show you the rest of the terrace.’
Together they walked around and he showed her another view. In the distance she could see lights. ‘Is that Malvaritza?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that is the town. I’ll take you there when you’re feeling up to it. And we’ll also go for a spin on my yacht, the Mona Lisa, so that you can see the island from the sea. It will give you a better notion of the place.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, leaving her hand in his, relishing the feel of his fingers lightly caressing the inside of her palm. Then, when she least expected it, he was facing her, looking down into her eyes through the moonlight.
‘You are a beautiful woman, Victoria. Too tempting by far.’
She caught her breath as he drew closer, didn’t draw away when he reached out and pulled her close, his expression almost harsh.
Their eyes held and she fell under his spell. In one swift movement his lips came down on hers, hot and demanding. She gasped, held back, then gave way. She had never been kissed like this before. It was as though suddenly Rodolfo dominated her being. He plied open her lips, his tongue delved, and his hands pressed the small of her back, bringing her close up against him. She could feel the hardness of his desire, and experienced a rush of torrid heat flash like hot lightning from her head to her core, felt the peaks of her breasts go taut.
There was little she could do now but submit, her body supple and pliable in his arms. She could feel his hands roam over the curves of her rounded bottom, up her ribcage, then stop tantalisingly at the side of her breast. Half of her knew she should draw back, the other wanted to beg him to continue, to assuage the delicious yet agonising frustration mounting within her.
‘Victoria,’ he muttered, his thumb reaching to graze the tip of her breast.
‘Rodolfo,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘We shouldn’t…we mustn’t. I barely know you. I—’
Reluctantly he drew back, eyes gleaming into hers. ‘I know it has all happened very fast, but I find you very hard to resist, cara.’
She returned the look, then glanced away, straightened her dress and moved towards the parapet picking up her glass as she went.
Rodolfo watched her, then followed suit, eyeing her closely, noting the hot flush on her cheeks. There was a definite chemistry between them. Her reaction had been timid at first, then as passionate and full of pent-up desire as his own. Yet there was something naïve and spontaneous in her reaction, something that spelled inexperience.
He must be dreaming, he reflected, as they sipped their drinks. A Hollywood actress, one who had taken drugs and was a big star, could hardly be an innocent.
‘Dinner will be served shortly,’ he said in a neutral tone. ‘I thought we should dine al fresco in the moonlight. Would that suit you?’
‘That would be lovely. Are you not cooking tonight?’ she added with a spark of humour.
