this place was nothing like that.
At that moment the front door opened—she must have been watching him from inside—and there she stood, framed in the doorway and staring at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was there. Truth to tell, he couldn’t quite believe it himself.
But the fire Cathy had lit within him still burned. It had been burning all day, all during the dull, dry lawyers’ meetings and his subsequent sessions with a local horse-breeder. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind, remembering with painfully acute clarity just how good it had felt to thrust into that hot, virgin tightness of hers. Maybe he had underestimated the primeval pleasure that her innocence had given him.
Subduing the aching response to his thoughts, he raised his black eyebrows. ‘Ready?’
Although she registered the fact that it wasn’t the most affectionate of greetings, Cathy’s smile was nonetheless wide and genuine—because hadn’t she been dreading that he might have had second thoughts and changed his mind about taking her out? But no, he was here to take her to some fancy polo-club do and it hadn’t been some kind of wild and crazy dream, after all. Prince Xaviero of Zaffirinthos really had taken her bed and then announced that she was to be a royal mistress and he was to instruct her in the things which pleased him!
Could she have said no?
She thought of his cold-blooded reasoning. That way, we can call it quits. In view of that, then shouldn’t she have said no? But the truth of the matter was that her heart felt a bursting kind of happiness that he was here at all—and wasn’t her body eager for more of his expert touch?
She looked up at him uncertainly, fingers fluttering over the black dress which skimmed her hips. ‘Is this…okay? They say you can’t go wrong with black but I wasn’t sure if it would be suitable for a polo club? You see, well—I’ve…well, I’ve never actually been to one before.’
Golden eyes swept over her. The dress was unremarkable—a cheap creation which neither emphasised nor concealed her figure, while the glorious sun-ripe hair was tied back in some sort of ribbon. But at least she had heeded his words about not plastering her face with make up—the lightest touch of mascara and lipstick now emphasised her subtle beauty rather than parodying it.
‘The dress is fine—although in future I may buy you dresses more pleasing to the eye. But there is one thing about your appearance which jars.’ He walked towards her and, without warning, reached for the band which constrained her hair, slithering it off with an impatient jerk so that her hair tumbled wildly all over her shoulders. For a moment, he stared down into aquamarine eyes so wide and so deep that he felt as if he might drown in them. ‘Don’t ever wear your hair like that when you’re with me,’ he said unevenly. ‘I like it loose. Understand?’
Cathy felt the tendrils falling around her face, acknowledging the dark mastery of his command even while a squeak of protest demanded to make itself heard. It was outrageous that he should come out with something as old-fashioned and bossy as that, she thought weakly. Prince he might be, but did he have the right to speak to her in that way?
‘Understand?’ he repeated.
Yet, dazed by his proximity and the sensual recall of his touch, all she could do was nod. ‘Yes,’she whispered.
For a moment the sight of her wide eyes and trembling lips tempted him into ringing up the club and telling them he’d changed his mind. But something was stopping him and he wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps the faint air of insecurity about her which, infuriatingly, made him feel that he ought to spoil her. Take her out and give her a taste of the high life—as if in that way he could repay her for what he had already taken and would later take from her again.
His mouth hardened, because the last thing he wanted to feel was any kind of conscience about her. She had wanted him just as badly—and every woman had to lose her virginity some day. So why not lose it to the best? ‘My car is parked at the end of the lane,’ he said.
It felt odd to be walking down a dusty summer lane with the golden-eyed Prince and odder still to remember what had taken place between them. Cathy was conscious of the chauffeur’s curious looks as he held the door open for her. Was he wondering what the Prince was playing at? Or maybe this was the kind of thing he did all the time and she was only one in a long series of women who had climbed so meekly into the back of the luxury limousine.
That thought sat uncomfortably with her and she waited for—and wanted—Xaviero to take her in his arms once they were enclosed within the tinted luxury of the car. To blot out all her misgivings with the power of his kiss. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply leaned back against the soft leather seat, his long legs spread out in front of him while he surveyed her from between the narrowed golden eyes.
‘Your house is not what I was…expecting,’ he observed slowly.
It sounded more like a question than a compliment and Cathy knew exactly what he meant. ‘On a chambermaid’s salary, you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘How the hell should I know? I have no idea what chambermaids earn.’
No, of course he wouldn’t. Princes didn’t draw salaries like ordinary folk, did they? What must it be like to exist inside a great, privileged bubble which separated you from the rest of the world? she wondered. ‘My great-aunt left it to me. She brought me up when my parents died. It’s…’ Her words trailed off. Wasn’t he, as the Prince, supposed to initiate all conversation—so maybe that meant just answering his questions and not bothering to elaborate on them. She clamped her lips shut.
‘It’s what?’
‘You aren’t really interested.’
He felt a mixture of amusement and irritation. ‘Oh, aren’t I?’ he questioned silkily. ‘One session of sex and already you can predict what I’m thinking? I know that all women like to think they’re mind-readers—but that really must be breaking some kind of record.’
Cathy blushed. How cynical. How hard-bitten. What had he said? One session of sex. It was a hateful way to describe what had happened between them.
‘The cottage is one of the reasons I stay round here—well, the garden mainly,’ she said stiffly. ‘I can’t imagine ever finding anywhere else as beautiful. And…well, gardening’s my hobby—though it always sounds so tame when someone my age admits that they like it.’
‘Or elemental,’ he amended surprisingly. ‘Some people might consider it sexy to think of a woman bending over a flowerbed, with mud on her hands.’
‘Really?’ she questioned, not believing him.
‘Yes, really.’ Hearing the wooden quality of her tone, Xaviero studied the way her little teeth were digging into the cushioned curve of her lower lip, and he smiled. ‘You look disappointed,’ he murmured. ‘Are you wondering why I haven’t yet kissed you?’
‘Not at all,’ she lied.
He laughed. ‘Ah, but you must learn not to blush when you tell an untruth,’ he murmured and saw her colour deepen even more.
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Yes, you were. There should be few secrets between lovers. If you’re wondering why I haven’t yet kissed you, can’t you think of a reason why that
