The Mediterranean Prince's Passion. Sharon Kendrick

the real thing. And Ella found herself smiling at him with lips that she had never considered to be petal-soft before, but that now parted like a flower.

      â€˜Why, thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I’d like that.’

       CHAPTER FOUR

      IT’S ONLY a dinner date, Ella told herself.

      So why did she feel so jumpy? Why were the hands that smoothed the dress down over her hips so clammy and her lips so cool and pale? She rubbed a slick of lipgloss on them and stared at herself critically in the mirror.

      The silky black dress gleamed against the curve of bottom and breast, contrasting provocatively with the tiny covered buttons that ran in a demure line from neck to knee.

      The spiky black sandals made the best of her legs, and her only adornment was a matching velvet choker at her neck, inlaid with jet as dark and glittering as Nico’s eyes.

      For the umpteenth time she glanced at the clock, nervously tugging at the hem of her dress, her mind skipping back over the extraordinary events of the last couple of days, which had culminated in Nico flying her home on a private jet.

      Ella had spent the flight sipping on a fruit cocktail and looking around her with a sense of disbelief. Whatever Nico’s boss did for a living, he must be enormously successful at it to own a plane like that.

      She had glanced yet again to the cockpit, to see Nico sitting in front of a radar screen lit up like a Christmas tree, his fingers caressing the joy stick as if it was a woman’s body, and she had shivered, unable to prevent herself. There was something decidedly sexy about a man who could fly a plane—but there again, she’d never met one before!

      â€˜Here you are. Home,’ Nico murmured as he came through into the cabin after a successful touch-down, his eyes shining.

      When he flew a plane he always felt filled with a wild kind of exhilaration—it was the same when he sailed, or climbed, or dived deep to explore the beautiful coral reefs off Mardivino. Some people called it living dangerously—he just called it living.

      â€˜Thanks,’ Ella said steadily, praying that he’d meant his offer of dinner. ‘It was a brilliant flight.’

      â€˜So when am I going to see you?’ he drawled. ‘Tonight?’

      It nearly killed her, but Ella shook her head. A woman should never be too available—everyone in the world knew that! ‘No, not tonight, I’m afraid. I have masses to catch up on.’

      He raised his eyebrows. ‘Cancel it,’ he said arrogantly.

      Their eyes clashed. That was what he was used to, she recognised. Easy come, easy go. Well, if he wasn’t prepared to wait even a day, then he was wasting his time.

      â€˜Sorry,’ she said coolly. ‘I can’t. I’ve been away and I need to catch up on work. See what’s been happening in my absence. You know.’

      With an effort he hid the little flicker of irritation and shrugged. ‘Sure. So…when? Tomorrow night—or will you be busy then, too?’

      She heard the sarcasm in his voice. ‘Tomorrow will be fine,’ she said steadily, but the small victory of holding out only increased her sense of apprehension.

      She wasn’t dealing with the kind of man she normally came into contact with—Nico was different, and not just because he was foreign and heartstoppingly gorgeous. He flew planes and plucked women to safety from lost boats. He was, she recognised, a true alpha male, with the corresponding appetites, and she hadn’t run into enough of them to be quite sure of how to deal with him…

      â€˜Give me your address,’ he said. ‘I’ll come and pick you up around eight. We’ll go somewhere local—unless you’d rather meet up in London?’

      Ella’s mind raced. London would throw up its own problems—like getting back late after dinner and him suggesting a hotel. And she had never been the kind of woman to fall into bed with a man on a first date. Slightly appalled at the progression of her thoughts, Ella shook her head. ‘We have a lovely restaurant, close to where I live. I’ll take you there.’

      At just after eight Nico jammed his finger on the doorbell, the scent of flowers drifting in the warm, heavy air towards him. Summer roses flowered in profusion around the door of her cottage—which looked as pretty as a picture you might see on an old-fashioned box of chocolates.

      He felt a sense of vague detachment, as if he couldn’t quite believe where he was or what he was doing—a million miles away from his usual world and all its restraints and rules.

      The door opened and suddenly he could barely think straight, for she looked utterly sensational, wearing a clinging black dress that made her body look as if it was coated in liquorice. And he could lick it all off…

      A slow smile curved his mouth. ‘Ciao, Ella,’ he said softly.

      Ella stared at him and words just refused to come—because…Oh, he really was gorgeous.

      On Mardivino she had been captivated by his powerful strength and his spell-bindingly good looks, but now those qualities were somehow increased a thousandfold. Maybe it was seeing him away from his natural habitat—like plucking an exotic flower and placing it in a suburban garden.

      His height made the proportions of her rose-covered porch resemble a doll’s house, and next to him even the softly brilliant colours of the garden flowers faded into insignificance. His skin gleamed faintly olive, and he was wearing soft, cool linen through which the hard, muscular power of his body was startlingly evident. His dark eyes gleamed with brilliance, and here, under a gentler English sun, he looked almost indecently alive—as though any other man in the world would look like only half a man next to him.

      Her heart began to thunder erratically and her mouth dried to sawdust. ‘Hello, Nico.’

      It occurred to him that she might have been doing her homework on Mardivino and that things might already have irrevocably changed. Did she know? He stared at her closely but her eyes showed no indication that she found out. He raised his eyebrows in lazy question. ‘Hungry?’

      She felt as if food would choke her—but that was hardly the most diplomatic thing to say before a dinner date. ‘I…I hope you like the restaurant,’ she said breathlessly, for his warm, virile scent seemed to be running heated fingertips over her skin.

      He smiled with satisfaction, enjoying her response. The unspoken question was already answered in his mind—for the wide-eyed look of pleasure that made her green eyes sparkle like emeralds convinced him that to her he was still just ‘Nico’.

      â€˜You look very beautiful,’ he said softly.

      Oddly enough, his flattery had the reverse effect to the one she suspected he wanted. It brought her to her senses. Made her see things for what they really were, and not how she would like them to be. She was not beautiful—she was reasonably attractive on a good day.

      â€˜Mediterranean men are always better at giving compliments than their English counterparts,’ she observed coolly.

      â€˜Which might explain why Mediterranean women are more gracious at accepting them,’ he countered wryly.

      Oh, if only she could rewind the clock and play that scene again! Was she going to ruin the evening before it had even started? She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘You’re right.’

      â€˜Shall we try again?’ he mocked, curving his lips into a smile. ‘You look very beautiful.’

      â€˜Thank you.’

      â€˜You’re