His expression hardened. “Of course not. We will land in Paris first. You can arrange transport from there.”
A dark thought occurred to her. “How do I know you will keep your word? That you won’t take me to Monterosso and demand a ransom for my return?”
His voice stroked over her like silk. “If I were to kidnap you, mia bella, I could think of far more interesting things to do than demand a ransom.”
By the time they were ferried to shore and found a taxi, three hours had passed. Everyone was rushing around the town, trying to batten down the hatches or get off the island. Canta Paradiso was a private resort island, but there was a town and many residents who lived there full-time. In spite of that, the traffic to the small airport was unbelievable.
Cristiano tucked his cell phone away with a growl. Since the rain had begun, the cell towers had ceased carrying calls for very long. Now, they were dropping altogether. Antonella looked at her signal indicator. No bars.
Cristiano raked a dark-fingered hand through his inky hair. The taxi was small, and his leg lay intimately against hers where they were crowded together in the back seat. At first, she’d tried to move away, but huddling against the door was uncomfortable. She’d struggled for the last hour to pretend that his skin didn’t burn into her where they touched.
“Will we make it?” she asked.
He was so close. Close enough that if she simply leaned over a few centimeters, their lips could touch.
And why would she want to do that?
“We should. It’s just rain thus far. We can still fly out.”
“Are you certain?” She watched the rain falling harder outside the steamy window beside him, bit her lip.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I am a pilot, cara. Rain provides good lift. The wind isn’t bad yet, and it also provides lift. There are many hours left before the storm is too dangerous to fly.”
“That’s good, then.”
He leaned back, stretched an arm behind her on the seat. She couldn’t escape the contact unless she sat forward. To do so would give him power, so she endured the press of his arm against her shoulders and neck.
The trilling of his phone several minutes later startled her from her reverie. The taxi was warm, and she was so tired that she’d nearly fallen asleep on him. Mortified, she pushed herself as far into her corner of the back seat as she could.
Cristiano answered quickly, before the call dropped again. The swearing that issued from him a few moments later wasn’t a good sign.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when he finished.
He looked grim. “We’re stuck.”
“What do you mean, stuck?” she asked, trying to tame the note of panic in her voice.
He swore again. “The plane has a hydraulic leak in the brakes. We can’t fly without a new cowling, and there isn’t one on the island.”
Antonella bit back a hysterical laugh. “Is there a chance we can get on a commercial plane?”
“The last flight left twenty minutes ago. There are no more flights in or out today.”
“You said it was safe to fly for many hours yet.”
“It is. But commercial airlines have different schedules, Antonella. And they’ve chosen to cancel flights that were coming in later today. Those planes would have been the flights out again.”
Antonella stared at him, swallowed the giant lump in her throat. “Now what?”
“We must find a place to stay.”
Unbelievable. Could her luck get any worse? “And where do you suggest we look? Do we simply drive up to every hotel on the island and see if they have a vacancy?”
He tapped his phone against his leg. “No, that would take too much time and there are no guarantees. I have another idea.”
“And what would that be?”
“I know the man who owns this island. He keeps a villa nearby. We will go there.”
She stared at him. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“I didn’t think it would be necessary.”
Antonella didn’t say anything while he issued instructions to the driver. Maybe she should argue about the practicality of his plan, but what other choice was there? Far better to stay in a private home than be seen together in a hotel. There was always a chance, no matter how remote, that someone from the media would be there and would recognize them. A photo of her with Cristiano di Savaré could do irreparable harm to her country right now.
He put his arm behind her again and she pressed herself farther away from him. He frowned.
“It’s no use,” he said. “The car is small and there’s nowhere to go.”
“I realize that, but you don’t need to put your arm around me.”
“And I thought you liked it when I touched you.” His voice contained a hint of sarcasm that irritated her.
“Hardly.”
“Then why did you come?”
Antonella blinked. “What choice did I have? You said yourself that all the flights were booked.”
“Yes, but to accept help from me of all people…” He tsked.
Antonella saw red. “It wasn’t my first choice, no, but I’m not stupid.”
His gaze grew sharp, thoughtful. “No, I don’t think you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
A mocking smile curved his lips. “Whatever you think it means, Principessa.”
“I think you simply like to irritate me. Why did you offer to help me get off the island if you don’t like me so much?”
“I don’t have to like you for what I have in mind.”
Antonella gasped. “How could you possibly dislike someone and still want to sleep with them?”
The look on his face, something between mildly amused and completely arrogant, sent heat flooding into her cheeks. Had she mistaken his meaning?
“There is a fine line between hate and passion, Antonella,” he replied. “One sometimes makes the other more rich.”
“That’s horrible.” She’d always thought, assuming she weren’t obligated to marry a man of her father’s choosing, she would have to like the man she slept with for the first time. She’d never expected to have that choice, however. Now that it seemed she might, she was more than a little appalled at her physical reaction to Cristiano.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Really? You would expect me to believe a woman of your experience has liked every man she’s ever bedded?”
Her jaw clenched. She should have realized where this conversation would go. “I prefer not to discuss this with you.”
“Why not? Ashamed?”
“Of course not!”
“So how many has it been, Antonella? How many men have you lured to your bed?” He looked haughty, cruel. It made her furious.
“Lured? Lured? You make me sound like I’m running a stall at the market! Come get your peaches, come get your plums—hurry before they’re all gone.”
His expression seemed in danger of crumpling for a split second.