‘I don’t think I can do this,’ she said desperately. ‘I thought it would be easy, but it isn’t. We’re— You’re...’
He was still standing close to her. The warmth of him, the scent of him, wound itself around her insides and sent anticipation skittering through her.
She swayed towards him and then she saw the dangerous burn of heat in his dark eyes and remembered how long it had taken her to recover last time she’d fallen for this man.
She was hopeless at relationships, wasn’t she? She didn’t want one. She had a career she loved. And she had to concentrate on sorting out the mess she’d made of her professional life.
‘You hurt me, Alessandro.’ Tasha forced the words past her lips. ‘I have more self-respect than to let you do it again. I’ll stay and look after you because I gave my word, but it’s not going to be any more than that.’
* * *
‘We thought maybe a carefully placed interview with a celebrity magazine, Your Highness, focusing on your hopes for the future...’
As his advisers droned on, Alessandro stared out of the window towards the waves. It was early morning and there was only one surfer in the waves.
Tasha. She was out there again, enjoying the swell beneath her board and the spray on her face.
Seeking distraction...
It had been three days since their conversation and she’d kept their interaction on a strictly professional level, but that didn’t alter the tension that added an edge to the atmosphere whenever they were in a room together.
‘Your Highness?’
Alessandro dragged his gaze from contemplation of the surfer. ‘Sorry?’
His advisers exchanged glances. ‘We were suggesting ways in which you could potentially raise your profile even though you’re...’ one of them cleared his throat and looked at Alessandro’s leg ‘...incapacitated.’
‘Featuring in a celebrity magazine?’ Alessandro didn’t bother to conceal his contempt for the idea. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘It would be—’
‘Shallow and useless,’ Alessandro snapped. ‘I don’t want to be portrayed as some royal layabout. I run a successful multimillion-dollar business.’ Or he had until his brother’s death. Now a select team ran it in his place and he was only involved in the major decisions.
‘The important thing is that the people want to see you, Your Highness. They want to know their prince. They’ll pay an enormous sum for the interview.’ His chief adviser named a figure that made Alessandro shake his head in disbelief.
‘They’ll pay that much to take pictures of me lying on the sofa with my leg in plaster? The world has gone mad.’
‘The money would be given to your favourite charity, Your Highness, and that would be excellent publicity.’
‘And both contrived and manipulative.’ Alessandro felt bitter distaste for the workings of the media. ‘If they have that kind of money to throw around then let them just donate it to the charity in the first place. Cut out the middle man.’
‘Her Highness, the Princess Eleanor wants—’
‘I know what my mother wants.’ His tone cold, Alessandro stared at the thick file they’d brought with them. ‘What do you have there?’
‘We’ve outlined proposals for various ways of supporting charity and generally raising your profile in these...’ the man’s hands trembled slightly as he pushed the file across the table ‘...difficult and limiting circumstances. The ideas have been approved by the palace. The one that Her Highness particularly wanted us to draw your attention to is—’ He broke off, a sheen of sweat on his brow.
‘Is?’ Alessandro’s silken prompt made the man flinch.
‘Is the suggestion that you announce your engagement, sir.’
It was like being caught in an avalanche. The cold slammed into him, suffocating him and chilling him right to the bone.
When he didn’t speak, the man cleared his throat. ‘It’s been a while, Your Highness, and everyone assumes—’
‘I know what everyone assumes.’ Alessandro barely recognised his own voice. He leaned back against the sofa, suddenly exhausted. ‘Leave the file. I’ll read it and tell you what I intend to do.’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
They left and Alessandro stayed where he was. The file remained unopened.
The thought of allowing sycophantic journalists and photographers into his private life made him cold inside. But the thing that made him coldest of all was the prospect of announcing his engagement. The last thing he wanted was marriage. Given the choice he would have stayed single rather than risk the sort of relationship his parents had. But he didn’t have the choice, did he? It was up to him to produce the next generation to rule the Mediterranean island of San Savarre. It didn’t matter whether he liked it or not.
Filling his brother’s shoes.
He needed to talk to Miranda. He needed to see Miranda. But instead of seeing Miranda’s sleek blonde hair and elegant clothes, he saw Tasha putting chilli in his food, undaunted by royal protocol. Hope I’m not supposed to bow or curtsey.
Tasha, walking away from him.
Since their heated, tense exchange they had hardly seen each other and Alessandro knew that she was staying out in the surf as long as possible to avoid him.
Telling himself that it was probably a good thing, Alessandro hobbled through to the bedroom and turned on the television in the hope of distraction.
By the time she arrived back from her session in the waves, he’d pulled himself together and he focused hard on the screen as she whirled through the apartment like a tornado, singing to herself as if nothing had happened between them.
Alessandro watched her steadily. She was putting on an act.
‘Hi, there, hopalong!’ she called to him as she stripped off the jacket she’d put on over her wetsuit and walked jauntily towards her bedroom. ‘Surf’s up today and this time I’m not saying that to make you want to thump me.’
‘Tasha—’
‘Need to get out of my wet things!’
He had to admire her performance. If he hadn’t known better he would have said she was indifferent. But he knew she was far from indifferent. Watching her breeze through the house, he wondered how long she was going to keep up the pretence that nothing was happening between them. ‘When I finally get this damn plaster off my leg, I’ll join you.’ They were going through the motions. Talking about surfing, even though that wasn’t the topic uppermost in their thoughts.
He heard the soft hiss of water as she turned on the shower and immediately he started thinking about Tasha naked. And thinking about Tasha naked—
Cursing softly, he picked up the remote control and flicked on the sports channel.
‘How did your meeting go?’ She was standing in the doorway, wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Her hair was still wet from the shower and her feet bare. ‘What do they want you to do?’
Get married.
‘The usual stuff. Palace promotion. I’m afraid I’m not very good at being told what to do. I’ve always been a bit of a rebel that way. Antonio was the dutiful one. He was the Good Son.’ He felt the bed give as she sat down next to him.
‘You must miss him terribly. I know you were close.’ Her voice was soft and for the time being she seemed to have abandoned her act. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how I’d cope if I lost a