Читать книгу Beauty and the Reclusive Prince / Executive: Expecting Tiny Twins: Beauty and the Reclusive Prince - Raye Morgan - Страница 9

ISABELLA screamed. Screaming was getting to be a habit, it seemed. She didn’t think she’d screamed this much at any time in her life before. But she couldn’t help it. Running into this strong, scary man in the dark just sent her over the top every time.

He held her for barely a second before she jumped back away from him. Still, at the same time she was recoiling and cursing her own continuing bad luck a traitorous part of her was entertaining the temptation to let herself relax in his arms again, to press her cheek against his chest and listen for his heartbeat. The moon was out again, sending beams in through a window just over their heads. What could be more romantic than to wrap herself in his arms and…?

Fanciful nonsense, of course. None of that could happen or would happen. She hadn’t had such silly daydreams since she’d been a preteen and had been mooning after a boy named Romano Puccini. Bad things usually followed when you let your emotions run away with you. At least, that had been the lesson she had learned that long-ago summer.

“That’s the second time tonight you scared me out of my wits,” she told him accusingly.

“And that’s the second time tonight I found you sneaking around where you shouldn’t be,” he shot back at her.

She tossed her hair, hooking the mop of it behind her ear with one quick swipe of her hand. “That’s only true if you are the one who gets to set the rules of where I may or may not go.”

He moved closer. Even in the dark, she could see the outline of his scar clearly. It was a slash of silver across his moonlit face. Eerie…otherworldly…and somehow alluring.

“And why wouldn’t I set the rules?” he said firmly. “It’s my house, remember?”

She looked up into his eyes. They seemed to glow in the dim light. “But you forget—I’m only passing through.”

“Trespassing through, you mean.”

Well, she had to give him that one. Suddenly she was so very tired.

“You know, I…I just want to go home.” There was a quaver in her voice that she regretted, but, still, it was only the truth.

He took her hand, still looking down into what he could see of her face. “We all want things we can’t have.”

The hint of desolation in his voice hit her hard and stopped her from taking offense. An unexpected wave of sadness swept over her. She wanted to reach for him, to help him somehow. But then she remembered—he was the prince. What in the world could she do to comfort a man like this?

“Come back to the Blue Room and let Marcello take a look at you,” he ordered, beginning to lead her that way. “After all this, we might as well go through with it.” He glanced down at her as she walked beside him. “Then I’ll have someone drive you home.”

She sighed. She hated to admit how tempting it seemed to just follow wherever he led. She was going to have to work on that. A little strength of character—a little more confidence in her own strength—that was what she needed.

“My car is…is down by the south wall.” She flushed as she said the words. Oh, how guilty she sounded.

When he replied, he sounded bemused, but satirical. “So you drove yourself out from the village, parked along the wall, and then what? Did you vault over?”

“Not quite.” She hesitated, but she didn’t want to tell him that she’d sneaked in exactly where her father had been sneaking in for years. Only her father had the good sense to do it in daylight, and he’d never been caught.

“Not going to say, are you?” he said, sounding cynical again, as though he really did consider her an outlaw in his world. “You’re going to keep it a secret. That way you can keep your options open for sneaking in again.” He tugged on her hand, leading her around a sharp corner. “But I would advise against that, Isabella Casali. I think we’ll have to let the dogs patrol twenty-four hours a day from now on.” He glanced back at her. “I don’t want you anywhere near that river.”

That surprised her. She would have expected him to say he didn’t want to risk any more interruptions to his own life and peaceful existence, not to her welfare. But maybe she was taking his words too kindly. Of course, that was exactly what he meant. After all, if she got hurt, he would have to deal with it. Still, there was something in his tone when he mentioned the river that gave her pause.

He stopped just outside the door to the Blue Room and stared down at her. For the first time the light was good enough for him to see what had happened to her face.

“My God! Maledizione!” His hands cupped her face, tilting it up so that he could see it fully. “You seemed a little bruised before, but this…”

“It’s okay,” she said, gazing up at him in wonder. He was so close. The sense of his male presence overwhelmed her. For a few seconds, she felt a wave of emotion sweeping away her common sense, and suddenly she wanted his kiss more than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life.

And that in itself was like a splash of cold water on her face. What was she thinking? She wanted to turn away so that he wouldn’t read her guilty secret in her eyes, but he was staring so hard, from so close.

“I…I’m okay.”

“It’s hard to see something so fresh and lovely marred this way,” he said as though it really did pain him. His voice was cool and it was evident that this was a philosophical problem and nothing to do with him personally. But at the same time his gaze ranged over her face as though he were memorizing every line, every dimple. “You’re just so…so…” His voice faded without saying the word, whatever it was meant to be.

And then he kissed her. Like a moth to the flame, he couldn’t stay away. It was a light kiss, barely a touching of his lips to her forehead, right above her blackened eye. She gasped as she felt him, but at the same time she knew he’d done it in a strange way as though to erase the damage, make it go away. He seemed to have an obsession with avoiding harm. That had to be it. It didn’t feel personal. His gaze still looked as hard and cold, his bearing was still just as arrogant.

But still—he kissed her.

“Is this going to take much longer?” said the deep, masculine voice of a tall man standing in the doorway, cutting into the magic of the moment. “Because I could go back to my room and get a few winks in and you could call me down later.”

Isabella gulped in dismay, but the prince only straightened, giving his cousin a brief look of outraged dignity. It was obvious their relationship was maintained with a closeness that was disguised by a lot of good-natured mockery.

“Isabella, this is Marcello Martelli, my cousin.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Isabella,” Marcello said, shaking her hand briskly. “This shouldn’t take too long, nor be too painful.”

Marcello was young and very handsome. In fact he looked very much like what she assumed Max would look like without the scar. She couldn’t help but give him a big smile in answer to his friendly greeting. Here he was, barefoot and in jeans and a T-shirt—looking for all the world like any of the young men she knew in the village would look if you knocked on their door after midnight. He had the ruffled hair and the sleepy eyes as well.

“You fell into the river, I hear,” he said, leading her in to sit on the antique couch. His gaze flickered back and forth between her and Max as though he didn’t completely buy it.

“Yes,” she told him earnestly.

“But luckily Max came along in time to…to rescue you.”

She turned and looked at where the prince was standing back in the shadows just in time to see him turn away as though angry at what his cousin had just said. She frowned. Why would he do that? Did he realize what a part he’d played in creating her unfortunate incident? Maybe he needed a reminder.

“Is that the way he tells the story?”

Marcello grinned at her. “How do you tell it?”

She gave Max an arch look sideways. “Here’s how I remember it. I was strolling along on the hillside when suddenly something that looked like a dark avenging angel came galloping down on me and I ran for my life. My foot slipped. I tumbled into the river.” She shrugged. “A simple tale, really,” she said.

“And all Max’s fault,” Marcello said with a knowing look.

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “Of course.” She glanced back at where Max was pacing, but she couldn’t see his face.

“Here’s what I don’t quite get,” Marcello was saying as he looked through his black bag for supplies. “What was it about Max that terrified you enough to start running?” He looked up at her. “Instead of just holding your ground and stating your case, I mean.” He gave his cousin a mocking look. “He doesn’t seem all that scary to me.”

Yes, that was the slightly embarrassing element in all this, she had to admit. Should she tell him the truth? Would he laugh? Or think her a little looney? She glanced at Max again and his haughty reserve gave her the spark she needed to go on.

“I’m sure you know about the legends attached to this castle,” she said. “I’ve heard them all my life.”

Max stopped, though still in shadows. “What sort of legends?” he asked gruffly.

She hesitated, knowing he was going to scoff. “Well, the usual,” she began, starting to wish she hadn’t brought it up.

“I know what she’s talking about,” Marcello offered. “Village people love to think of their local prince as a modern day Casanova, seducing women and humiliating men.” He gave his cousin a quick grin. “And you’ve got to admit we’ve got a few rakes and degenerates in the older branches of our family tree.”

Max shrugged and turned away, and Isabella bit her lip, then added something in a very soft voice.

“Vampires,” she said.

They both turned back to her. “What?”

Her chin came up and her eyes sparked. “Vampires,” she said more forcefully.

They gaped at her and she went on quickly, before they could begin to laugh.

“There are plenty of rumors that your family has included vampires. I know it’s crazy. I’m just saying…”

Max turned away again, shaking his head.

“It was partly the way you came crashing at me in the middle of a storm,” she continued, raising her voice so that he couldn’t ignore her. “Like something dropped from a thundercloud. And on horseback!” She shook her head. “I thought…I thought…” She bit her lip and wondered if she really should tell them this.

“Yes?” Marcello leaned forward, unmistakably interested. “What was it you thought?”

She narrowed her gaze and put steel in her spine. “I…I thought Max was a vampire. Just for a second or two.”

There. She’d said it. She looked up at where Max was standing and wished she could see what his eyes were revealing at this very moment. It was difficult to tell his reactions and that was driving her crazy.

“Are you serious?” Marcello was another matter. His response was no mystery. “A vampire?”

She tossed her hair back and tried to explain, addressing Max directly, even if he wouldn’t do the same to her.

“Well, it was a logical conclusion to draw. After all, you came galloping out of the forest, dressed all in black with that cape and everything. The setting was perfect for it with the moon hidden behind clouds over your shoulder. From where I was standing, it was like something right out of a vampire movie.”

Max didn’t move.

Marcello’s mouth was holding steady but his gaze was rife with amusement.

“Isabella, I think you’ve got it wrong,” he said carefully, as though teaching a lesson. “This is the Italian countryside, you know. As I understand it, vampires live in Transylvania. Am I right?”

Of course he was right, but she wasn’t going to admit it so easily. “Oh, so you think an Italian can’t be a vampire?” she demanded.

He shrugged grandly and almost rolled his eyes. “What do you think, Max? I’d say chances are slim.”

Max didn’t answer, but she wasn’t giving up. She shook her head and threw out her arms. “They say there are vampires everywhere.”

“I see.” Marcello was laughing at her again. “How many have you met yourself?”

She gave him a quick, sideways look. “Well…not many, I will admit.”

He nodded wisely. “Interesting.”

His attitude was really beginning to annoy her, but even worse was the way the prince stayed silent through it all. She wanted some reply, some indication as to how he felt about the things she was saying, and she was getting nothing at all.

“So you actually haven’t had a lot of experience with vampires.”

“Max is the only one so far,” she said tartly.

And that got the reaction she was after. Max swung around and came in front of her very much like the man who had swooped down upon her on horseback, bringing with him all the sense of power he seemed to carry with him, very much like that cape he’d worn.

“Miss Casali,” he said icily, staring down at her, his full scars exposed. “I may be many things, but I am not now, nor have I ever been, a vampire. If I start feeling a sudden craving for human blood, you’ll be the first to know. Until then, drop this nonsense.”

She swallowed hard, looking up at him. “Okay,” she said in a small, soft voice. His gaze held hers for only seconds, but it made its mark. She felt as though she’d just had a wild ride on a roller coaster and her insides were still in flight.

“Marcello?” he said pointedly, then turned back to pace the shadows.

His cousin moved in to start his examination of the patient and, for now, all bantering ceased. He started with a look at her black eye, and what he saw had him shaking his head in dismay. “Ice will help the swelling,” he told her after he’d checked to make sure there were no cuts or outright abrasions involved. “But the bruising will seem to go on forever. And there’s really not much you can do about that.”

There wasn’t much he could do about her bruised hip, either. He tested her reactions and pronounced nothing broken. But the cut on her leg was deep and he decided a few stitches were in order.

She sat back obediently and didn’t talk back. Her mind was swirling with emotions and reactions to the prince and to his fascinating life and home. What was she doing here? It was more than obvious she didn’t belong. But she wouldn’t have given up this chance at a taste of another sort of world for anything.

Max paced, then slumped into a chair and watched, feeling restless. He was torn. He wanted her out of here as quickly as possible. She disturbed everything about his life. And at the same time, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was bad news, but it was a sort of bad news it seemed he hungered for. Having her here made him remember the old days, when Laura was still alive and they traveled and held parties on the terrace and lived the life of international socialites, attending shows and meeting famous people and competing in yacht races and attending fabulous dinners in exotic locations. Their life together had only lasted a year and a half, but it had been an enchanted existence, a life of pleasure and comfort such as most people could only dream of.

It seemed almost too indulgent now, as he looked back on it. Maybe that had been the problem. Maybe they had taken things too much for granted. Maybe they had been too happy. Sometimes it seemed the fates wouldn’t allow too much happiness.

Isabella laughed at something his cousin said and he frowned, holding back the curt comment that came to mind. He seemed to remember a time when he might have been as good at the give and take as Marcello was now. But that time was gone. He didn’t expect he would ever get it back. Still, it was interesting to watch this playing out before him. It was so unusual to have a stranger among them.

She’d dropped into his world out of nowhere and she would soon go back to whence she came. But she was an anomaly and, with her bruised and swollen face, he almost felt as though they had something in common. That was ridiculous and he knew it. He was alone in his own private hell and no one else could understand what this was like. It would be best to get rid of her as quickly as possible.

Isabella knew he was watching her and his interest sparked a warm fire in her chest, a fire that was spreading and beginning to create such heat it scared her. It wasn’t that she was unused to male attention. She’d had that all her life. She was a beautiful woman, her features wide and sensual. She knew some men considered her extremely sexy. She’d never understood that. She didn’t feel very sexy. Most of the time she just felt as though she had too much to do and too little time to do it in. Men just sort of got in the way.

But men liked her. Still, she had a sharp tongue at times and didn’t suffer fools gladly, or any other way. Over the years, there had been very few men she’d thought were worth the effort.

Just recently her friend Gino had railed at her, accusing her of being cold and heartless. That had cut her to the core. He’d asked her to go with him on a weekend trip to Rome and she’d turned him down. In his disappointment, he’d charged her with living for her own immediate family and no one else.

“All you want to do is run this restaurant and make your father happy. You’ll never have children. You’ll be content to be an old maid, clucking like an old hen over your aging chicks, those worthless brothers and your old, sick father.”

She could dismiss Gino with no effort at all, but his words didn’t fade away quite so easily. The things he’d said echoed in her mind all the time lately. Was it true? Was she really so wrapped up in her little family that she’d lost the knack of feeling like a desirable woman? Would she never have room for a man in her life? What if he was right? What if there was something wrong with her?

But the things she’d been through tonight were relieving some of those doubts. She was all right. She could relate to men, on the level of friendship at the very least. Marcello obviously liked her and they got along famously.

And Max…He’d kissed her, hadn’t he? It had been a light, gentle gesture of healing, but still…A kiss was a kiss. Even in her ugly, bruised condition, he’d felt a pull in her direction. And she’d felt it too.

And that was just the problem. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt such a thrill at a man’s touch. It had been years. But was there any promise there? Of course not.

Come on, Isabella, she chided herself a bit sadly. He’s a prince. You work in a restaurant. So what if there seems to be a sensual connection that flares between the two of you every time your eyes meet? He may find you amusing for the moment—though evidence of that is pretty skimpy—but there is no way anything real can happen between the two of you. So you might as well forget it.

Marcello finished up giving her stitches and began to pack his equipment away in his little black doctor bag. He and Max talked back and forth for a moment, and then the prince said something that chilled her.

“We’re going to have to beef up security around here,” he was saying, not even looking her way. “I don’t want anyone near the river.”

She turned to look at him. Whenever the river was brought up, there was some undercurrent of emotion that she couldn’t quite pin down. What was it about the river that had so spooked this family?

“The dogs don’t do the trick?” Marcello said.

Max shrugged. “The dogs can’t be everywhere all the time. And they have to sleep. They’re dogs.”

Marcello grinned. “That they are. Have you thought of hiring guards?”

“No.” He flashed a warning look at his cousin. “You know I can’t do that.”

Marcello shrugged with resignation. “Of course.”

“We’ll put in an alarm service, with cameras. We’ll get state-of-the-art security going around here. No one will be able to slip through the cracks again.” He shrugged. “We should have done it long ago.”

Isabella sighed. That meant she wouldn’t get a second chance. What was she going to do? Hire James Bond? It didn’t seem likely.

Marcello headed back to his room to get some sleep. Isabella felt a flutter of nerves at being alone with Max again, but he treated her with distant politeness, making her sit closer to the fire to dry her hair while he dispatched poor Renzo off to get her car and bring it up for her. And then he began to pace the room again, staying as far away from her as he could manage.

Her conversational gambits seemed to have dried up with Marcello out of the room. She fluffed her hair in the warmth of the fire and racked her brain for a subject as the silence between the two of them got louder.

“I like your cousin,” she said at last, risking a quick look his way. “And I appreciate the medical attention.” She threw him a quick smile and made an attempt at a light joke. “You treat trespassers well around here.”

He gave her a piercing look, then turned back to stare into the fire. She noted he was getting less and less protective of the right side of his face. Did that mean he was getting less self-conscious? Or that he cared less what she thought?

“Yes,” he said at last, speaking slowly. “Marcello is my friend as well as my cousin.” He glanced her way. “He and I once looked very much alike,” he added softly, almost as though musing to himself. “People took us for brothers.”

She nodded. She could tell that, despite the scar. “He’s very handsome,” she said before she thought, then colored slightly as she realized how he might take that.

He glanced at her, eyebrow raised, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t speak again right away. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him his own face was so much more interesting than his cousin’s. It had all the beauty Marcello had, but it had something more—character, history, a hard and cruel story to tell. Just what that story was, she didn’t know, but there was passion there, and mystery, and heartbreak. It was a face for the ages, a map of human tragedy, a work of art.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she preferred it. In fact, she found it beautiful in a rare and special way. But she couldn’t say those things—could she? He would think she was flattering him, perhaps even trying to get something from him.

“You are both very handsome,” she said at last, feeling a bit brave to say that much.

He shrugged, looking away. “My face is what it is. It is what I made it. My burden to bear.”

She sat back, biting her tongue and wondering if she dared say any of the things she was thinking. He was wonderful to look at. Didn’t he realize that?

Or was it her? Was she strange?

That was a loaded question and she didn’t want to answer it. But she had to say something.

“You know what I think?” she began. “I think you should come to my restaurant. You need to get out and…”

He swore softly but it was enough to stop the words in her throat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told her roughly. “You don’t have a clue.”

Of course she didn’t. She knew that. But he didn’t have to be so rude. She was only trying to help.

She bit her lip, considering the situation. For some reason, when he ordered her about, she often found herself wanting to do what he said. It was time to nip that in the bud. He was beginning to think of her as a pushover, wasn’t he? Sure, he was a prince and she was a nobody—but that didn’t matter. She’d never been the amenable one in any relationship. Why let it get started now? She had to fight this drift toward subservience. Rising from her seat on the couch, she faced him with her hands on her hips, her head cocked at a challenging angle.

“I thought I should let you know that I don’t really think you’re a vampire,” she said as an opening.

He nodded, looking at her coolly. “I was pretty sure about that all along.”

“But you do have cruel tendencies,” she said, looking at him earnestly. “Listen, about the herbs I need from your hillside—”

“No.” He said it with utter finality.

She pulled her head back, startled by his vehemence. “But…”

He held a hand up to stop her in her tracks. “If keeping you off a dangerous hillside is cruel, I’m a monster. Sorry, but that is the way it is.”

“But—”

“No. You’re to stay away. And that’s final.”

He rose as if to add emphasis to his words. She looked up at him and swallowed hard. He looked tall and stern and unyielding, and his shoulders were wide as the horizon. There was no humor in his face, no softness at all. His scars were vivid and his hard eyes made the breath catch in her throat and her heart beat just a little faster. Just that quickly she was back to being a timid petitioner, and he was once again a prince. His gaze met hers and held. She couldn’t say a thing.

And then, breaking the spell, Renzo appeared.

“The young lady’s car is here, sir.”

The prince turned and nodded.

“Thank you, Renzo.”

It was very late. The grandfather clock in the hallway was chiming the hour. A part of him wanted to accompany her down to her home. Gallantry would suggest it. But practicalities, as well as common sense, forbade it. Not to mention the fact that he just plain couldn’t do it. So he merely nodded to her, staying back away so that he wouldn’t be tempted to repeat anything as silly as a kiss.

“Renzo will show you to your car,” he said shortly. “Goodnight.” She opened her mouth to say something, but there was no time. Turning on his heel, he went back into his dark and lonely palazzo, leaving her behind as though that was the main purpose. She sighed, feeling suddenly cold and lonely. Renzo showed her to her car and she drove off toward her home and restaurant in the village with a sense of frustration. But she knew very well that her life had been changed…changed forever, even if she never saw him again.