They settled on meeting again at eight o’clock that evening. ‘For dinner beneath a starlit sky,’ as he put it with considerable irony.
Who said romance was dead?she reflected with amusement, allowing no emotion to show on her face. But then he did something she had not expected. Reaching across the counter, he brushed some sugar from her lips with the tip of his forefinger, staring into her eyes as he did so. To say her body gave an atomic reaction was probably understating the case. She remained motionless until he stood back, by which time she’d gathered herself enough to say, ‘I’ll be ready at eight. As will my report.’
‘Your report?’ he queried, turning on his way to the door.
Her mouth dried. He looked magnificent, such a dark, brooding presence in the steel and white space that she could hardly breathe. ‘The report we agreed on? My thoughts on the décor?’ she prompted.
He’d been humouring her, she guessed. It was easy to see why Luca had never formed any lasting attachments.
‘Your only task tonight,’ he informed her, ‘is to turn up for dinner at eight o’clock sharp.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said mildly, determined not to sacrifice the chance of a job on the altar of her pride. This might be Luca’s galley, his yacht and his crew, but she would work her passage, and never bow her head to a man again.
Samia Smith was turning his life upside down. There was such warmth and humour in her eyes, it was hard to resist, but there was also strength and challenge, and that threatened to drive him crazy. Perhaps he’d been spoiled long enough, and it was time to accept that human contact was what he’d been missing. Once he got over his affront, he could see that contact with someone who made no allowance for him being royal was welcome, and much needed. Samia gave her refreshing take on everything, whether he wanted it or not. He’d only really had that sort of understanding with Pietro before, but now this aggravating woman had slipped into his life with her hobnail boots, her flashing eyes, and her complete and utter lack of reverence.
It didn’t hurt that she managed to look stunning in a simple blue dress, or that he found her banter appealing. She appeared to be comfortable in any situation, and with anyone, which could only make her an asset to the throne. He was pleased with his choice of bride; his only task now was to convince Samia that he would make her an ideal husband. As a seasoned seaman, he predicted stormy waters up ahead, but as he hadn’t enjoyed himself or relaxed as much in a long time, so what?
Heading for his study to examine the contents of the Red Box, he was looking forward to reading about Samia. He needed flesh on the bones of what his team had told him. The two of them didn’t have to be close to marry, but it was a bonus to discover a connection real and strong. Even with that, she’d have to realise that Samia would be the one making changes, not him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHATTOCHOOSE...?What to choose?
She felt like a greyhound in the traps as she hovered in her dressing room, wondering what to wear. There were far too many contenders—most of which would make her feel ridiculous—for a formal dinner with Luca. Gowns with barely any fabric, held up on a wing and a prayer, were instantly discarded. The prospect of sitting next to him in one of those held zero appeal. She’d feel a right fool.
In a ferment of indecision, she thought about the hard-working crew. She didn’t want to let anyone down by appearing not to care as they did. If they’d gone to the trouble to prepare a special meal, then the least she could do was to get the dress right. Obviously, Luca would look amazing, whatever he chose to wear. He could come wrapped in a towel and still look like a prince.
Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea...
Can the erotic fantasies! There isn’t time, she told herself firmly.
Selecting an emerald-green gown, she slipped it from the padded hanger. It was quite bright, and revealing by her standards, but if she was going to do this, she was going to do it properly. She didn’t want Luca thinking her a shrinking violet. What use would she be then? If she was going to work her passage, he had to take her seriously.
Stroking the cobweb-fine fabric, she shook her head with sheer bemusement that anyone could afford such intricately worked clothes. The beading alone was extraordinary...so many tiny crystals, and they must all have been sewn on by hand. She had never wanted to spend her ex’s money, preferring to remain independent...until he fired her from her job with the promise that she’d never work again.
We’ll see about that, she mused, firming her jaw. In clothes, as in life, she had always stayed beneath the radar, except in her column where she’d spoken her mind until her ex had replaced her views with his. He still hadn’t destroyed her, as he’d hoped. She was done with apologising. Luca had given her an opportunity to see a new world that she could never have dreamed of, and if she wasted that chance, she’d only have herself to blame.
Finally dressed, she turned this way and that to check her reflection. It would be hard to look bad in such a beautifully constructed gown, and she had to admit to feeling surprised by what the mirror revealed. Now it just remained for Luca to pass judgement. He’d be shocked, she imagined, as this was somewhat different from her scruffy travel clothes and beloved ancient walking boots.
Closing the door behind her, she lifted her chin and strode out.
What a dress! What a night! What a man!
What a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
Stepping out of an ice-cold shower that had done little to dull his raging libido, he dried off, cleaned his teeth, parked a shave, and dressed in jeans and the first top he found in the drawer. He was itching to get his hands on the contents of the Red Box, but with a lifetime of Red Boxes ahead of him—and this one wasn’t going anywhere—there was a task he had to complete first. He’d come back to dress for dinner after that.
Leaving his suite, he headed for the bridge to issue new instructions. His break from hands-on sailing would last a little longer than he’d intended, though theBlack Diamondwouldn’t be heading straight back to Madlena. First, they would make a stop at a small coastal town in Italy called Portofino, where he could speak to his lawyers to make sure everything was watertight for the prenup Samia would have to sign, as well as one more document she had made necessary. He was a planner who liked to make sure every loose end was tied up. The fiesta in Portofino was wild and fabulous, and he was confident Samia would relax enough once they were there to do as he asked, and for them to get to know each other better. This was essential before he took her to Madlena to meet his people.
Having given his staff new coordinates, he left the bridge and went to his study where the Red Box sat squat and square on his desk. Crossing the room, he extracted the key from his pocket, turned it in the lock, and tucked his finger under the lid. Swiftly riffling through the documents, he pulled out Samia’s file. Opening it, he cursed his phone as it rang. Checking the caller, he took the call. A palace official wished to confirm some details concerning Luca’s upcoming wedding—to the bride he had yet to propose to.
Accustomed to Luca’s brother’s much stiffer manner, the courtier asked tentatively, ‘You do have a bride, Your Serene Highness? Only you haven’t given us a name yet.’
‘Discretion is always the best option,’ he answered smoothly. ‘I don’t want the woman in question hounded by the press. But rest assured my bride does exist.’
Having exchanged the usual pleasantries, he cut the line, then stared at Samia’s file, which he had put down on the desk. He’d read it later. It was better to get to know her without bias. Tonight at dinner was the perfect opportunity to do that. In a few short hours, they would moor up in Portofino, where she’d have a chance to relax and reflect on their evening together, by which time he could add whatever she had to tell him to what he’d learn about her in the file. He didn’t anticipate any surprises.
It was only later in his dressing room as he adjusted his bow tie that he changed his mind. Cursing at the fiddly strip of cloth as he messed it up yet again, he let it hang loose before finally ripping it off. Reverting to jeans and a shirt, open at the neck with the cuffs rolled back, he raked his hair, which was his one concession to formal grooming. Checking his watch, he saw there was time to read Samia’s file after all. Maybe he would.
