‘You might as well come clean. I’m very good at extracting information,’ she told him with a comic accent.
‘MI6?’
‘I’ve always fancied being a sleuth,’ she admitted, adding a comic face to the mix. ‘I could never resist a good puzzle.’
‘Perhaps I’m hiding out like you.’
‘I’m not hiding out!’
The heat of her defence reinforced his growing belief that that was exactly what she was doing.
‘You could hardly blend into the scenery with your looks,’ she commented, making it sound like the worst insult possible. ‘Simply stating facts,’ she told him when he raised an ironic brow.
Some women simpered and preened when they met him. She did neither, but continued to stare at him narrow-eyed, as if he were an interesting specimen in a lab.
‘The name Luca isn’t much of a clue...’
‘Can you put a name to everyone you meet?’
‘Of course not, but I really feel I should know you,’ she mused, still frowning. ‘Anyway, let’s forget that for now. I’m on my own, trekking around Europe, so I’d better be careful who I talk to. I think it’s time to move on.’
‘That’s your choice, but if you’re so concerned about safety, why strike up a conversation with a stranger in the first place?’
‘You look trustworthy, and you don’t frighten me.’
‘Evidently,’ he agreed, finding it hard to curb a smile.
Where had she been these past few months when his image had been splashed across the press? The tragedy of losing his older brother had resonated across the globe. First his grandmother, and then Pietro had raised him when their parents were killed in an air crash, only for Pietro to die in tragic circumstances. Two brothers cruelly torn apart, with the added fascination of great wealth and royal lineage, had made sure that their story reached everyone’s ears.
Seeing him out of context must have thrown her. He bore no resemblance to the solemn man in uniform that had been pictured in the press. Those images showed a grim-faced individual, mired in sorrow, standing on a parade ground to accept the fealty of troops who were loyal to him now. That man didn’t relax, or slouch on one hip, but stood sternly to attention, as he endured the unendurable, which was to accept that his beloved older brother would never brighten his life again. The diners who knew him here thought only that he was an aristocrat and a billionaire, with a megayacht worthy of mention. His vast three-mast rigger, theBlack Diamond,was anchored off shore. Its modern take on a traditional design always caused comment, though no one fussed over him, as billionaires and members of the aristocracy were two a penny in Saint-Tropez.
The yacht was his pride and joy, and a guaranteed escape route from a news-hungry world. He’d bought it some years back with profits from a tech company he’d started in his bedroom as a boy. News had spread quickly that the Pirate Prince—as people liked to call him, thanks to his uniquely sinister yacht with its black sails and night-dark hull—was indulging in one last round of freedom before embarking on a life of royal circumspection.
‘Since you’re not afraid of me,’ he told the young woman, ‘I think it’s time we became properly acquainted.’
‘I’m honoured,’ she mocked, bringing her hand palm flat to her magnificent breasts. ‘My name is Samia. Samia Smith.’
‘Exotic,’ he commented.
‘Me, or the name?’ A smile tugged at her lips.
‘What if I said both?’
‘I’d say you were trying too hard and I don’t think that’s you.’
The name suited her perfectly. A bunch of contradictions, Samia was resolutely upbeat, but there was no mistaking the shadows behind her laughing eyes. ‘Samia,’ he murmured. Having tried the name on his tongue he found it rolled off like warm, sweet honey, much as she’d taste, he imagined. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Samia Smith.’
‘Also very pleased,’ she said as they shook hands. She spared him another curtsey. But had she placed him, he wondered as she narrowed her eyes to stare thoughtfully into his. And would it change her attitude towards him if she had?
His best guess was no.
CHAPTER TWO
SAMIA’STINYHANDin his big fist felt unreasonably small. Her grip was strong, her skin smooth and soft, as if she didn’t work with her hands. She was in no hurry to remove her hand from his, he noticed, but stared directly into his eyes, giving the distinct impression that this was a woman who would bow her head to no man. Though, those shadows pointed to an event in her past that had driven her to travel in search of something different. Adding to his suspicions, there was a telltale mark on her wedding finger. A strip of pale skin showed where she had once worn a ring.
Forced to take hold of her shoulders to steer her away from a stream of waiters emerging from the kitchen, he was shocked by the bolt of heat that shot up his arm. This was matched by Samia’s sharp inhalation of breath. As they swung around to stare at each other, something changed between them. No longer two strangers who’d met in a bar, they were a man and a woman reduced to their most primal state. There was a pulse beating rapidly in her neck, and her eyes were almost black, with just a thin rim of emerald around pupils grown huge. Some of the diners had noticed this bombshell, and were whispering about it, so he backed her into the shadows where they could talk unobserved.
‘You don’t want to be seen with me?’ she challenged with a laugh.
