‘It did, because that kind of scrutiny was totally unexpected,’ she answered slowly. ‘From being a fairly anonymous person, I was slightly alarmed to discover that Rosie’s new-found fame seemed contagious.’
There was a pause. ‘And did you approve of your sister marrying the King?’
She tilted her head consideringly. He really could be quite surprising. At times he was insultingly offhand, while at others he did seem genuinely interested in her life, and her past. She shrugged. ‘I didn’t always like Corso, no.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
The purring consideration of his question was at odds with the sudden tension which had invaded his body and Bianca wondered what had caused it. Was it simply a competitive aspect of his own character—that of one exceedingly successful man curious to hear about the defects of another? But he had confided in her last night, and surely she must trust herself to do the same. ‘I thought he was arrogant,’ she confessed. ‘And that he would probably break her heart.’
‘Because?’
‘Because he’s a rich royal who’s had countless lovers in the past and Rosie has always been fairly naïve and was probably completely out of her depth.’
‘But it all ended happily ever after?’
‘Yes, it did. The power of love, I guess,’ she added, unable to keep the curl of wistfulness from her voice.
He screwed his brow up as if she had just uttered some kind of profanity. ‘You don’t honestly believe in all that stuff?’
Bianca hesitated. She knew it wasn’t cool to admit it, but something made her want to tell him the truth. Was it to ensure that he knew exactly where he stood with her? To warn him—or maybe to issue a silent plea—not to mess around with her own, innocent heart? ‘I do, yes,’ she said quietly. ‘My mother and father loved one another very much and things were great between them until my father had his accident. But they provided a loving home for me and Rosie and I’d like...well, one day I’d like to recreate that sort of family life for myself, if I ever meet the right man.’
‘Bianca—’
‘Oh, please don’t worry,’ she said quickly, anticipating his words. ‘I’m not including you in that consideration, Xanthos. I want someone, yes, but a nice safe man who doesn’t make waves—who also wants a family of his own. And you’re the antithesis of that man. The wrong man, if you like. Please don’t be offended.’
‘Why would I be offended when it’s nothing but the truth? To be honest, it’s a relief to hear you say it. Marriage has never been on my agenda and love is just a word which gets misused all the time. Whereas to be acknowledged as something of a scoundrel, which is what you seem to be doing, well, that’s a much better fit.’ He gave a dangerously sexy smile, his voice dipping into a velvety caress. ‘Do you have any idea of how much I want you right now, Bianca?’
Her throat constricted. ‘Maybe.’
‘So what are we going to do about it?’
‘You tell me,’ she whispered. ‘You’re the expert.’
‘Yes, but...’
She could see him swallow as he unbuttoned her jacket, cupping her breast through the thick wool of her sweater and caressing the covered nipple until it peaked against his palm.
‘But, what?’ she prompted.
‘Right now you’re making me feel like a novice,’ he admitted huskily.
Was that good or bad? Bianca wondered as his hand continued to work its provocative magic. But by then he had turned his attention to the other breast and her head was tipping back helplessly against the squashy leather of the car seat. She could feel the tiptoeing of his fingers moving slowly up towards her thigh and as she felt irresistible hunger spiralling up, she managed to prise a splinter of logic from the befuddled depths of her mind, because surely she ought to stop him. ‘What about...the driver?’ she breathed weakly.
‘Don’t worry. He can’t see us.’ His lips began to brush along her jaw and she could feel the warmth of his quickened breath against her skin. ‘Or hear us.’
‘Are you...sure?’
‘I’m certain. Total privacy is always a non-negotiable whenever I get a chauffeured car.’
She wished he hadn’t said that because it conjured up pictures of other women who had been in exactly this situation. But she did nothing to stop the automatic parting of her thighs, nor the questing forefinger which had alighted with aching precision over the denim seam covering the crotch of her jeans. Her throat dried. ‘Xanthos,’ she breathed, her bottom writhing with frustration as he began to stroke her through the thick material.
‘Xanthos, what?’ he questioned, the mocking caress of his words turning her on even more.
She wanted to beg him to unzip her jeans and touch her properly. To place his finger against the bare flesh, or even use his mouth—as he had done so shockingly and so beautifully last night. But she was powerless to speak. Powerless to do anything other than try to contain her moans of pleasure as he took her to that exquisite place again.
She came quickly, almost violently, shuddering against his hand, her body clenching with sweet spasms as his head swooped down to claim her lips in a kiss. Blindly, she groped for the hard ridge in his trousers, but he bucked away as if she had scalded him, capturing her wrist within the curl of his fingers, his lips pressed close against her ear.
‘No. Not now and not here,’ he warned softly.