‘Oh, it is,’ he agreed evenly, because he knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted him to say that he would take her there. Was she building little fantasies about visiting the magnificent palace, perhaps—mistakenly imagining that she might have some place there? In which case, she should be very careful not to confuse fantasy with reality.
‘But you know, of course, that I can never take you there,’ he said softly, and, reaching out, he pulled her down onto his lap.
On one level, of course she had known that—but on another, she had hoped…Cathy bit her lip. She had hoped for what every woman in her situation would hope for—no matter how foolish that hope. And why had he made that completely unnecessary statement, which necessitated her asking a question she didn’t really want to ask? Suddenly, she found herself on the defensive.
‘Why not?’
He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. ‘Because my people would never accept me openly flaunting a lover there. They are less accepting of modern sexual manners than you are here.’
‘They would look down on me, I suppose?’ she questioned shakily.
‘Cathy,’ he appealed. ‘Don’t do this.’
‘Because, of course, it’s always the woman who takes the blame, isn’t it? They would never dare to think that their darling Prince might have something to do with it.’
‘That,’ he said warningly, ‘is enough.’
Her lips were trembling. ‘All right, it’s enough. And actually, I’m pretty bored with the subject myself!’
‘Well, you’re the one who brought it up.’
‘And you’re the one who spoilt it.’
‘Are you aware,’ he questioned silkily, ‘that if you spoke to me in such a way in the presence of others you could be accused of gross insubordination?’
Pull yourself together, Cathy told herself fiercely, banishing her foolish longings and pressing her lips hungrily to the base of his throat instead. ‘You could—but only if I were your subject,’ she objected as she inhaled his raw, masculine scent. ‘Which, of course, I’m not.’
As he laughed Xaviero felt his irritation dissolve, acknowledging that her native intelligence was surprising. And in a curious way she could have almost held her own when compared with other women he had bedded—all of them more high-born than her.
He had slept with heiresses whose own fortune could almost have matched his and he had slept with supermodels whose rangy bodies and exquisite features had graced countless glossy magazines.
Once, he had even dated an Oscar-winning English actress and had watched from his hotel suite while she had tearfully—and rather embarrassingly—accepted the award and dedicated it to ‘the only man I have ever loved. The other man with the golden eyes.’ The press had gone crazy when they had worked out just who she was referring to. Later that night, they had made love beneath the metallic gaze of the statuette and a week later he had told her it was over—that public declarations of love had never been on the agenda.
But, out of all those confident and accomplished women, none had spoken to him with quite the same sunny simplicity as Cathy. It perplexed him—and he was not a man who did perplexity. Was it because her whole life had been spent in service that she seemed totally without guile or expectation? Or was it because she had been a virgin, and he had taken her innocence that she was so eager to be moulded by him?
He could see her looking at him questioningly, and he stroked at her silken hair. ‘Who’d have thought,’ he murmured, ‘that a couple of weeks of intensive sexual tuition could make a humble little chambermaid such a perfect partner in bed?’
Cathy’s smile didn’t slip. She told herself not to react. That he probably wasn’t intending to insult her. To concentrate instead on the way he made her feel when his fingers were stroking sweet enchantment over her skin. Anyway, perhaps he couldn’t help it—maybe that arrogance was inbuilt and part of his unique royal make-up. Maybe princes from Zaffirinthos were expected to be arrogant. Far better to accept him for who he was and not try to change him. Why spoil what was never intended to be anything other than a brief, beautiful liaison? ‘Who’d have thought it?’ she agreed.
‘So how do you do it?’ he persisted.
‘Oh, Xaviero—’
‘No, I’m interested. It’s more than a learning of sexual technique—though you are a surprisingly fast learner and a very satisfactory pupil. What’s your secret, Cathy? Did you back up your practical skills with a little theory? Maybe you quietly read up one of those self-help books which advise women on the most effective way to deal with a powerful man?’