They did better than that—they had located Rosa by the following afternoon and Kulal was astonished to discover that she’d flown back to Sicily.
Sicily?
She’d told him she’d never go back there! She’d told him that no way was she going to get involved with her dysfunctional family ever again.
‘Is she staying with her family?’
‘No, boss. She’s all alone in a beach house on the eastern side of the island.’
Kulal nodded. ‘Prepare the plane,’ he said grimly.
It occurred to him when his jet touched down several hours later that her powerful family might have attempted to try to stop him from entering the country, but he was wrong. It also occurred to him that maybe he should have waited until the next morning to see her, for the sun was already beginning to sink in the sky as his waiting car drove away from the airfield. But for the first time in his life he couldn’t bear the thought of waiting—no matter how much bigger a psychological advantage that would be.
Eventually, the car bumped to a halt and the driver pointed to a solitary beach house in the distance, barely visible through all the trees and shrubbery. It was in part of a nature reserve and the area was impassable to all cars. Kulal found himself thinking that the gleaming limousine wouldn’t have stood a chance of negotiating that narrow path. He told his driver to go and he told the car containing the accompanying bodyguards to follow, waving aside their protests with a flat and implacable movement of his hand.
‘I don’t want anyone else here,’ he said fiercely. ‘Now go.’
‘But, boss—’
‘Go!’
He stood and watched the powerful vehicles roar away to make sure they obeyed him. Large clouds of dust puffed around their gleaming paintwork as the two cars became little black dots in the distance. And suddenly, he felt an unexpected wave of liberation. It was, he realised, a long time since he’d gone anywhere without being shadowed by one of the guards who had been part of his life for as long as he could remember.
For the first time, he allowed himself to look properly at his surroundings, taking in a deep breath of the scented air. It smelt of lemon and pine and he could hear the massed choir of the cicadas echoing over the hills. The baked vegetation was surprisingly green—with flowers dotted here and there—and in the distance he could see the deep cobalt of the sea. He stared down at his feet and some instinct made him slip off his loafers and carry them.
The warm sand was gritty between his toes and as he walked along the narrow path he felt that sense of freedom again. Was that because for the first time in his life he was following his heart? Because in this moment he was no longer a royal prince and sheikh, but simply a man who had come to make amends with his woman.
The beach house which lay ahead of him was modest, just a one-storey building with a wide, wooden veranda looking out to sea. The beauty lay in its position—the matchless view and the solitude—and suddenly Kulal wondered what he was going to do if Rosa wasn’t there. How would she react if she came back later to find him waiting for her? Would she turn the might of the Corretti family against an estranged husband she could rightly accuse of stalking her?
He didn’t care. Let the Correttis come. Let them all come. He wasn’t going anywhere until he’d looked into Rosa’s eyes and told her what she needed to hear.
He moved silently, for at heart he was a child of the desert, taught how to blend into whichever landscape he inhabited. He thought fleetingly that Sicily was as beautiful as everything he’d ever heard about it, and that he’d like the chance to explore it further. And then he saw her and his footsteps halted, so that he stood perfectly still.
Sitting at the far end of the veranda, her legs dangling over the side, she was shaded by an umbrella pine tree but was wearing a sun hat as an extra precaution. The hat looked new and was made of straw—its crown festooned with a bright mass of orange and pink silk flowers, which matched her sundress. He could feel a lump forming in his throat as he watched her staring intently out at the sea. He wanted to stand there all day watching her but he thought that she might turn around and be startled. More than startled.
‘Rosa,’ he said softly.
For a moment Rosa didn’t move, telling herself it was like one of those fantasies which schoolgirls sometimes concocted. The ones where the object of their affections would suddenly be spirited in front of them, no matter how unlikely that scenario would be.
‘Rosa,’ said the voice again.
Her fingernails dug into her thighs. Bad enough that she should be without him—but did she also have to suffer auditory hallucinations which were designed to torment her?