Passion and the Prince by Penny Jordan Read Free Book Online

her glass onto her bare skin, Lily was relieved—grateful, in fact, for the small incident. It distracted her attention and Marco’s far too perceptiveand sharp gaze from her earlier involuntary shudder of delight.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ the man apologised, telling a passing waiter, ‘We need a dry cloth, please.’
    ‘There’s no need …’ Lily began to say, but the words became locked in her throat as out of nowhere, or so it seemed, Marco himself produced a white cloth, which he placed on her damp arm. He ignored her panicky, ‘I can do it myself,’ just as he ignored her attempt to move away from him. Somehow he had taken possession of both her nearly empty glass, which he had placed on the tray of a hovering waiter, and her damp arm, his hand and his fingers lean and tanned against the white starched fabric of the cloth. He had good hands, Lily acknowledged. Strong artist’s hands. Hands with a powerful male grip that could crush a woman’s resistance to their hold should he feel it necessary.
    A new quiver forked through her. Not on her flesh this time, but deep within it—a swift, tightening, convulsive sensation that gripped and then relaxed, leaving a far too intimate pulse beating in its place.
    Lily was perfectly familiar with the outward signs of sexual arousal. After all she had seen models mimicking them in one form or another for as long as she could remember. Bitterly she recalled how when her father had finished working she would be pushed into the small boxroom off his studio whilst he ‘played'. Her father had been of that order of photographers in a certain era who had believed that having sex with models was one of the perks of the job. No, she was no stranger to the signs and sounds of physical arousal, both real and faked, male and female, but when it came to being familiar withher own sexual arousal. That was haunted, poisoned territory that had long ago become an empty wasteland and she didn’t go there. She didn’t want to go there.
    Marco was releasing her.
    ‘It’s time for us to go,’ he told her. ‘The traffic to the airport will be heavy at this time of the day.’
    ‘The airport? We’re flying to Lake Como?’
    She’d assumed that they’d be driving there.
    ‘By helicopter. It’s much the easier way to get there,’ Marco informed her, clapping his hands for silence so that he could announce their departure.
    ‘I was already looking forward to introducing you to Villa Ambrosia,’ the Duchess told Lily, coming over to say goodbye to her and holding both Lily’s hands in her own as she did so, in a gesture of genuine liking and approval. ‘But now that I have met you I am looking forward to it even more. She is a delightful girl, Marco,’ she added, turning to him. ‘Look after her well, won’t you?’
    Of course Lily didn’t dare look at Marco once the Duchess had left them and they were on their own. The Duchess’s comment about his looking after her wouldn’t have gone down at all well, she suspected.
    The museum official who had taken her case and insisted on wheeling it for her escorted them to their waiting car. It would be very easy to get used to such a pampered way of life, Lily thought, remembering ruefully how often she had ended up with an aching back from a bulging bag holding her laptop, her camera, and assorted other necessary paraphernalia for her work.
    The traffic was heavy, but the insulated interiorof the luxurious saloon car protected them from the fume-clogged air outside. A glass screen separated them from the driver, and the combination of that and the soft leather of their seats made Lily feel that they were isolated together in a space that was far too intimate.
    Not that there was any intimacy between the two of them. Marco had produced his cell phone the minute the chauffeur had closed the door of the car, his brief, ‘Please excuse me,’ immediately distancing him from her. Because he
wanted
to be distanced from her? Of course he