The Royal House of Niroli Collection. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      The more he thought about it, the more Marco could see the benefit to himself of Emily’s temporary and brief presence on the island as a sharp warning to his grandfather not to trespass into his privacy. Certainly in the unlikely event of Emily being willing to return to Niroli with him, he would want her to share his bed. He would be a fool not to, given the level of his current sexual hunger. Was that really why he was here now? Not solely because of his pride, but because he still wanted her too?

      No!

      He was already pushing open the shop door, but then he paused, half inclined to turn round and walk away just to prove how unfounded that motivation was. However, it was too late for him to change his mind: Emily had seen him.

      She was sitting behind a desk talking with her assistant, Jemma, and the first thing Marco noticed was how much weight she had lost and how pale and fragile she looked. Because of him? It shocked him to discover that a part of him wanted to believe it was because she was missing him. Why? Why should he feel like this when, in the past, with other women, he had been only too pleased to see them move on to a new partner after he had broken up with them. But in the past he hadn’t continued to want those other women, had he?

      He pushed his thoughts to one side, watching Emily’s eyes widen as she looked up and saw him, the blood rushing to her face, turning it a deep pink. He saw her lips frame his name. She pushed back her chair to stand up and then he saw her sway and start to crumple, as though her body were no more than one of the swathes of fabric draped over the back of another chair nearby. That deep pink glow had receded from her cheeks, leaving her so pale that she looked almost bloodless.

      He reacted immediately and instinctively, pushing his way through the pieces of furniture, reaching her just in time to hear her saying huskily, ‘It’s all right, I’m not going to faint,’ before she did exactly that.

      Through the roaring blur of sick dizziness, Emily could hear voices: Jemma’s sharp with anxiety, Marco’s harsher than she wanted it to be, their words, moving giddily in and out of one another, weaving through the darkness she was trying to free herself from. Then she felt Marco’s arms tightening around her, holding her, and she exhaled on a small sigh of relief, knowing she was safe and that she didn’t have to battle on alone any more. Gratefully she let the darkness take her as she slid into a faint.

      ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Marco asked Jemma abruptly. Any idiotic thought he might have entertained that there was something ego-boosting about Emily’s reaction to him had disappeared now, banished by his realisation of just how fragile she was. In all the time they had been together he had never once known her faint, or even say that she thought she might be going to, which made it all the more shocking that she had done so now.

      ‘I wish I knew,’ Jemma admitted. ‘What I do know is that she hasn’t been eating properly. She says it’s because of that flu bug she had earlier in the year. She just can’t seem to throw it off. She isn’t the only one, of course. I read in a newspaper the other day that many people are still suffering from its after-effects. The health authorities say that the best cures are rest and sunshine to build up the immune system. Emily’s admitted as much herself, although I can’t see her taking a holiday. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been really worried about her.’

      ‘Will you both please stop talking about me as though I don’t exist? I’m all right…’ The blackness was receding and with it her nausea. She was sitting on a chair—Marco must have put her there, and no doubt he was the one who had pushed her head down towards her knees as well. She turned her head slightly and saw that he was standing next to her. So close to her, in fact, that she could easily have reached out and touched him. Weak tears stung her eyes, causing her to make a small anguished sound of protest.

      ‘Emily?’ She could feel Marco’s hand on her shoulder, her flesh responding to its familiar warmth, weirdly both soothed and excited by it. The hardness of his voice lacerated both her pride and her heart. This was not how she would have wanted them to meet for the first time after their split; she must seem so vulnerable and needy, virtually forcing Marco to step in and manage things. Fate wasn’t being very kind to her at the moment, she reflected wearily. She held her breath as Marco crouched down beside her, struggling to lift her head and fight off the swimming sensation within it. She would have given a lot for him not to have seen her like this, not to have witnessed her humiliating loss of consciousness.

      ‘There’s no need to fuss. I’m fine,’ she repeated, sounding as steady as she could.

      ‘Don’t listen to her, Marco. She isn’t all right at all. She’s hardly eating and when she does, she’s sick.’

      ‘Jemma!’ Emily warned sharply.

      ‘Jemma is hardly breaking the Official Secrets Act,’ Marco defended her assistant dryly. ‘After all, she hasn’t told me anything I can’t see for myself. And, besides, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t know, is there?’

      None, except her pride and her aching heart, Emily admitted inwardly. And, of course, those wouldn’t matter to Marco. ‘I don’t know what you are doing here, Your Highness,’ she addressed him, deliberately underlining his title.

      He couldn’t just walk away and leave her like this, Marco decided. So what was he going to do? His return flight was already scheduled for later this evening. Emily wasn’t his responsibility. She was an adult. There was no good cause for him to involve himself here. But another voice deep inside him told him it was too late for such arguments. He had already made his decision.

      ‘I came to see you because I’ve got a business proposition to put to you,’ he told Emily levelly. He could see her eyes widening with confusion and disbelief. She was lifting her hand to her head, as though she couldn’t take in what he was saying. Seeing her look so thin and unwell touched an unfamiliar chord inside him, which he crushed down the instant he felt it.

      Emily’s head was aching painfully. She was finding it hard enough to grasp that Marco was actually here, never mind anything else. Her thoughts were in complete disarray. She couldn’t really comprehend what he was saying. It was difficult enough for her to focus simply on stopping her heart from spinning and shaking her body with the force of its frantic beats, without having to think logically and calmly as well. It had upset her far more than she wanted to admit that the sight of him should have affected her to such an extent that she had collapsed. Worryingly, even now her senses were still clinging possessively to the memory of being held in his arms as he had caught her. Part of her, the sensible part, she told herself firmly, wanted to put as much distance between them as she could, to protect herself from making it even more obvious just how intensely aware of him she was. Whilst the other part longed to be as intimately close to him as it was possible to be: body to body, skin to skin, mouth to mouth—heart to heart.

      ‘A business proposition?’ she repeated uncertainly. ‘What exactly does that mean, Marco? I’m an interior designer.’

      ‘Exactly,’ Marco agreed, ‘and a very good one.’

      Marco was praising her? Flattering her? Why? she wondered suspiciously. It was totally out of character for him to behave like this.

      ‘Since it could be a while before I formally take over from my grandfather, instead of moving into the palace and being cooped up in a suite of rooms there,’ Marco told her, ‘I’ve moved into a villa I inherited from my parents. It’s in the old part of the town and it’s badly in need of modernisation. I want a designer who knows what she’s doing and, just as important, one who knows my taste.’

      It took several seconds for the full meaning of what he was saying to sink СКАЧАТЬ