Free The Forbidden Prince by Alison Roberts Page A

up at him. Her eyes were very serious but her mouth had the hint of a curve to it, as if she knew how deep his thoughts had been and that he was happy with where they’d taken him.
    The need to connect on more than this weird, telepathic level was so strong Raoul could feel his head drifting. Tipping in slow motion until lowering it a little would be all that was needed to kiss Mika.
    Did she know how overpowering the pull was? She didn’t break the lock of his gaze and he could see a reflection of his own wonderment at how close it was possible to feel to someone else. And then her lips parted and he saw the very tip of her tongue touch her lower lip.
    The shaft of desire was painful.
    If ever there was a moment to test himself to see whether he could resist this overwhelming temptation, this was it.
    Surely a kiss couldn’t be such a big deal?
    But it wouldn’t stop there, would it?
    If he wanted it this much, even a touch could be dangerous. What if it ignited something so powerful, he lost control of his best intentions? Exposed a weakness that could make him doubt himself even more?
    He had to find out if he had the strength it would take to resist this. Closing his eyes helped because it was a shutter against how it made him feel to be holding Mika’s gaze.
    Forcing himself to move helped even more because he could get to his feet and walk away to put some distance between them. But the effort was draining and a good part of the peace he’d found ebbed as well. When they got home, he decided, he would have to find the concierge and ask about the availability of another room to rent. How could he sleep so close to her without having to fight that particular battle again and again? How many times could he fight it and not weaken to the point of giving in?
    He knew Mika was following him but it was some time before he could break the silence.
    â€˜How many articles have you done already?’
    â€˜A few. I haven’t tried to get any published yet, though. I need a really special one to send to the good magazines.’
    â€˜Maybe this will be the one?’
    â€˜Maybe...’ Mika still had her camera out as they finally left the valley behind and came into the small village of Pontone. She stopped to take photographs of the wide, stone archway they walked through that had antique kitchen utensils and old woven baskets hanging from the walls. They found a picturesque café and sat, sheltered from the sun by big umbrellas, amidst barrels of bright flowers with tumblers of chilled home-made lemonade in front of them as they waited for the lunch they ordered.
    â€˜I love this,’ Mika said, a while later.
    â€˜The salad? Me, too.’ They had ordered insalata caprese, a salad of sliced mozzarella cheese layered with slices of the delicious bright red tomatoes grown locally, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with tiny basil leaves. It had come with crusty, just-baked bread and it had to be the most perfect lunch ever.
    Mika laughed. ‘It’s my favourite lunch, but no, I mean all of this. This part of Italy. It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling that it’s my place.’
    â€˜Where else have you been?’
    â€˜I went to Scotland first, seeing as it’s apparently where half my genetic history came from.’
    â€˜Ah, yes...you said your father was Scottish.’
    â€˜Mmm...’
    There was a hint of something sad in her eyes. Something lost. Raoul couldn’t remember his father very well, but he knew exactly who he was and what he looked like, and he could remember how important he’d been in his life. Knowing where your place was in the world was inextricably linked with family, wasn’t it?
    But Mika didn’t have family. She was roaming the world in search of a link to something but, clearly, she hadn’t found it in the birth place of the father she’d never known.
    â€˜You didn’t like Scotland?’
    Raoul