Chapter Four #2
Again, a knowledgeable guide met them. Allie turned her ankle on a rough path and Fiero took her off to sit down in the shade.
Alone with Orazio, Zia stiffened until she registered the parties of other tourists around them.
It was not the place to make a confession about being accused of a theft.
In a silence broken only by the guide’s scholarly speeches, they appreciated the magnificent sight of the ancient theatre with its frontage that stretched to over a hundred yards in length.
The sun was relentless. Perspiration beaded her brow.
Once they had seen the main sights Orazio asked the guide to take them to the Cleopatra pools to join their friends.
They entered the thermal spring complex alone.
There they found Allie reclining across a fallen Roman column in a pool with all the panache of a sea siren.
‘You should come in. The water’s lovely,’ she called.
‘Very warm and mineral-rich. It’s easing my ankle. ’
Sitting down nearby, Zia unbuttoned her dress and removed her trainers, rising in her plain blue swimsuit to step down into the inviting water and settle close to Allie to enjoy the refreshing embrace of water on her hot skin.
Orazio had already fallen into a spirited conversation with Fiero and she saw cold drinks being brought to the men as they sat down below the palm trees.
The whole time she was in the water, she remained insanely conscious of Orazio’s scrutiny, and the weight of those piercing green eyes on her half-naked body infuriated her.
‘Raz can’t take his eyes off you,’ Allie murmured half under her breath. ‘I’ve never seen him being so obvious.’
‘It’s meaningless,’ Zia responded breezily.
‘I’ll tell him off for you. I’m getting out. I’m dying for a drink.’
Zia cooled off in the deeper part of the pool and followed suit, emerging from a changing cubicle in record time to join the others in the shade where she gulped down water before they moved on.
They did a tour of the stunning white travertine terraces of the Pamukkale pools but Zia merely bathed her toes alongside Allie, who was awkwardly using Fiero’s arm to balance on.
By mutual agreement they called it a day there and returned with relief to the air-conditioned cool of the car to head for lunch.
Lunch was served in a pretty village taverna and it was a fairly basic affair of fresh bread, salad and cheese.
Orazio watched her every movement like a hawk.
She was utterly unselfconscious and paid him absolutely no heed while she ate and drank and exchanged light conversation with his friends.
She was remarkably self-contained for a woman of not quite twenty-three, he conceded.
It was as though he had suddenly become invisible and he was not accustomed to that experience, no, not from any woman he had graced with his interest.
Yet here he was, reliving the knowledge that her pale skin was smooth as porcelain and had felt like soft satin beneath the sweep of his fingers.
He didn’t want to remember that, but he remembered it all too well.
He was unlikely to soon forget the little soft moan she had loosed low in her throat when he had kissed her.
Had there ever been a single sound that sexy?
Even less quickly would he forget the full, firm weight of her beautiful breasts when he had merely brushed his palms over them.
Dio mio, he was fantasising like a teenager about a kiss!
And as hard as a rock at the recollection, throbbing heat pressing against his zip.
‘We should get back on the road,’ Orazio announced impatiently, rising to his full imposing height and crumpling his napkin to toss it on the table. ‘We have a long drive back.’
Buried in a book on her e-reader, Zia lent little to the desultory chat during the drive.
She still hadn’t told Orazio about the theft thing and it was worrying at her like a nagging tooth.
The right moment hadn’t arisen, she reasoned, so she would have to pounce on the first moment she knew he was alone on the yacht.
After all, she was fairly sure that he would be returning to Mandovia the next day and nobody had told her yet when she would be leaving or when she would be deemed presentable enough to be shown off to the Mandovian people.
Their return to the Sea Empress was enlivened by the clutch of paparazzi shouting questions and flashing cameras as they boarded the motor launch.
Zia realised that nobody had yet identified her, which felt like a relief, but she knew that it was only a matter of time before that would change.
At present she was simply assumed to be Orazio’s latest female companion and caught up in the surge of publicity that always surrounded the young King’s social outings.
Alina was waiting for her on the yacht, full of chatter about the yacht staff and of how during Zia’s absence she had toured every inch of the giant boat while being treated like a queen.
Zia showered and changed for dinner and then asked the nearest stewardess where Orazio was.
Learning that he was in his cabin, she lifted her chin and asked where it was.
Allie dressed for dinner and so Zia had as well in a long, light, flowy skirt and a camisole top in shades of toning purple.
Everything she wore was designer, everything beautifully fashioned and tailored to her exact size, a luxury that must’ve come at an eye-watering cost for the government.
That they had provided her with such an expensive wardrobe for her debut in Mandovia underlined the reality that they believed she could be important in her birth country, even if it would only be as a useful figurehead in the much-anticipated reunification.
She knocked on the cabin door and waited. A voice barked out something within. She knocked again and waited, biting apprehensively at her lower lip.
Finally, the door opened, framing an impatient Orazio, only a towel wrapped round his lean hips, water still dripping down his bronzed bare chest. Glittering green eyes assailed hers, surprise tautening his lean, darkly handsome features. ‘How can I help you?’ he said tautly.
‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you but I have something important to tell you and it’s not something I would want to share with other people present,’ she admitted tightly.
Raz thrust the door wider. ‘You’d better come in. I’ll get some clothes on.’
Zia was flushed at what felt like an intrusion on her part, but she was tempted to tell him not to bother getting dressed on her account.
After all, stripped, he bore an even closer resemblance to a Greek god of myth and legend.
Every inch of him was lean, honed, muscular and golden perfection.
A damp awareness shimmied through her every nerve ending, making her feel hot, bothered and embarrassed.
Only with difficulty did she muster her thoughts again to focus on the reason she had sought him out alone.
He strode out of what must’ve been a dressing room, sheathed in tight faded jeans and a linen shirt, still hanging open to expose his mouth-watering chest.
Breathing in deep, Zia burst straight into speech. ‘I have something rather shocking to tell you and, obviously, I didn’t want an audience for it,’ she admitted starkly. ‘But I have to tell you about it in case it causes trouble in the future.’
Dark brows pleating in bewilderment, Orazio stared down at her. ‘Shocking? Is this something in your past?’
‘My very recent past in London,’ she explained uneasily. ‘I was accused of theft at the hotel where I worked by a Mandovian citizen—’
Orazio’s lean, strong face clenched hard and he swore only half under his breath. ‘Theft?’ he stressed in disbelief.
‘I didn’t do it. I was falsely accused!’ Zia slammed back at him defensively.
‘Isn’t that what every thief says when they’re caught?’ Orazio countered unhelpfully, his taut patrician features unyielding and judgemental.
Zia flung up her head. ‘I don’t like your attitude!’ she fired back truthfully.
‘I don’t like the sound of what you’re telling me,’ Raz riposted truthfully, because any accusation of previous dishonesty would wreck Zia’s reputation before she even reached the public stage.
Angry tears lashed the backs of Zia’s wide eyes because she had somehow expected a more sympathetic response from him and now she wondered why.
After all, Raz was the Mandovian monarch, a representative of the throne and the supposed repository of Mandovian moral values and everyone knew that there wasn’t much give in those values when it came to public figures.
‘Sit down,’ Raz instructed less abrasively. ‘Take a deep breath and tell me the whole story.’
She looked so beautiful in that instant that even if there had been a gun aimed at him, he couldn’t have told her to calm down, watch her tone and wise up in her delivery because what she had just confessed was a very grave matter.
Unfortunately for him, she was already drawing in great gasps of air to sustain herself, her narrow chest heaving, her barely contained breasts shimmying like some sensual mirage below the fine fabric covering them.
Purple was definitely her colour yet he had believed it was blue when he first saw her in the sundress.
But the purple shades she wore highlighted her striking violet-blue eyes.
Much too beautiful to be alone with him in his cabin.
For a split second he thought of propping the cabin door open and then he asked himself if they were all living in Victorian England and shook off the idea while such an incendiary subject was under discussion.
He could not risk such a dialogue being overheard.