The Disgraced Princess by Robyn Donald Page B

told her. ‘Someone wants something from the goddess.’
    â€˜Or is thanking her.’
    â€˜That possibly,’ he agreed. ‘Come and see the view from the front.’
    It was as tonishingly beautiful, a great spread of violet-blue sea dotted by islands, all over looked by a sky as brilliant and clear. While the soft wind swirled and played amongst the golden flowers Gerd named each island,and showed her the darkness to the north that was the mainland of Europe.
    â€˜Greece and Asia lie to the east,’ he said, ‘and Italy to the west.’
    She said soberly, ‘For some strange reason it makes me horribly homesick.’
    He surveyed her quizzically. ‘Both have sea,’ he agreed, ‘and an island shelters the Kiwinui coastline. Apart from that I don’t see much resemblance. Kiwinui is lush and green, every gully thick with bush and flax, and it looks out on to thou sands of miles of open ocean. And although the myrtle is a vague connection to pohutukawa, it really doesn’t look like it.’
    â€˜I think that’s the problem—it’s so completely different.’ She gave an ironic smile and shrugged. ‘But this is glorious. I can see why you like to come here for holidays.’
    He took her hand and laced her fingers in his, his eyes direct and cool and too perceptive. ‘I think you need something to drink. We’ll go back to the boat and have lunch.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ she said automatically, her breath catching in her throat as she met his eyes. Anticipation heated her blood, and she looked away again, feeling the slow pulse of desire throb through her body.
    On the yacht he insisted on organising the meal, moving deftly around the area that served as a kitchen, and while she drank the glass of champagne he’d given her he downed a beer, and told her stories of the island that made her laugh and occasionally sigh.
    After lunch he waited until she drained the coffee he’dmade for her before asking, ‘Do you want to go ashore again?’
    â€˜I—no,’ she said quietly.
    â€˜Good, because I don’t either,’ he said, and bent his head and kissed the place where her neck and shoulder met.
    His lips were warm and seeking, and slow, hungry tremors coursed through her when he bit the skin there lightly. Rosie made an in articulate little noise and turned her head into his shoulder.
    â€˜What is it?’ His voice was harsh.
    She looked up and saw passion darken his eyes, but although he wanted her she knew it wasn’t in the all-consuming way she longed for him. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered.
    And yielded to his practised caresses and her own urgent passion. This time it was languid, yet intense; he kissed her with his desire held well in check until she was gasping and aching, her body on fire and her voice gone.
    The other cabin did contain a bed, and there, rocked by the tiny wavelets, they reached the agonised rapture of delight.
    This time the climax was so sweet and prolonged Rosie had to close her eyes to hide the tears, but perhaps he noticed. As she started the slow down wards glide he began again, driving her mercilessly on into an ecstasy that left her shaking and mindless, her whole world narrowed to this man, to Gerd, to this moment in his arms, linked to him in the only way he would allow.
    And when they finally slid into sleep, he was still with her, still keeping everything but joy at bay.
    When she woke she was still in his grip, her body moulded to his, the regular rise and fall of his chest telling her he hadn’t wakened.
    This was the first time he’d stayed with her, the first—and probably the only—time she’d ever wake in his arms…
    Forcing up heavy eyelids, she took the rare chance to scan his beloved face without the fear of him catching her at it. Such perfect features, she thought, eyeing the arrogant blade of his nose, his strong jaw, the masculine