‘What’s that?’
‘Your endearing sense of modesty.’
That pulled a chuckle from him. ‘Hey, if you don’t believe in yourself, who will?’ He reached out, covered her hands in his own, felt a thrill at the softness of her skin. ‘But in all seriousness, I do believe we could make a go of it; I think we have something to build on.’
‘What’s that?’ She looked down at their clasped hands and he knew his touch affected her as much as it did him.
‘This,’ he said softly. ‘This spark; I felt it from the moment I saw you.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘And I know you feel the same way.’ He grinned. ‘I realise how arrogant that sounds but we’ve established I have no sense of modesty.’
‘I...’ Gabi shook her head. ‘You can’t decide to get married just because there is a spark. Sparks can go out.’
‘Sparks can also be ignited into flames that can be stoked and nurtured, a fire that can continue to burn. I believe our spark is that kind of spark—and I promise I will do all I can to make that happen.’
Her eyes widened now and he saw desire and doubt in them. ‘Let me show you. You said to me yesterday that I should ask your permission to kiss you. I ask that now.’
There was a slight quiver to her low laugh. ‘You’re offering me a taster, a sample?’
‘I’m offering you proof this spark has life to it, that it will not fizzle out.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Then... I grant my permission.’
Gently, his breath catching in his throat, he lifted one hand, gently stroked the crease that lined her forehead, ran his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip and heard her small intake of breath with deep satisfaction, a visceral reaction that stoked his need, a need becoming more primal, more necessary by the second.
He leant forward, his heartbeat accelerated, then his lips met hers, and he tasted the linger of spices, the tang of champagne and all that mattered was the surge of sensation, the drumbeat of desire. All he’d intended was a simple brush of the lips but her small groan undid him and he deepened the kiss, felt desire twist his gut as her fingers tangled in his hair and she matched him passion for passion.
The sound of a bird’s long drawn-out call pulled him back to reality and gently he broke the kiss and they stared at each other. As their ragged breath mingled, a sense of panic assailed him.
Because suddenly the momentum hit him with a whoosh. If all went to plan that would be the first kiss of a lifetime of kisses; he would never kiss another woman again. The idea was huge. Not because he questioned his ability to be faithful, but because this made it real. Not an idea, not a political or diplomatic exercise, but a proper flesh and blood union.
A sudden image of his parents forced its way to his brain, soured the moment. Their relationship had been a political alliance and whilst they had had five children their union had yet been devoid of any sense of passion or joy. It had been founded on duty and evolved no further. And so Cesar had promised himself to eschew marriage and opt for the fun and passion of light hearted affaires.
Now here he was headed towards the altar. But this marriage would not be like his parents’—that kiss had shown him that. And for that he was suddenly immensely grateful—his emotions see-sawing by the second.
Wait a minute. Emotions? See-sawing?
He needed to relax. Gabi was looking at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of shell shock and vulnerability and muted desire.
Think, Cesar.
Before the silence stretched too long, before he succumbed to the overriding urge to kiss her again. The idea of losing control was not congenial—after all, this was a marriage campaign and that meant he had to be in control. Digging deep into his reserves of charm, he managed a smile, one of his best, used when it behoved him to epitomise Prince Charming.
‘So did the sample pass muster?’
Now her expression changed, cooled, and she looked down, almost absent-mindedly dabbed her finger onto the crumbs on her plate. Then raised her head and her gaze met his, almost amused as she nodded.
‘Yes, you passed. Well done,’ she said. ‘The spark box is now ticked. However, obviously there are still a lot more boxes to go. You can’t build a marriage on one kiss.’ Now she was arranging the crumbs in a line. ‘What about us?’
Now it was his turn to frown. ‘Us?’
‘Yes. Us. Two human beings. You are proposing we get married, live together, have children, commit to each other.’ The words in their enormity caused a small shudder of panic to ripple his body, one he quelled instantly. ‘Yet I don’t know you. You don’t know me. And that doesn’t seem to matter to you.’
‘I know this must be hard for you to understand as a concept. But it is what we were brought up to accept as the norm. Marriages made for reasons other than love.’
‘But it’s so impersonal. You want to marry the Casavallian Queen—not me, Gabriella Ross.’
He drummed his fingers on his thigh. ‘But Gabriella Ross is the Queen of Casavalle.’
‘That’s semantics and you know it. If I were still Gabi Ross, book-store owner, you wouldn’t be proposing marriage.’