Beauty and the Reclusive Prince / Executive: Expecting Tiny Twins. Barbara Hannay
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there. He tensed, waiting for the disgust, the wince, the hand to the mouth, the flood of pity, the eyes darting away, looking anywhere but at him. He’d seen it before.
The only mystery was—why did he still let it bother him? It was time to harden himself to it. And so he stood his ground and met her gaze.
But things weren’t going quite as he’d expected. The quality of her surprise was somehow different from what he was used to. No curtain of instant distance appeared, no revulsion, no reserve tainted her manner.
Instead of dread, instead of a cold drawing away in repugnance, a warm, curious light came into her eyes. Rather than pull away, she was coming closer. He watched in astonishment as she actually cocked her head to the side, then reached out for him.
He didn’t move as she edged closer and touched his face, her fingertips moving lightly over the scar, tracing its path down his cheek and into the corner of his wide mouth.
“Oh,” she said, letting it out in a long sigh.
But there was no pity. Maybe there was a hint of sorrow. But other than that, only a touch of confusion along with much interest and curiosity. It seemed almost as though she’d found a wonderful piece of statuary with a tragic flaw that deserved a little exploring. And she felt no inhibitions in doing exactly that.
CHAPTER TWO
ISABELLA was moving in a haze of unreality, as though she really had stepped into a fairy tale. She saw the jagged, fascinating scars, the tragic flaw that split his face in two and made her heart ache with compassion, but there was so much beside that. There was power and presence in the man, and, even more, there was overwhelming beauty in him. His shirt was open, exposing the tanned skin of a hard, sculptured chest, and his wonderful male heat filled her with a strange sense of longing that scared her more than anything else had—and at the same time it tugged at her with an impossible attraction.
He reached out as though to steady her, his hands gentle yet firm on her shoulders, and she felt herself melt into his touch, wanted to lean closer yet. She had a sudden, wild desire to press her lips to the pulse she could see beating hard at the base of his throat. She stared at it, irresistibly drawn.
But she recoiled in time, shocked at her own impulses. What next—was she going to offer herself to the man outright? She gasped softly, then began to think she ought to pull away. Ought to—but couldn’t quite summon up the will.
Max couldn’t have been more amazed if she had kissed him. The moment crystallized in time, her body arched toward his, her fingertips on his face, his heart pounding, his gaze locked on hers. Something twisted in his chest and he realized he was holding his breath. He was feeling something new and strange and he didn’t like it at all. But she’d touched him. No woman had done that since the accident. No woman had wanted to. That lit a fire inside him he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. Whatever else this young woman was, she was unique in a way he’d never seen before. She didn’t make him feel like a freak. He savored the moment.
And in the same instant he became aware that Renzo had come into the room at last and was now lurching forward as though he was prepared to push this woman back away from his prince. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. And it all seemed to be so very beside the point, but it had to be dealt with, and so he did.
Turning to block Renzo’s ridiculous protective lunge with the position of his body, he pulled the young woman up against him and out of Renzo’s reach. Looking down, he sank into the clouds in her dark eyes, searching for the mysteries they might contain. She seemed to hold worlds he’d never visited deep inside her. Those worlds were suddenly the most interesting places he’d ever had a glimpse of. He suddenly found it very hard to pull away from her gaze. Or maybe, the truth was, he didn’t want to.
Who was she? Where had she come from? Should he get away from her as fast as he could—or should he find a way to keep her here? He knew what his instincts were telling him. But he knew from experience that his instincts could lie.
Renzo still hung at his shoulder. “Sir…”
It took Max a moment to respond. He was still looking deep into the young woman’s eyes. “I thought I told you to get Marcello,” he said without turning.
“But, sir…” Renzo was blinking rapidly, obviously upset by this strange behavior.
“Go.”
Renzo averted his gaze, bowed deeply, and gave in. “Very well, sir.” Turning on his heel, he left the room.
And at the same time Max’s sister, Angela, appeared in the opening. She took in the scene and her eyebrows arched even higher than usual.
“Well, Max,” she said, starting into the room at last. “Who’s this?”
The sound of her voice snapped them both to attention as though a spell had been broken. They turned to look at her. She came closer, circling and gazing with wonder at the two of them.
“Where on earth did you find her?”
Max drew in a sharp breath and stepped away from Isabella as though she’d suddenly grown too hot to touch. She reached out to steady herself against the back of the couch, not sure if she was reacting to general dizziness, or to the man himself. She was still in a muddle, but at least her head was clear enough by now to fully understand whom she was dealing with. After all, if you trespassed on a prince’s property, you were likely to run into the prince at some point. And maybe even a princess or two.
“I found her wandering around down by the river,” this particular prince was saying. “The dogs were loose and I was afraid they might attack her.” He made a gesture and looked down at Isabella, still swaying next to the couch, then back at his sister. “I must have startled her. She fell down the hill.”
Angela nodded, looking her over, then glanced sharply at Max. “Right into the water, I see.”
“Yes.”
“And you…you rescued her?”
His hands curled around the back of a chair and gripped so hard his knuckles were white. “Yes, Angela. I rescued her.” He turned to stare at his sister with a measure of hostility.
“I see.” She stared back, but looked away first, looking Isabella over again. “That still doesn’t tell me who she is.”
He turned to look at her, too, his large dark eyes dispassionate. All sense of a special tension between them seemed to have melted away.
“True,” Max agreed. “Nor what she was doing on the property.” He hesitated, then added, almost to himself, “And so close to the river.”
Isabella drew herself up. Now that she was coming back down to earth, she was getting tired of being treated like a rather stupid child and talked about as though it didn’t matter if she understood or not. For one trembling moment, she’d actually thought she and this man had a special connection of sorts, something quick and searing that was going to change her life. But now she could see that she’d been fooling herself—as usual.
First he’d terrified her, then beguiled her with his tenderness and his scarred face. Now he was acting as if she were a wet cat who shouldn’t have been let inside. The disappointment she felt was real. She noticed he was avoiding her gaze again, turning his head so that the scarred side was hidden by shadows. Her chin rose and she looked at them both defiantly, her pride returning.
“My name is Isabella Casali. I help my father Luca run the restaurant in the square. Rosa? Perhaps you’ve eaten there.”
Angela gave a careless shrug. Dressed in a flowing robe, she’d obviously been preparing for bed when the sounds of Isabella’s arrival had drawn her back downstairs. In her midthirties, she had a cool, blonde beauty that was slightly marred by just a touch too much arrogance for comfort.
“I know it though we’ve never eaten there.” Her smile was perfunctory. “We will have to try your food someday.”
Isabella