Seduced by a royal knight

CHAPTER SIX

If he even considered the artwork to be art, Alessio detested it. The sideways glance out of the corner of her eye did not convince Camelia. It was frightening to see how well she could read him despite only meeting him this morning. He had directed his hefty driver to return to their hotel.

"What's more, this means… " He motioned exquisitely at the malodorous wreck of vegetation on the floor. She looked at the data tag. "The plight of the family farmer in the ever-growing dominance of industrial agriculture is told by the broken cornstalks and soybean plants." He looked up. “Ah.” But Alessio was a good sport as he looked at what looked like his grandmother's compost pile. Let's see what comes next.

To nudge him into yet another questionable position, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

Lovely.

A knot of corroded security fencing. He stabilized her after she caught her heel on the uneven concrete floor.

"Camelia, be careful. I would rather not take you for a lockjaw shot."

He grinned down at her and she forgot briefly that he was a legit to-God sovereign of somewhere in Italy and his suit cost more than the pay she made in a year. No, he was just Mr. when he smiled at her. Sexy Guy who made her want to rip off his costly suit with her teeth. Awful time for her to be physically aroused. Her breasts were pressed into the attractive bodice of her black blouse as her breathing accelerated. He noticed, his fingers intertwining hers.

"So, it's not so cool inside. "And this is a symbol of the chaos of modern life?" "No, the refugee crisis." Alessio gestured.

"Ginevra is the patroness of a charity for women and children that frequently works with families who have been forced to relocate." "At her age?" Ginevra wasn't a lot more youthful than Camelia.

"Since she was thirteen." His tone was brimming with adoration and reverence. She gave a speech when she was 19 in front of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees. Since then, Ginevra has improved as a strategist. It's possible that I should have discouraged her from studying political science, but when a twelve-year-old reads Machiavelli's The Prince to give her older brother political advice, what else would I have expected? Camelia permitted him to lead her to the next exhibit. It was a video installation with loud static playing in the background and a succession of blurry faces grimacing. Alessio looked at it with the same happy expression he had put on when they first came in. He was truly a polished individual. To whisper to him, Camelia crept up to him on her tiptoes. "This is simply horrendous. Would you care if we leave now?"

"Aren't you having a good time?" His eyes sparkled. She reassured him, "You'll know when I'm enjoying myself."

“Indeed?” He turned his head gradually so their countenances were practically contacting. Camelia took a big inhale. He clenched his jaw instead of kissing her, she thought. Perhaps the Reginaldi Royal Book of Etiquette forbade public displays of affection.

"I'll call Paolo to come get us." She jokingly stated, "No, do not bother, your lordship." In what was turning out to be a very intriguing afternoon, she didn't want anyone interfering.

"It's a pleasant day — we should walk." “Where?” "A shock." She tipped her head up as she pulled him out of the gallery and onto the sidewalk. “Ah, Sun. compensates for a long, gloomy winter." "An Italian young lady like you ought to constantly get a lot of sun." She gave her chin a pat. "Awful for the coloring. The remainder of my family has the run-of-the-mill dull hair and olive skin like you, however I just consume." "It's no wonder you have such radiant skin. When you go to Italy again, you need to be careful. You realize our sun can be serious areas of strength for exceptionally." "The following time? Italy has never been on my bucket list. He stopped and turned his head toward her.

"Your name is Camelia Salvatore, and you haven't been to Italy in a long time? How is that possible?" She chuckled and led him down the busy street with her.

"Five of us are with my parents. My mother once did, but you have never priced out airfare to Europe for seven. She yelled in shock down the street, which we could hear. Alessio looked quickly frightened — spending plan concerns didn't cross his radar. He gave a thoughtful nod. "Where did your family originate from in Italy?"

“My mom's grandparents came from Corniglia, a small village on the Italian Riviera, after the war. My Nonna says the town is roosted on a gigantic stone encompassed by grapevines. "They make this special wine found nowhere else in the world."

"Scciachetrà."

"Yeah, that's it. We crack open a bottle every New Year's Eve to toast the old country."

Camelia recalled, "Boy, is that stuff strong. Made of raisins, so the sugar is very concentrated."

"I've never tried it, although we have something similar in Reginaldi. We serve it in thimble-size glasses, and no one can drink more than a few without falling over," he chuckled. "I'll have to make sure we have enough for Ginevra's wedding. It's the traditional toast for weddings, especially royal weddings."

"And you are the Di Rossi family, after all."

"Our ancestors invented it." He grinned. "I may need a couple stiff drinks before I walk Ginevra down the aisle."

"Buck up, Alessio," she comforted, patting his arm. "Everyone gets a bit misty-eyed when they give the bride away. Which sword and medals will you be wearing?"

Alessio gave her a questioning look. "Sometimes I can't tell if you're joking with me or not."

"That's because you're much too serious," she teased, gesturing around. "Look at the beautiful day! Here we are in the most fabulous city in the world, with lovely Central Park over there, the sun shining, your sister has her wedding dress, and you didn't have a nervous breakdown trying to shop for one. Do you know how rare it is to keep good mental health shopping for a bridal gown?"

"Um, no."

"You sure have," she affirmed. "Hey, let's cut through the park."

He took in a deep breath of the spring air, feeling the tension start to ease from his muscles as they walked among the unfolding leaves. "See? All you needed was a nice little nature walk. I bet it's been a while since you got outdoors for some fresh air. A guy like you isn't meant to be cooped up indoors pushing paperwork all day. Maybe you should get yourself a yacht—I mean, if you don't already have one—"

"We have my father's yacht. We loan it out to people for field trips and marine science expeditions."

"Weddings and proms," she guessed with a grin.

"Probably, if anybody requested it."

"Do you or your sister ever use it?"

"Ginevra does for her charity fundraisers," he explained, holding a branch back as they passed near a tree. "Not for personal use, though. Not since she started at the university and I took on more duties from my grandmother."

"All work and no play makes Alessio a dull boy," she joked, imagining owning a yacht and being too busy to enjoy it. "Then I should stop being so dull," he replied, pulling her aside under a big oak tree. "Is that red lipstick smudge-proof?"

"Yeah, pretty much. It actually has a sealant clear gloss that—"

"Good," he cut her off, surprising her with a kiss. For a prince, he needed some work on conversational manners.

And he did not need some work on his kissing. Camelia’s mouth fell open in shock and he took advantage, slipping his tongue between her hopefully smudge-proof lips. She clutched his broad shoulders as he caressed her mouth with his, gently nibbling and sucking at her lips. Camelia had never been kissed like this, with passion and lust but tenderness, maximum softness too, too. Her previous boyfriends had been younger than Alessio, in their early or mid-twenties, and had either been tentative in their kisses or overly aggressive, mashing her lips as if to prove their desire. Now, Alessio was planting kisses across her jaw and holy crap—he licked and nibbled her neck’s equivalent of a G-spot and she nearly screamed with pleasure. His hot breath quickened against her skin and she knew he was as on fire as she was.

“Mmm, Camelia.” He lifted his head.

Camelia’s eyes fluttered open when she realized he wasn’t kissing her anymore. “Wow.” He wore a dazed look on his face, as well. At least she wasn’t the only one. She probably would have socked him if he’d been gloating.

“I am sorry, Camelia.”

“Sorry for kissing me?” She shoved him away and plopped her hands on her hips. “Never. Sorry for pushing you against a tree and kissing you in public.” His lips were plump from kisses but her lipstick had lived up to its promise. She wanted to taste his mouth again—hell, taste him all over,and down this bottom. Damn,her mind….

“You’d rather kiss me in private, then?” She traced her finger up his golden silk tie. Alessio caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the palm. “I would like nothing more.”