“I can’t,” she said, knowing how inadequate it sounded but unable to explain. How could she ever say everything she would need to say in order to make him understand? “I can’t.”

“Because I am Monterossan, of course.”

Her throat was tight. “No, not because of that.”

He raked a hand through his hair. She could still see the firm ridge of his arousal beneath his shorts. “Then why, Antonella? I know when a woman wants me. And you do. As much as I want you, God help me.”

God help me.

Her heart ached as she hopped off the vanity and tugged her dress back down. “Maybe that is why, Cristiano.”

“Because you want me you will deny me?” Fury took the place of resignation.

“No, not because of that. Because you despise me—and you despise yourself for wanting me anyway.”

Lynn Raye Harris read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince, and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

The Prince’s Royal Concubine

by

Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the editors at Harlequin Mills & Boon for holding a competition to find new writers and for choosing me as their winner.

I am truly honored by your faith in me, and thankful for the opportunity you have given me.

But most especially to my editor, Sally Williamson, who pushes me to be the best I can be and encourages me to stretch my wings with each book.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter One

PRINCE CRISTIANO DI SAVARÉ slipped the last stud into his tuxedo shirt and straightened the points of his collar as he gazed at his reflection. The yacht rocked gently beneath his feet, but that was the only indication he was on board a ship and not in a luxury hotel room. He’d flown over two thousand miles to be here tonight and, though he wasn’t tired, the expression on his face was grim. So grim that lines bracketed his mouth, furrowed his forehead, and made him look older than his thirty-one years.

He would have to work on that before he hunted his quarry. Though his task tonight gave him no joy, it had to be done. He forced a smile, studied it. Yes, that would work.

Women always melted when he turned on the charm.

He shrugged into his jacket and whisked a spot of lint away with a flick of his fingers. What would Julianne think if she saw him now? He’d give anything for another glimpse of her, for the little pout on her face whenever she concentrated—as she surely would while she straightened his tie and implored him not to look so serious.

Cristiano turned away from the mirror, unwilling to see the expression he now wore at the thought of his dead wife. He’d been married for so short a time—and so long ago now that he sometimes couldn’t remember the exact shade of Julianne’s hair or the way her laugh sounded. Was that normal?

He knew it was, and yet it both angered and saddened him. She’d paid the ultimate price for marrying him. He would never forgive himself for allowing her to die when he could have prevented it. Should have prevented it.

It was four and a half years since he’d let her climb onto a helicopter destined for the volatile border between Monterosso and Monteverde. In spite of the unease churning in his gut, he’d let her go without him.

Julianne had been a medical student, and she’d insisted on accompanying him on an aid mission. When he had to cancel at the last moment, he should have ordered her to stay behind with him.

But she’d convinced him that the new Crown Princess should work toward peace with Monteverde. As an American, she’d felt safe enough visiting both countries. She’d been certain she could make a difference.

And he’d let her certainty convince him.

Cristiano closed his eyes. The news that a Monteverdian bomb had ended Julianne’s life, and the lives of three aid workers with her, triggered the kind of rage and despair he’d never experienced before or since.

It was his fault. She would have lived if he’d refused to let her go. Would have lived if he’d never married her. Why had he done so? He’d asked himself that question many times since.

He didn’t believe in lightning bolts and love at first sight, but he’d been drawn to her. The attraction between them had been strong, and he’d been certain marrying her was the right decision.

Except that it hadn’t been. Not for her.

The truth was that he’d done it for selfish reasons. He’d needed to marry, and he’d refused to allow his father to dictate who his bride would be. Instead, he’d chosen a bold, beautiful girl he barely knew simply because the sex was great and he liked her very much. He’d swept her off her feet, promised her the world.

And she’d believed him. Far better if she hadn’t.

Basta!

He dropped a mental shield into place, slicing off his thoughts. He would be unfit for mingling with Raúl Vega’s guests if he did not do so. Those dark days were over. He’d found a purpose in their aftermath, and he would not rest until it was done.

Monteverde.

The princess. The reason he was here.

“It is a beautiful night, is it not?”

Princess Antonella Romanelli spun from her cabin door to find a man leaning against the railing, watching her. Faintly, the ocean lapped the yacht’s sides, someone laughed on another ship anchored not too far away, and the smell of jasmine hung in the air.

But her gaze was locked on the dark form of the man. His tuxedo blended into the night, making him nothing more than a silhouette against the backdrop of Canta Paradiso’s city lights. Then he stepped forward and the light from the deck illuminated his face.

She recognized him instantly, though they’d never met. That handsome countenance—the jet-dark hair, the sharp cheekbones, the sensual lips—belonged to only one man in the whole world. The absolute last man she should be talking to at this moment.

Or ever.

Antonella drew in a sharp breath, fighting for that famous detachment for which she was renowned. Dear God, why was he here? What did he want? Did he know how desperate she was?

Of course not—don’t be silly!

“Cat got your tongue, I see.”

Antonella swallowed, willed her thrumming heart to beat normally. He was more beautiful in person than in the photos she’d seen. And more dangerous. Tension rolled from him, enveloping her in his dark presence. His unexpected presence. Warning bells clanged in her mind. “Not at all. You merely surprised me.”

His gaze raked over her slowly, leaving her skin prickling in its wake. “We have not been introduced,” he said smoothly, his voice as rich and alluring as dark chocolate. “I am Cristiano di Savaré.”

“I know who you are,” Antonella said—and then cursed herself for saying it so quickly. As if words were weapons and she could use them to push him away.

“Yes, I imagine you do.”

He made it sound like an insult. Antonella drew herself up with all the dignity and hauteur a princess could manage. “And why wouldn’t I recognize the name of the Crown Prince of Monterosso?”

Her country’s bitterest rival. Though the history between the three sister-nations—Monteverde, Montebianco, and Monterosso—was tangled, it was only Monteverde and Monterosso that remained at war to this day. Antonella thought of the Monteverdian soldiers stationed on the volatile border tonight, of the razor wire fences, the landmines and tanks, and a pang of dark emotion ricocheted through her.

They were there for her, for everyone in Monteverde. They kept her nation safe from invasion. She could not fail them—or the rest of her people—in her mission here. Would not. Her nation would not disappear off the face of this earth simply because her father was a tyrannical brute who’d bankrupted his country and driven it to the very edge of oblivion.

“I would not expect it otherwise, Principessa,” he said with cool certainty.

Arrogant man. She lifted her chin. Never let them see your fear, Ella, her brother always said. “What are you doing here?”

His grin was not what she expected, a flash of impossibly white teeth in the gloom. And about as friendly as a lion’s feral growl. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“The same as you, I imagine. Raúl Vega is a very wealthy man, si? He could bring many jobs to a country fortunate enough to win his business.”

Antonella’s blood froze. She needed Raúl Vega, not this…this arrogant, too-handsome man who already had all the advantages of his power and position. Monterosso was wealthy beyond compare; Monteverde needed Vega Steel to survive. It was life or death for her people. Since her father had been deposed, her brother had been holding the country together through sheer force of will. But it wouldn’t last much longer. They needed foreign investment, needed someone with the clout of Vega to come in and show other investors through example that the country was still a good bet.

The astronomical loans her father had taken out were coming due, and they had no money to pay them. Extensions were out of the question. Though Dante and the government had acted in the nation’s best interest when they’d deposed her father, creditor nations had viewed the events with trepidation and suspicion. To them, requests for loan extensions would mean Monteverde was seeking ways to have the loans declared void.

A commitment from Vega Steel would change that.

If Cristiano di Savaré knew how close they were to the brink of collapse—

No. He couldn’t know. No one could. Not yet, though her country couldn’t hide it for much longer. Soon the world would know. And Monteverde would cease to exist. The thought dripped courage into her veins, each dose stronger than the last until she was brimming with it.

“I am surprised Monterosso cares about Vega Steel,” she said coolly. “And my interest in Signor Vega has nothing to do with business.”

Cristiano smirked, but it was too late to take back the words. She’d meant to deflect him, but she’d opened herself up to ridicule instead. Careless.

“Ah, yes, I have heard about this. About you.”

Antonella pulled her silk shawl closer over the pale cream designer gown she wore. He made her feel cheap—small and dirty and insignificant—without saying one word of what he truly meant. He didn’t need to; the implication was clear.

“If you are finished, Your Highness?” she said frostily. “I believe I am expected at dinner.”

He moved closer, so nearly into her personal space that it must be intentional. He was tall and broad, and it took everything she had not to shrink from him. She’d spent years cowering before her father when he was in a rage; when he’d been arrested six months ago, she’d promised herself she would not cower before a man ever again.

She stood rigid, waiting. Trembling, and hating herself for the weakness.

“Allow me to escort you, Principessa, for I am headed in the same direction.”

He was so close, so real. So intimidating. “I can find my own way.”

“Of course.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Beneath his studied demeanor, she sensed hostility. Darkness. Emptiness.

He continued, “But if you refuse, I might think you afraid of me.”

Antonella swallowed, forced her throat to work. Too close to the mark. “Why on earth would I be afraid of you?”

“Precisely.” He held out his arm, daring her to accept.

She hesitated. But there was no way out and she would not run like a frightened child. It was a betrayal of Monteverde to be seen with him—and yet this was the Caribbean; Monteverde was thousands of miles away. No one would ever know.

“Very well.” She laid her hand on his arm—and nearly jerked away at the sizzle skimming through her. Touching Cristiano was like touching lightning. She thought he flinched, but she couldn’t be sure.

Was that brimstone she smelled? It wouldn’t surprise her—he was the devil incarnate so far as she was concerned.

The enemy.

But, no, it was simply her imagination. He smelled like a sea-swept night, fresh and clean with a hint of spice. When his hand settled over hers, she had to force down a sense of panic. She felt trapped, and yet his grip was light. Impersonal perhaps. It was the touch of a man schooled in protocol, a man escorting a woman to an event.

It was nothing.

And yet—

Yet her heart tripped as if it were on a downhill plunge. There was something about him, something dark and dangerous and altogether different from the type of men she usually met.

“You have been in the Caribbean long?” he asked as they strolled along the outer deck.

“A few days,” she replied absently, wondering how to make him pick up the pace. At this rate, it would take several minutes to reach the grand ballroom. Several minutes in which she would be alone in his company. “But I haven’t seen much of the island yet.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would.”

Antonella ground to a halt at his tone. Smug, superior. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He turned toward her, his eyes slipping down her body, back up again. Evaluating her. Judging her. Oddly enough, she found herself wanting to know what color they were. Blue? Grey like her own? She couldn’t tell in the yellowish light from the deck lamps. But they left her shivering and achy all at once.

“It means, Principessa, that when you spend much of your time on your back, you can hardly expect to do much sightseeing.”

She couldn’t stifle a gasp. “How dare you pretend to know me—”

“Who does not know you, Antonella Romanelli? In the past six months, you have certainly made yourself known. You parade around Europe dressed in the latest fashions, attending all the best parties, and sleeping with whoever catches your fancy at the moment. Like Vega.”

If he’d notched an arrow and aimed it straight at her heart, it could have hurt no worse.

What could she possibly say to defend herself? Why did she even want to?

Antonella spun away, but Cristiano caught her wrist and prevented her from escaping. His grip was harder than any she’d imagined. Her heart raced so hard she was afraid she’d grow light-headed. Her father was a strong man. A man with a hair-trigger temper and a quick fist when angered. She’d borne the brunt of that fist more times than she cared to remember.

“Let me go,” she bit out, her skin prickling with icy fear.

“Your brother should control you better,” he said—but his grip loosened and she jerked free, rubbing her wrist though he had not hurt her.

Anger slid into place, crowded out the fear. “Who do you think you are? Just because you’re the heir to the Monterossan throne does not make you special to me. And my life is none of your business.” Her laugh was bitter. “I know what you think of me, of my people. But know this—you have not beaten us in over one thousand years and you will not do so now.”

“Bravo,” he said, eyes glittering dangerously. “Very passionate. One wonders how passionate you might be in other circumstances.”

“You will have to continue to wonder, Your Highness. Because I would throw myself over the side of this yacht before ever entertaining a man such as you in my bed.”

Not that she’d ever entertained any man in her bed—but he didn’t know that. Regardless that she’d never found a man she trusted enough to give herself to, that she was still a virgin, all it took were a few parties, a few rumors, and a few photos to turn the truth into a lie. Most men believed her sophisticated and worldly, and the one she’d actually been brave enough to date once she’d been free of her father’s iron grasp had told the lie he’d slept with her after she’d rebuffed him. Others had taken up the rallying cry until it was impossible to separate truth from rumor.

God, men made her sick. And this one was no different.

They could not see beneath the surface, which was why she primped and pampered and wore the careful exterior of a worldly princess. Her beauty was her only asset since she’d never been allowed to pursue any kind of profession.

It was also her shield. When she focused the attention on her physical appearance, she didn’t need to share her secrets or fears with anyone. She could hide beneath her exterior, secure in the knowledge that no one could hurt her that way.

The sound of Cristiano’s mocking laughter startled her back to the moment. She realized too late that she’d just done the unthinkable. She’d challenged a man with a legendary reputation for bedding women. A man about whom women spoke in tones of rapture and awe. She might not have anything to do with the Monterossans, but she’d heard the gossip about their Crown Prince.

He’d been married once, but his wife was dead. Since then, no woman had held his attention for longer than a few weeks, a couple of months at most. He was a serial dater and a heartbreaker. A smooth operator, as her friend Lily, the Crown Princess of Montebianco, would have said.

“Perhaps nothing so desperate as that,” he said, closing the distance between them. Antonella took a step backward, coming into contact with the solid wall of the yacht. Cristiano put a hand on either side of her head, trapping her. He leaned closer without touching her. “Should we test this vow of yours with a kiss?”

“You can’t be serious,” she gasped.

He loomed over her. Dark. Intense. “Why not?”

“You’re Monterossan!”

He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. It confused her—or maybe it was simply his overwhelming nearness bewildering her senses.

His head dipped toward her. “Indeed. But you are a woman, and I’m a man. The night is warm, lush, perfect for passion…”

For a moment, she was paralyzed. Any second his mouth would claim hers, any second she would feel the hot press of his lips, any second her soul would be in danger—because something about him sent her pulse skyrocketing. Her nipples tightened, her skin itched, and the deep, secret recesses of her body felt as if they were softening, melting—

At the last possible moment, when his lips were a hair’s breadth away, when his hot breath mingled with hers, she found her strength and ducked beneath an imprisoning arm. He caught himself, shoving away from the side of the yacht.

Swore.

“Very good, Antonella. But then you are quite practiced at this game, aren’t you?”

Antonella held herself rigid. Why did her name sound so exotic when he said it? “You’re despicable. You seek to take what is not yours, and you resort to force to get it. Exactly what I would expect from a Monterossan.”

If she thought to anger him, she was disappointed. He merely smiled that wolfish smile of his. The ice in it made her shudder.

“Excuses, excuses, Principessa. That is what your country is good at, si? Because you are not as successful or as wealthy as us, you blame us for your ills. And you take innocent lives to justify your hostility.”

“I’m not listening to this,” she said, turning away from him. She had no time to engage in an argument with him. Nor would it do any good. She would simply be upset, and she couldn’t afford the distraction right now.

“Yes, run away to your steel magnate. But let us see what he values most—his mistress or his bank account.”

Antonella whirled. He’d dropped all pretense of friendliness; his voice dripped menace. “What do you mean by that?”

Cristiano stalked closer and once again she found herself trapped. Not physically this time, but it felt the same as if he’d grabbed her and refused to let her move. Her feet may as well have been glued to the teak decking.

“It means, bellissima Principessa, that I too have a proposition for Vega.” His gaze slid over her, and again she felt as if she’d stood too close to a lightning strike. “I am betting that my money trumps your…shall we say…obvious charms.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe you have said this already, yes? It grows tiring.”

Antonella trembled with fury. The man was impossible, aggravating—and having the most incredible effect on her senses. Surely it was anger that made her flush hot and cold, that made her skin tingle. He was threatening to ruin all her hard work, to turn Vega away before she’d managed to hook him. She had to get those steel mills for Monteverde. Had to.

And in order to do it, she needed to focus. Needed to will her heightened senses to calm. Needed to cloak herself in her ice princess mantle. No matter how this man made her feel, no matter how hot and achy and angry she was, she had to play this right.

Antonella dug down deep, found what she was searching for. By degrees, she felt her body loosening from its rigid stance. Felt confidence and calm wash over her. She would not let him intimidate her.

“Perhaps we have started on the wrong foot,” she purred. She needed to misdirect him, befuddle him. To do that, she would play the part he’d given her, make him believe there was indeed a chance of sex. It would buy her a little bit of time, at least. She could hold out the promise of a night together, keep him guessing while she worked hard to reel in Vega Steel before he could snatch victory from her.

In spite of her inexperience, it wasn’t difficult to act the part. At times like this, she disappeared deep within herself, separated her inner being from the shell and watched everything from outside the scene. It was the only way she could cope—by pretending to be someone else. It was a skill she’d honed over years of living with an abusive father.

Cristiano stood his ground as she reached for him, as her fingertips stroked along his freshly shaven jaw, over the fullness of his hard mouth, his chin.

His eyes were impossible to read. And then something kindled in their depths, something that both frightened her and compelled her. Perhaps she was going too far, making a mistake…

“You play with fire, Principessa,” he growled.

She worked hard to ignore the warning bells in her head as she slipped her hand around to the back of his neck, into the soft hair at his nape, bringing herself closer as she did so. Could she really do this?

She could, and she would. Let him see what a Monteverdian was made of. He would not intimidate her. He would not win.

Slowly, she pulled his head down. So slowly. He didn’t try to move away, simply followed her bidding. She didn’t kid herself she was in control. He was interested, like a cat was interested in a mouse.

But, for now, he let her guide him. And that was all she needed.

When he was only inches away, she stroked her fingers down his jaw again. Over that gorgeous mouth because she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t play it too easy, of course, because he would see right through her. But if she got him worked up a bit, made him think about how to storm her defenses, she might buy enough time to get Raúl to commit to Monteverde.

“Know this,” she said softly, her voice as sultry as she could make it. “Know that you have been this close to paradise…” She lifted herself onto her tiptoes, leaned in so close that her lips could have ghosted over his with little effort. “…this close, Cristiano,” she said, using his name for the first time. “And no further.”

Then she took a step back, intending to leave him standing there, puzzling over what had just happened.

A split second later, Cristiano caught her waist in two large hands, yanked her against the full length of his hard body. The wild thought that she should have run while she’d had the chance flashed into her mind. Instead, she’d pushed the thorn deeper into the lion’s paw when she should have given him a wide berth.

Cristiano’s mouth crushed down on hers with devastating precision. The kiss was masterful, dominating, unlike any she’d ever experienced before. Antonella’s head tilted back as he bracketed her face between two broad hands. He slanted his mouth over hers, forced a response. When she opened her lips—to protest? To bite him? To do what?—his tongue slipped inside and tangled with her own.

Heat flooded her like melting wax, dripped into her limbs, made her languid and pliable when she should be anything but. He’d caught her by surprise and she couldn’t seem to separate herself from the act. It wasn’t the first time she’d been kissed—but it was the first time she’d felt on the verge of losing herself in a kiss.

She wanted to dissolve into him, wanted to see where this hot achy feeling would take her if she let it. It was marvelous, extraordinary—

Reality trickled through her as his hands slipped down her back, over her hips, pulled her against his body. His hard, tense body.

Oh, my, was that—?

No. She couldn’t do this. He was the enemy, for God’s sake! She fought against nature, against him, against herself to claw her way back to the surface.

And though it was a cheap thing to do, she bit down on his questing tongue just enough to make him withdraw. It was that or allow him to so completely dominate her senses that she lost the power of her convictions.

He swore. And then he laughed. Actually laughed. “You need a spanking, cara. I’ll be sure to remedy that when we are naked together.”

Antonella managed to jerk free from his grip. She was off-balance, her heart pounding and her blood simmering, and she wanted nothing more than to escape. But she had to stand firm.

She jerked her shawl back into place. “If this is how you usually set about your seductions, it’s a wonder you have any success at all.”

His eyes burned into her. “When I want something, I get it. Always.”

Against her will, a hot little flame smoldered deep inside. She had to get away, far away. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but if you will excuse me, my lover is waiting. Ciao.”

“For now, Principessa,” he said. “But I have a feeling you will take a new lover quite soon.”

She’d made a mistake thinking she could manage him. A huge mistake. And yet she desperately wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. She gave him her best ice princess glare. “Yes, well, that man will not be you.”

“Never make promises you cannot keep. The first lesson of statecraft.”

“This isn’t a negotiation between nations.”

“Isn’t it?”

When she couldn’t think of a rejoinder, she pivoted and hurried to the dining room. Raúl stood on the opposite side of the room, speaking with a short, bald man. He looked up when he saw her, smiled. She smiled back. He was a handsome man, tall and rather good-looking in his custom tuxedo.

But he did not make her blood hum. Not the way Cristiano seemed to do. Angrily, she shoved away thoughts of the prince and crossed to Raúl’s side, letting him kiss her on both cheeks in greeting.

“There you are, Antonella. I was about to send a search party.”

Antonella laughed. Was she the only one who thought the sound brittle, false? Other guests clustered together, talking and sipping cocktails. A few watched her from beneath lowered lids. One man stared openly.

“I’m afraid I must always be fashionably late, darling,” she said.

Raúl swiped a champagne glass from a passing tray and handed it to her. She murmured her thanks before lifting it to her lips. Cristiano di Savaré walked in at the moment she sipped.

Her pulse jumped and she swallowed too much of the bubbly liquid, coughing as it seared a path down her throat.

Raúl failed to notice as he murmured, “Excuse me a moment, my dear,” and strode over to Cristiano.

Oh, God. She had to keep them apart. She had to convince Raúl to invest in Monteverde tonight. There was no time to lose. She wasn’t about to let that arrogant, rude bastard derail her plans.

Just as she got the coughing under control and started toward the two men, someone bumped her elbow.

Antonella held her glass out in time to prevent a spill. An elderly woman in a garish tropical-print muumuu gasped, her hand over her heart as if she were having an attack. “Please excuse me, Your Highness! Oh, how clumsy of me!”

“No, no, it is fine,” Antonella said, her voice a little rough from the coughing. “I didn’t spill a drop.”

But the woman was unconvinced and insisted on a thorough inspection. Then it took several more minutes for Antonella to disentangle from the ensuing conversation. Once the poor lady seemed soothed, Antonella moved away with a murmured apology and went looking for Raúl.

It didn’t take her long to realize the frightening truth, however.

Raúl had left the room. And so had the Crown Prince of Monterosso.

Chapter Two

SHE stood for everything he despised.

Cristiano sat at the polished mahogany table, directly across from Antonella Romanelli, and watched as she directed all her attention on Raúl Vega. Vega basked in her lovely glow like a man showing off a prized possession.

And why not?

She wore an ivory silk gown that clung to her body like a sleeve and displayed her breasts to perfection. With her sooty fall of hair, generous cleavage, and sharp sense of self-awareness, Princess Antonella was the kind of woman who lit up a room simply by entering it. He’d seen photos of her, but nothing had actually prepared him for the impact of her physical beauty. She was, in a word, stunning.

She had a voice that reminded him of a hidden spring, sweet and pure until she poured on the honey, and a sensual way of moving that made a man’s mind turn to more elemental matters. When she’d turned to him outside her cabin door, he’d felt as if a weight had settled on his chest and wouldn’t lift. He’d come prepared for battle, certain he was more than ready for it, and been felled by a lightning strike to his gut.

Dio.

He had to remember that without the Romanellis, peace would have come to Monterosso and Monteverde many years ago. Countless people would have lived instead of dying senseless, bloody deaths.

Paolo Romanelli had been an egomaniacal despot. His son, Dante, was certainly no better. He’d deposed his own father, after all. What kind of son did that? What kind of daughter flitted around the world, taking and discarding lovers, seemingly indifferent to her family’s excesses?

He’d counted on that indifference to help him gain what he wanted. Antonella was a woman of expensive tastes and a dwindling bank account. He had the means to keep her in designer gowns and expensive spa treatments, yet he’d nearly blown the whole game with his visceral reaction to her on deck. He needed her pliable, not bristling with indignation.

Cristiano’s fingers tightened on the stem of the wine glass he held. He had a chance to end it. A chance to crush Monteverde into submission once and for all. Once he gained control of their government and deposed the Romanellis, children from both nations would grow up happy and free instead of living in fear of bombs and bullets.

There was currently a ceasefire, but it was tentative. One random bomb from an extremist group, and even that fragile peace would be in jeopardy.

He intended to make it permanent, no matter the personal cost. No matter who he had to destroy.

Antonella laughed, the sound light and bubbly. So what if she was beautiful, so what if she seemed to possess a hint of vulnerability that intrigued him? Because surely it was an act. A very polished, very accomplished act. He’d known women like her before. Spoiled and shallow, nothing more than beautiful exteriors with empty souls.

Raúl bent toward her. At the last second, she expertly turned her head and his kiss landed on her cheek. Interesting.

Cristiano took a sip of wine. She thought she had Raúl wrapped up and tied with a pretty bow, but she was mistaken. Cristiano had gone to a lot of trouble to sweeten his deal. Though Raúl had yet to commit, he would not refuse Monterosso’s offer. He was far too good a businessman to allow a woman, no matter how enticing, to divert him from his company’s best interests.

For the first time since they’d sat at the table, Antonella’s gaze landed on him. He felt the jolt to his toes, and it irritated him. He refused to look away first. A pale flush crept over her cheeks as their gazes held.

He wouldn’t have thought she had it in her to be embarrassed, but perhaps sitting in the company of her current lover while contemplating another man was a bit much even for one so jaded as she.

Raúl’s hand came down on Antonella’s and she jumped, her head whipping around to look at him. Her flush deepened and Cristiano felt a stab of triumph. She wanted him, no matter what she’d said on the deck. It was a start in the right direction.

She looked guilty as hell as Raúl gazed at her with concern. “Are you feeling well, my dear?” Raúl said. “You look distressed.”

“What? Oh—no, I’m fine. It’s just a little hot. Don’t you find the tropics rather hot?” she asked the gathered diners.

Several people chimed in with opinions and a discussion ensued about the balmy temperatures, the fact it was hurricane season, and whether or not—God help him—a Piña Colada was preferable to a Bahama Mama. Empty chatter that scraped across his raw nerves and made him resent her even more.

When dinner was finally over, the guests adjourned to the deck to watch the fireworks over Canta Paradiso. Antonella, he noticed, clung to Raúl as if she were afraid to let him out of her sight again.

Too late, mia bella.

“Ah, Cristiano,” Raúl said as he guided Antonella over to the railing where Cristiano stood, “are you enjoying yourself in this lovely paradise?”

“Si. The scenery is quite…extraordinary.”

Antonella dropped her gaze as his own slipped over her. Was that another blush?

Raúl failed to notice the exchange. “I still can’t believe it’s been five years since last we met.”

Antonella blinked up at her lover. “You know the Prince?”

“We attended Harvard together,” Raúl replied, breaking into a broad smile as he clapped Cristiano on the back.

“Actually, it’s only been four years since we last met, Raúl.”

“Ah, yes,” Raúl said, clearing his throat. They both knew that Cristiano hadn’t exactly been the best of company in the several months after Julianne’s death. He’d been bitter, angry. And he’d pushed his friends and family away with equal measures of wounded contempt.

“We must not allow so much time to pass again, yes?” Cristiano said.

Raúl gave him a solemn smile. “As you say, mi amigo.”

Antonella’s lush lower lip was fixed between her teeth. A frown drew her sculpted brows together, furrowed her forehead.

An arrow of heat shot to Cristiano’s groin. All his senses had gone on high alert the moment he caught a whiff of her luscious scent. Lavender and vanilla? A hint of lemon? He’d wanted to drown in it when he’d kissed her, wanted to breathe her in for as long as he could.

The thought both angered and intrigued him. How could he react so strongly to this woman? He had not come here with any real intention of seducing her. He’d thought his business could be concluded with a great deal of money, perhaps some flattery. An empty promise or two.

Yet his body was beginning to insist on the idea of a seduction.

It was time to close this deal and move on to the real business at hand before he became any more distracted. “Raúl, if you can spare some time now, I’d like to conclude our discussion. I’m afraid I must return to Monterosso in the morning.”

Raúl nodded. “Yes, of course. If you will excuse us, my dear?” he said to Antonella.

“I must speak with you as well,” she said, her voice rising. “And I’d rather do it now.”

She looked fierce, like an Amazon warrior. Determined.

Raúl seemed puzzled. And perhaps a bit annoyed. Cristiano laughed inwardly. She was making it too easy for him. No man liked petulant demands from his lover, and especially not in front of witnesses. A shrewd woman would have stated her case when they were in bed together later. Her problem, not his.

“Go ahead, Raúl,” Cristiano said. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished.”

He could afford to be generous. She’d just lost the game.

Antonella wanted to scream. It’d been more than an hour since Raúl and Cristiano di Savaré had disappeared for their talk. What was happening? What if Raúl decided to build his mills in Monterosso?

She’d done her best to convince him, but she didn’t have a good feeling about it. What could Monteverde do for Vega Steel? They had vast deposits of raw ore, a necessary ingredient in steel, but they had little else to offer.

Except for a royal title. Yes, she’d put that on the table too when she’d sensed Raúl’s reluctance to commit to her country. Why not? She’d been intended since birth to marry for Monteverde’s best interests. Her father was no longer King, and she’d had two royal alliances fall through before the weddings could happen, but that didn’t mean she didn’t owe it to her people to do her part.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. If her choice was marriage to a man she didn’t love or the annexation of her country, she’d take marriage.

No matter how angry it made her. No matter how helpless she felt, how useless. Madonna mia, couldn’t her father have at least let her attend university instead of finishing school? She could pour tea and work a room with the best hostesses out there. And yet what good were those skills?

Raúl had taken the offer in his stride, but was it enough to convince him? In spite of his humble upbringing and his rise from poverty to great wealth, she had a feeling she’d failed miserably. If any man should have been tempted by a royal title, it should have been Raúl Vega.

If she failed, it would be yet another humiliation to add to her long list. Her first fiancé had driven a car off a cliff and her second had married another woman before the handshake had grown cold on the deal her father had made to wed her to him.

She was doomed in love, it would seem. Not that she’d ever been in love, but she’d like a chance to experience it. Like Lily, the woman her second almost-fiancé had married instead of her. What was it like to have a man look at you the way Nico Cavelli looked at Lily? To have a man sacrifice everything to be with you?

She would never know. It wasn’t her lot in life to find love. Dante had told her she didn’t need to marry for Monteverde now that their father was no longer King, but she’d insisted it was her duty. If it benefited her country, she would do it. No matter how desperate and sad it made her. No matter how much the idea of tying herself to a man terrified her.

Not all men were like her father. Not all men would grow violent when they were angry.

Antonella shook her head to clear it. She didn’t know for certain that she had failed this time. There was still a chance she’d won, that her royal title and her ore would be more enticing than anything Cristiano di Savaré had to offer.

She threw the tail of her shawl over her shoulder and continued her pacing on deck. Most of Raúl’s guests had returned to shore or to their own yachts, with the exception of those who had cabins aboard. In the harbor, yachts, a cruise ship, and fishing boats lay at anchor for the night, though the sounds of laughter and music drifted across the bay.

She chewed on the edge of a fingernail, then jerked her hand away with a curse when she realized what she was doing. She hadn’t chewed her nails since she was twelve and her father made her drink half a bottle of hot sauce to end the habit. It had certainly worked—she’d spent two days so sick she’d thought she would die; afterwards, she could hardly look at her fingernails without retching.

But Cristiano unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite fathom. He was Monterossan, which was a big strike against him. He was the future King of that nation, an even bigger strike. He was tall, incredibly magnetic, and arrogant beyond all imagination.

And yet, a little thrill of excitement insisted on rearing its ugly head whenever she thought about him. Stop. She didn’t like him, and she damn sure didn’t trust him.

A shiver slid over her. What if she’d failed?

“Perhaps you should drink fewer espressos so late at night, cara.”

Antonella whirled to find Cristiano emerging onto the deck. Her heart thumped, though not from fright. Why did he disconcert her so? “What are you talking about?”

He tipped his chin to her. “Pacing. Less caffeine would help.”

Antonella closed her eyes and counted to five. He knew he irritated her. Worse, he seemed to take great pleasure in it. She must not allow him to do so any longer. She could control her reactions. Would control them.

“I had one espresso, grazie. Your concern is touching.”

He came over and leaned against the rail, watching her. His eyes dipped to her chest, back up. Typical. Half the time, men talked exclusively to her breasts. She’d grown quite accustomed to it.

“You are dying to know what we talked about, aren’t you?”

Antonella shrugged. “You are mistaken if you think I care. I’m not here for business.”

He laughed. “So you have said. But what do they call it now, if not the oldest business in the world?”

She would not react. Would not. Had Raúl told him what they’d discussed, that she’d offered herself in exchange for the mills? Or was he simply baiting her?

“Is that what it’s called when you sleep around, Cristiano?” she said very coolly, her heart throbbing with hurt and anger and the urge to deny she’d ever slept with any man. He’d never believe her, of course. Nor did he deserve an explanation.

Why did men have a double standard when it came to sex? He could bed countless women and it only added to his allure.

“Sensitive, cara?”

“Not at all. I simply don’t like you. Or your hypocrisy.”

“I’m hurt.” His teeth flashed in a grin.

She wished he’d jump off the side of the yacht and leave her alone. “Where is Raúl?” she demanded.

“I’m not your social secretary, Principessa. If you want him, go find him.” The words were said mildly, almost mockingly. And with a hint of steel beneath the velvet. “And what makes you think I’m a hypocrite? I quite like that you’ve had lovers. It means you know your way around a man’s body. It means we will not need to waste time once we are naked.”

Perhaps she’d had too much caffeine after all. Her pulse raced like a bullet fired from a gun. “I’m not sleeping with you, Cristiano.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he said, his voice a sensual growl that scraped over her nerve endings and left her shivering.

“I know my own mind, and I know what I don’t want. I don’t want you.”

Cristiano reached for her hand, slipped his fingers between hers and brought them to his mouth. She tried to pull away, but he held her firm. “And do you know your body, Antonella? Often, our mind and our body are at war. Did you not know that?”

Before she could formulate an answer from her scattered thoughts, he touched the tip of his tongue to the center of her palm.

Antonella sucked in a breath as rivers of sensation spilled down her spine, through her limbs, into her feminine core. Why? Why? Men had been trying to get her into bed for as long as she could remember and she’d yet to feel anything remotely as exciting as what she felt when Cristiano touched her.

Too bad he was the wrong man. She needed to pull her hand away forcefully, needed to put distance between them and never allow herself to be alone with him again.

But she couldn’t. She was trapped, as trapped as if he’d bound her to him with iron shackles.

“Stop,” she forced out, her voice little more than a tortured whisper.

“Are you quite certain?” he murmured. “Your body says otherwise.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Si, I do. You are flushed…”

“It’s hot.”

Cristiano laughed low in his throat, kissed her fingers and settled her hand on his shoulder before he tugged her closer. His broad fingers splayed over her hip. “And it’s about to get hotter. Why deny this attraction, hmm? We will be good together.”

“I—”

A shadow passed over them and then a voice said, “I beg your pardon.”

Antonella jerked out of Cristiano’s grip just in time to see Raúl turn around and slip back inside. Oh, God! Furious tears pressed against the back of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She would have to go after him, would have to try and repair the damage. She’d just offered to marry him, for God’s sake. What would he think of her now?

She could repair the damage. Surely she could. She had to. For Monteverde’s future.

But not before she turned and gave the arrogant man who’d caused her so much trouble in such a short time a piece of her mind.

“You did that on purpose!” She should have listened to the voice telling her to get away from him. Because she hadn’t, because she’d been riveted by his handsome face and sizzling touch, she’d risked the future of her entire nation. And for what? A kiss? A kiss from a man she despised?

He wasn’t insane; she was.

“What makes you think so, Principessa?” he asked coolly, his expression both smug and devilish at once.

Antonella’s hands clenched into impotent fists as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She was a fool, a hopeless fool, still looking for some spark of feeling with a man. And he was the enemy, plain and simple. He hadn’t forgotten it for one moment, even if she had.

“Because you’re selfish, that’s why. You don’t care who you hurt or what you have to destroy to get your way.”

One corner of his mouth curled, but it could hardly be called a smile. “It seems as if we are kindred spirits, then.”

“No. I care about people’s feelings. And now I’m going to apologize to Raúl.”

“There is no need.”

“Of course there is.”

“Afraid not, Antonella. You were part of the deal.”

“Deal?” She thought her heart would stop as she waited for his answer. How could they make deals that included her? It was impossible. She’d offered herself in marriage, but it had been her choice. Neither of these men owned her, neither could make decisions for her.

“Vega Steel will be building in Monterosso. And Monteverde will supply the ore.”

“Never,” she bit out. It was unthinkable! To sell their ore to Monterosso? So the King could build more tanks and guns in his factories? So the di Savarés could slowly strangle the life from her country? It was the money Monteverde desperately needed, yes, but at what cost?

“You may wish to rethink your position.” He sounded mildly friendly, though she knew he was anything but.

Antonella thrust her chin out in answer. “I can’t see why we need to.”

“One word,” he said, his eyes now empty, flat. So cold she hugged herself to ward off a chill. “One very important word: existence.”

Chapter Three

“THERE is a storm, Your Highness.”

Antonella blinked at the steward as he placed a breakfast tray on a table in her room. She pulled the covers up to her shoulders as she propped herself on an elbow, still groggy after too much worry and too little sleep. “A storm?”

He carefully repositioned the flowers in the small vase on the tray. “Yes, a hurricane. It has swung off track and is coming straight for Canta Paradiso. We are putting to sea very shortly. You may stay aboard if you wish, or you may transfer to the island for a flight out.”

“Where is Signor Vega?”

The steward stood at military-like attention. “He was called back to São Paulo on business. He left before day-break.”

Her heart sank. She’d known it was futile, and yet she’d hoped to speak with Raúl once more, hoped to convince him to give Monteverde a chance. Too late now.

No. She would not allow Cristiano di Savaré to defeat her so easily. There was still a very little time left before the loans came due, and she’d spent the night thinking about what Monteverde’s next move would be if Raúl would not change his mind. She’d come up with only one solution.

What if Dante went to Montebianco and asked for a loan to get them through this crisis? Their father had nearly started another war when he’d arrested the Crown Princess of that nation, but that was months ago. Would Montebianco help them now? Could she convince her brother to try? She knew he wouldn’t want to do it, but it was their last chance.

And if Dante wouldn’t approach the King, Antonella would go to Lily and beg her to ask her husband, the Crown Prince, for help. Either way, there was still a chance for them—if she acted quickly.

“Thank you,” she said to the steward. “I will go to the airport.”

He gave her a formal bow before slipping out of her cabin and closing the door. Antonella bolted from the bed and grabbed her mobile phone. She had to reach Dante. She’d tried last night, but the call wouldn’t go through. Perhaps the wind had knocked out a tower.

Or, more likely, something was wrong with Monteverde’s communications. They often had trouble with the utility companies as the infrastructure crumbled and there was no money left to repair the aging equipment.

An automated voice informed her that her call could not be completed as dialed and suggested she check the number. She snapped her phone shut and hurried to get dressed. The sooner she was on a plane home, the better.

Antonella emerged onto the top deck of the yacht, in search of someone who could arrange for a launch. She nearly stumbled when she caught sight of the man conversing with the yacht’s captain.

Cristiano di Savaré in a tuxedo had been magnificent. But Cristiano in Bermuda shorts, a crisp polo shirt, flip-flops, and Ray-Bans was downright sinful. He looked nothing like a prince and everything like some erotic fantasy of a muscled cabana boy who lived to serve the woman lucky enough to hire him.

He turned at her approach, no doubt because the captain ceased paying attention to him and watched her progress. She could see the captain’s eyes moving over her appreciatively, but it was Cristiano’s gaze she felt most keenly. Though he wore mirrored sunglasses, she was aware of the burning scrutiny behind them.

She’d dressed in a cotton wrap dress and sported a pair of sandals with a sensible heel. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she’d gone minimal with her make-up. She wasn’t trying to attract attention, and yet it never seemed to matter. Attention was what she got.

“You have heard about the storm?” Cristiano said, skipping the preliminaries.

Antonella pushed away a tendril of hair that had escaped her ponytail and blew across her lips. “Yes. When is the launch?” she asked, turning to the captain.

“There is a slight delay,” Cristiano said before the captain could reply. “Many in the harbor are requesting transportation.”

“I see.”

“Have you made flight arrangements yet?”

“No. I had hoped to go straight to the airport and take care of it.”

“Bene. You may fly with me.”

Antonella’s pulse beat like the wings of a thousand hummingbirds. The man was unbelievable. “Thank you, but no. I will get a flight when I reach the airport.”

Cristiano shoved his shades onto his head. The sunlight had disappeared as clouds rolled into the harbor. His eyes, she realized, weren’t blue or gray. They were deep, dark brown.

No, green.

Hazel, that was what it was called. Brown ringed the pupil, but most of the iris was green.

Striking.

How had she missed this at dinner last night? She’d sat across from him, but she’d barely looked directly at him with Raúl sitting beside her. The one time she had, she’d been far more mesmerized by the look on his face than the color of his eyes.

“Antonella,” he said sharply.

She jerked. “What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“You were talking about your jet.”

“Yes. It’s ready, and I have room for you. All commercial flights off the island are booked.”

“But you just asked me if I’d made arrangements!”

“I meant last night, before the hurricane changed direction.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I’ll take my chances at the airport.”

Was she crazy? She might despise him, but was it worth putting herself in danger to have the satisfaction of refusing him? Wasn’t the most important thing to get back to Monteverde and speak to her brother? If only Dante had been the one to come to Canta Paradiso! He’d have gotten Vega Steel and this would all be moot.

Except he had to stay to hold the country together. And his wife was about to give birth. Antonella had been the only choice, and she’d failed. She wanted to climb back into bed and pull the covers over her head until it all went away.

But she couldn’t. Cowardice was not an option.

“Don’t be childish,” Cristiano snapped.

She forced herself to take a long, slow breath before speaking. “It’s not childish to avoid the company of people you despise.”

“No, but it is childish to put yourself in danger because of it.”

It was disconcerting to hear her thoughts echoed in his words.

Antonella stared at the mountains rising around the harbor. The airport was on the other side of those mountains. It could take hours to reach at this rate. Dark clouds billowed over the green peaks like a thick blanket unrolling. The wind had already picked up speed in the few hours between the time she’d gone to bed and now.

How she got home didn’t matter, so long as she did. “I will fly with you if there is no other option. Though when we reach the airport, I will check to see if I can book a flight first.”

“As you wish, Principessa.”

“But I cannot fly into Monterosso.” How would that look? And how would she get home to Monteverde? There were no direct flights, and the border was cut off. A Monteverdian princess could not be ferried across the border by Monterossan soldiers. It was unthinkable.

His expression hardened. “Of course not. We will land in Paris first. You can arrange transport from there.”

A dark thought occurred to her. “How do I know you will keep your word? That you won’t take me to Monterosso and demand a ransom for my return?”

His voice stroked over her like silk. “If I were to kidnap you, mia bella, I could think of far more interesting things to do than demand a ransom.”

By the time they were ferried to shore and found a taxi, three hours had passed. Everyone was rushing around the town, trying to batten down the hatches or get off the island. Canta Paradiso was a private resort island, but there was a town and many residents who lived there full-time. In spite of that, the traffic to the small airport was unbelievable.

Cristiano tucked his cell phone away with a growl. Since the rain had begun, the cell towers had ceased carrying calls for very long. Now, they were dropping altogether. Antonella looked at her signal indicator. No bars.

Cristiano raked a dark-fingered hand through his inky hair. The taxi was small, and his leg lay intimately against hers where they were crowded together in the back seat. At first, she’d tried to move away, but huddling against the door was uncomfortable. She’d struggled for the last hour to pretend that his skin didn’t burn into her where they touched.

“Will we make it?” she asked.

He was so close. Close enough that if she simply leaned over a few centimeters, their lips could touch.

And why would she want to do that?

“We should. It’s just rain thus far. We can still fly out.”

“Are you certain?” She watched the rain falling harder outside the steamy window beside him, bit her lip.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I am a pilot, cara. Rain provides good lift. The wind isn’t bad yet, and it also provides lift. There are many hours left before the storm is too dangerous to fly.”

“That’s good, then.”

He leaned back, stretched an arm behind her on the seat. She couldn’t escape the contact unless she sat forward. To do so would give him power, so she endured the press of his arm against her shoulders and neck.

The trilling of his phone several minutes later startled her from her reverie. The taxi was warm, and she was so tired that she’d nearly fallen asleep on him. Mortified, she pushed herself as far into her corner of the back seat as she could.

Cristiano answered quickly, before the call dropped again. The swearing that issued from him a few moments later wasn’t a good sign.

“What’s wrong?” she asked when he finished.

He looked grim. “We’re stuck.”

“What do you mean, stuck?” she asked, trying to tame the note of panic in her voice.

He swore again. “The plane has a hydraulic leak in the brakes. We can’t fly without a new cowling, and there isn’t one on the island.”

Antonella bit back a hysterical laugh. “Is there a chance we can get on a commercial plane?”

“The last flight left twenty minutes ago. There are no more flights in or out today.”

“You said it was safe to fly for many hours yet.”

“It is. But commercial airlines have different schedules, Antonella. And they’ve chosen to cancel flights that were coming in later today. Those planes would have been the flights out again.”

Antonella stared at him, swallowed the giant lump in her throat. “Now what?”

“We must find a place to stay.”

Unbelievable. Could her luck get any worse? “And where do you suggest we look? Do we simply drive up to every hotel on the island and see if they have a vacancy?”

He tapped his phone against his leg. “No, that would take too much time and there are no guarantees. I have another idea.”

“And what would that be?”

“I know the man who owns this island. He keeps a villa nearby. We will go there.”

She stared at him. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I didn’t think it would be necessary.”

Antonella didn’t say anything while he issued instructions to the driver. Maybe she should argue about the practicality of his plan, but what other choice was there? Far better to stay in a private home than be seen together in a hotel. There was always a chance, no matter how remote, that someone from the media would be there and would recognize them. A photo of her with Cristiano di Savaré could do irreparable harm to her country right now.

He put his arm behind her again and she pressed herself farther away from him. He frowned.

“It’s no use,” he said. “The car is small and there’s nowhere to go.”

“I realize that, but you don’t need to put your arm around me.”

“And I thought you liked it when I touched you.” His voice contained a hint of sarcasm that irritated her.

“Hardly.”

“Then why did you come?”

Antonella blinked. “What choice did I have? You said yourself that all the flights were booked.”

“Yes, but to accept help from me of all people…” He tsked.

Antonella saw red. “It wasn’t my first choice, no, but I’m not stupid.”

His gaze grew sharp, thoughtful. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A mocking smile curved his lips. “Whatever you think it means, Principessa.”

“I think you simply like to irritate me. Why did you offer to help me get off the island if you don’t like me so much?”

“I don’t have to like you for what I have in mind.”

Antonella gasped. “How could you possibly dislike someone and still want to sleep with them?”

The look on his face, something between mildly amused and completely arrogant, sent heat flooding into her cheeks. Had she mistaken his meaning?

“There is a fine line between hate and passion, Antonella,” he replied. “One sometimes makes the other more rich.”

“That’s horrible.” She’d always thought, assuming she weren’t obligated to marry a man of her father’s choosing, she would have to like the man she slept with for the first time. She’d never expected to have that choice, however. Now that it seemed she might, she was more than a little appalled at her physical reaction to Cristiano.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Really? You would expect me to believe a woman of your experience has liked every man she’s ever bedded?”

Her jaw clenched. She should have realized where this conversation would go. “I prefer not to discuss this with you.”

“Why not? Ashamed?”

“Of course not!”

“So how many has it been, Antonella? How many men have you lured to your bed?” He looked haughty, cruel. It made her furious.

“Lured? Lured? You make me sound like I’m running a stall at the market! Come get your peaches, come get your plums—hurry before they’re all gone.”

His expression seemed in danger of crumpling for a split second. She thought he might laugh, but he turned and looked out the window at the rain, ignoring her. He also didn’t move his arm. Fury cycled through her in waves until she decided the hell with it and flopped back on the seat, wedging him over where he took too much of her space.

What a hypocrite!

His body was hard, solid, and hot. Antonella folded her arms over her chest and leaned her head back—on his arm since he hadn’t moved it. He infuriated her with his accusations. He knew nothing about her, and yet he smugly thought he knew everything.

Arrogant man!

He took up all the air in the taxi. She wanted to roll down the window and stick her head out, but it was raining too hard. She was just so tired. So damn tired. As her temper deflated, her eyes drifted closed in spite of the effort she made to keep them open.

Cristiano’s scent wrapped around her senses. He smelled like rain and spice, and a pang of sadness pierced her. Why? It took her a moment to realize that it reminded her of something out of her childhood. Was it when her mother had fixed spiced tea for her when she was sick?

Yes, that was it. Spice equaled comfort back then. She could picture her mother as if it were yesterday—her sad, beautiful mother who’d died far earlier than she should have. Was that when her father had grown violent?

She couldn’t remember. She’d always tried to block those memories. Like the time he’d squeezed the life from Dante’s gerbil because Dante had forgotten to feed it. Her brother, who’d been ten at the time—far older than her impressionable five years—had taken the incident stoically.

Antonella had cried and cried. It was the first time she’d ever experienced such cruelty. She’d never forgotten it, used to burst into tears at the oddest times when the memory crashed in on her. Even years later.

Her face was suddenly cool, and she realized it was the air against her wet cheeks.

No, not now. Please, not now.

She opened her eyes, blinked against the blur. Then she swiped her hands over her cheeks, trying to stop the flow before Cristiano noticed and mocked her. She hadn’t cried over that memory in so long she couldn’t even remember the last time.

“Crying won’t work,” Cristiano said coldly—but his voice sounded oddly thick.

Antonella turned away from him. She didn’t want him to be here, didn’t want him to become a part of her struggle to be a normal person. It wasn’t his business! Nothing in her life was his business. “I’m just tired. Leave me alone.”

Would she never be free of this? Would episodes from her past always move her to tears when she least expected it? She felt weak, helpless—and angry. Sometimes, in these moments, she thought she could kill her father if he were in front of her and at her mercy.

And she hated that feeling most of all. The tears came faster now, turned into gulping sobs. She couldn’t stop the memories, couldn’t stop the guilt. She should have done something, should have—

Cristiano swore, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.

“No, let me go,” she begged, trying to rip his hands away from her body. “Let me go.”

But he didn’t. He turned her toward him, cupped the back of her head and pressed her to his chest. She bucked against him, trying to get away, but he was too strong. Eventually, her shoulders slumped.

And once she gave up, his grip softened, his hand rubbing rhythmically up and down her neck while he spoke to her softly. She strained to hear the words over the roar of the rain and wind outside, over her own crying, and realized it was a song.

A song.

Shock was the least of what she felt at that moment. It was such an oddly tender gesture, and from the last person in the world she would have expected it. It was as if he understood somehow.

Her fisted hands curled into his shirt, held tight as she worked hard to stop the tears. She had every reason to hate him, but in that moment he was her ally. He held her for what seemed like hours. It was the closest she’d felt to anyone in a very long time.

Chapter Four

THE taxi took them to the villa located on a remote beach. By the time they reached the house, Antonella’s tears had dried and she’d pushed away from Cristiano again. Fresh embarrassment buffeted her in waves. How could she have lost control like that? And with him, of all people? His shirt was wrinkled where she’d crumpled it in her fist, and a hint of mascara smudged the white fabric, but Cristiano said nothing.

Madonna mia. If the owner took them in, she was locking herself in a bedroom and not coming out again until the storm was over. The less time she spent in Cristiano’s company, the better.

Antonella waited in the car while Cristiano went to the door and checked to see if the island tycoon was home. He wasn’t, and yet a few minutes later Cristiano had managed to somehow get a call through to the man in New York.

“The staff is on holiday,” he said when he returned to the taxi, “but we are welcome to stay until the storm has passed. There is a caretaker in the cottage we drove by. He will let us in.”

“Wouldn’t we be better off in town?” Despite her earlier relief at not going to a hotel, she suddenly preferred it to being alone with this man for the foreseeable future. She felt too exposed, too raw. She couldn’t keep up the barrier of strength she needed simply to be in his company. It was like living on a battlefield.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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