by Dani Collins
“Let me talk to your parents. I’ll take responsibility, patch things up.”
“Pass. There’s too much water under the bridge there...” Her nose stung with old tears she refused to shed. “And I don’t want someone to talk them into forgiving me. I want them to want to help me because they love me.” She was embarrassed that they didn’t and turned her mind from dwelling on that old anguish since it would never be resolved. “I’m more worried about London Connection. I might have to resign.”
“You’re not losing your career because you did your job,” he said forcefully.
“No one can know that, though, can they? To the outside world, I got involved with a client and caused him to lose his job. No one is going to hire the sordid one-night stand who caused a king to be overthrown. If I resign, London Connection can at least say they cleaned house in the same way that Vallia is dumping you.”
“That’s rubbish.” He rose again, all his virile energy crackling around him like a halo. “You’re not a martyr and you’re not a tramp. You’re not something that needs to be swept under a rug or out a door. The answer is obvious.”
“A tell-all to the highest bidder?” she suggested with a bat of her lashes.
“Pass,” he said with flat irony. “No. Once Sofia is clearly established as Vallia’s queen, you and I will take control of our narrative, as you like to say. We’ll reframe our affair as a more serious relationship.”
* * *
“You want to keep sleeping together?” Shock echoed within her strained words.
He wanted that so badly, he had to stand on the far side of the room so he wouldn’t crowd her or otherwise pressure her into it. “Appear to, at least. I understand if you’d prefer to keep things professional.”
“Because we’re so good at that.” Her chuckle was semihysterical.
He took perverse comfort from the helplessness in her choked laugh. He wasn’t the only one who felt this irresistible pull between them.
“I’m just saying, now that I fully grasp how our affair complicates things for you—”
The noise she made drew his glance.
“Do I not understand?” He narrowed his eyes, noting the flush that had come into her cheeks, the glow of disgrace in her eyes. “Is there more?”
She bit the corner of her mouth and dropped her gaze. “There are things in my past I only share on a need-to-know basis. Right now, you don’t need to know.”
She set aside the tray and flung back the blankets. She wore a silk nightgown that rode up her bare legs as she slid her feet to the floor.
“Don’t you have a throne to abdicate?” she asked.
He swallowed and forced his gaze upward to the suppressed turmoil in hers.
She was trying to throw him off with a glimpse of her legs and her air of nonchalance.
He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t falling for the diversion. Sexual awareness instantly throbbed like a drumbeat between them. His feet ambled him closer before he remembered he was trying to give her space.
“I do have a title to renounce,” he confirmed, gaze drawn to the way oyster-colored lace coyly pretended to hide her cleavage. It took everything in him to only caress her pale skin with his eyes. “Then I have a gala to attend. We do.”
“I’m not convinced our continuing to see one another is the best way forward.” Her head shake was more of an all-over tremble.
He closed his fists so he wouldn’t reach for her. “If you go scurrying home in disgrace, you really will be painted as the scarlet woman who toppled a kingdom. If you stick around and attend the gala where the new queen will speak to you, the whole thing will be reduced to a family squabble between my sister and I. You made arrangements to be here for two weeks, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You don’t have to decide this instant. Let me finish my business, then we’ll talk more. Away from the palace,” he said. “We’ll shop for a gown for the gala. Do you prefer Paris or Milan for evening wear?”
“The Glam Shed,” she said haughtily, giving her hair a flick. “I quid pro quo promotion campaigns for red carpet rentals.”
“I’ll pretend that was a joke and make arrangements for Milan. It’s closer than Paris and I have a cottage in Northern Italy. We can talk there about how we’ll portray our relationship.” For the first time in a very long time, he could be with a woman openly with few distractions. He wanted to take her there right now.
Perhaps she read that urgency in him. She flashed him a nervous look, but there was no fright in the depths of her pretty green eyes. Only a vacillating nibble of her lip and another, slower study of his chest and upper arms.
She was going to be the death of him, teasing him so unconsciously and effortlessly.
“Cottage?” she asked skeptically.
He tilted his head. It was an understatement. “A castle on a private island in one of the more remote lakes. The key word is ‘private.’ We can let this furor die down before our attendance at the gala stirs it up again.”
“Are you sure you want to continue associating with me?” she asked anxiously.
She couldn’t be that obtuse.
“I want to do a damned sight more than ‘associate.’” He snagged her hand with his own and brought her fingertips to his mouth, dying to taste her from brows to ankles, but he had places to be. And he was trying not to take when she was vacillating and vulnerable.
She caught her breath and looked at him with such defenseless yearning, he gave in and swooped his free hand behind her waist to draw her close.
She suddenly balked with a press of her palm to his chest. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”
“Then I’ll kiss you here.” He set his open mouth against her throat, enjoying the gasp she released and the all-over shiver that chased down her body. By the time he’d found the hollow beneath her ear, she was melting into him with another soft cry.
The slippery silk she wore was warm with the heat of her body as he slid his hands to her lower back and drew her closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla and almonds from her hair.
“Luca.” She nuzzled his ear and nipped at his earlobe.
His scalp tightened and a sharp pull in his groin threatened to empty his head of everything except the rumpled bed behind this wickedly tempting woman. One quick tumble to hold him. That’s all he wanted.
“Give me a few hours,” he groaned, lifting his head, but running his touch to her delectable bottom, tracing the curve and crease through the silk as he drew her into the stiffness her response had provoked. “We’ll pick this up later.”
She searched his gaze, still conflicted.
He kissed her, quickly and thoroughly, tasting coffee as he grazed her tongue with his.
“Eat something,” he ordered, then released her and adjusted himself before he left to end his brief reign.
* * *
Amy ate. Then she took her time with a long bath and a quiet hour of self-care where she painted her toenails and plucked her brows and moisturized every inch of her skin. She ignored her phone and let the sickening feeling of having her privacy invaded recede while she considered what to tell her best friends.
She was always honest with Bea and Clare, but aside from emailing a promise to call as soon as she could, Amy hadn’t found the right way to explain what had happened between her and Luca.
They would know they were being put off, but Amy would touch base with them as soon as she decided whether she would agree to Luca’s suggestion.
He had a point that appearing to continue their affair would soften the photo from being a lurid glimpse at a king’s downfall to a private moment between a loving couple, but they weren’t a loving couple. They were barely a romantic couple, having met only two days ago.
It shocked her to realize that. They’d shared some very personal details with one anoth
er. She’d never talked about her expulsion or her parents’ rejection of her so candidly. For his part, Luca had entrusted her with the secret of his father’s death. On a physical level, they had opened themselves unreservedly.
That meant they had the seeds of a close relationship, didn’t it?
Oh, Amy, she chided herself. She had made the mistake of believing physical infatuation meant genuine caring once before.
Her stomach curdled. She hadn’t shared that part of her story with Luca, had she?
Her affair with Avery Mason wouldn’t come out, would it? Aside from Bea and Clare, who would never betray her, the story had never been confirmed. If any of the catty girls from back then had wanted to take Amy down by repeating that morsel of vague gossip, they would have done it by now. They’d had plenty of opportunities while Amy had been posting photos of herself with movie stars and fashion designers. Even if someone did decide to bring it up, they had no proof. It would be a very watery accusation that would quickly evaporate.
Avery could say something, obviously, as could his mother, but Amy didn’t believe either would. There was no value in destroying their own reputations, and Amy’s parents were equally determined to keep it a private matter. Her mother much preferred to use it as salt in Amy’s wounds, dropping it as an aside to blame Amy for her own tribulations like being dumped by her latest paramour.
That would let up once she realized Amy was still seeing Luca, of course.
There was a bonus! Amy paused the hair dryer to drink in a fantasy of her mother groveling for an invitation to meet Amy’s beau, once she believed her daughter had a real future with royalty.
Which she didn’t. Amy’s soaring heart took a nosedive. Even if they slept together again, their relationship was still about optics. Nothing more.
She ignored the streak of loss that cut through her chest and returned to yanking the brush through her hair as she dried it, ruthlessly scraping the bristles across her scalp as an exercise in staying real.
Luca wasn’t a sociopathic lothario like Avery, but he was a man. The wires between heart and hard-on weren’t directly connected. No matter what she did, she had to protect her own heart so it might be better if she and Luca only pretended to be involved.
She didn’t want to pretend, she acknowledged with a twist of remorse wrapped in wicked anticipation. Despite the fact that sleeping with him had pulled the rug out from under her hard enough to topple her entire life, she wanted to make love with him again. She wanted to run her hands across his flexing back, feel his lips against her skin. Play her tongue against his and lose herself to the grind of his hips—
Whew! Had the AC cut out? She fanned her cheeks and opened the door to let the humidity out of the bathroom.
Fabiana was packing the clothing that didn’t belong to her into a suitcase that was also not hers. “The prince will be ready to travel shortly. He asks that you join him at the helipad in one hour? I’ve set out your lunch.”
A few hours later, Amy was in Milan’s fashion district, enjoying a crisp white wine with bruschetta. Luca was beside her, speaking Italian into his phone.
“That looks like it would suit you,” he said as he ended his call and pocketed his phone. He nodded at the model on the catwalk.
“I like the train, but I prefer the neckline on the blue.” She pointed at the model posing toward the back. “The gala isn’t black tie. Could I wear something like that fade?”
“Wear whatever you want,” Luca assured her, picking up her hand and touching his lips to her knuckles. “I’m indulging the woman who has captured my heart. I want the world to know it.”
Her own heart flipped and twittered like a drunken bird even as she reminded herself it wasn’t real. Nevertheless, she leaned in and cut him a sly look that he would recognize as her rebellious streak coming to the fore if he knew her well enough.
“Anything? Because I would love something very avant-garde.”
Luca’s indulgent nod said, By all means. “Control the narrative. Tell them what to talk about.”
Amy looked to the designer. “What do you have that says, ‘space opera’?”
The woman lit up with excitement and rushed into the back with her models.
Soon Amy was being fitted for a dress that hugged her curves while stiff, saucer-like ruffles gave the impression of a stack of dishes about to fall. The glittering sequins reflected prisms in every direction and a matching hat with a polka dot veil completed the dramatic look.
When she was back in her own clothes, she came upon Luca saying something about Vallia to an attendant. Parcels were being taken to the car.
“That’s casual wear for the island,” he said. “The rest will be sent to Vallia with the gown for our other events.”
“What other events?”
“Cocktail parties. Ribbon cuttings. I’m making an award presentation in Tokyo after the gala.”
Then what? There was a small cloud of anxiety chasing her. She had a career to get back to, and she had never aspired to be any man’s mistress. She’d cleared a block of time to work with Luca so she still had a few days to consider all her options, but no matter if she only pretended or was really his lover, it wouldn’t last.
They left the design house, but word had leaked that they were in Milan. They were chased back to the helicopter, soon landing on a blessedly remote and quiet island.
They disembarked into what could only be described as a fairy-tale setting. A wall of craggy, inhospitable mountains plunged down to the jewel-blue lake. A quaint village sat on the far shoreline. A handful of boats dragged skiers in their wake, keeping their distance.
Luca told her the castle had been built as a monastery in the fifth century. It had a tall, square bell tower in the middle of one outer wall, but the rest was only three stories. The ancient stone walls were covered in moss and ivy. A pebbled pathway led them from the helipad, winding beneath boughs that smelled of Christmas pine and fresh earth and summer vacation.
“No vehicles, just a golf cart for the luggage and groceries by boat,” Luca said, pointing into a man-made lagoon surrounded by stone walls as they passed. Two fancy looking speedboats were moored there alongside a utilitarian one that was being unloaded.
They entered through what had once been a scullery room. It was now a very smart if casual entryway with hooks for their jackets and a box bench where they left their shoes.
This was why he called it a cottage, she supposed. It was homey and he exchanged a friendly greeting with the chef as they passed the kitchen, nodding approval for whatever menu was suggested.
“The sun is beginning to set. He asked if we wanted to eat something while we watch it from the terrace or view it from the top of the tower?”
“The tower sounds nice.”
He relayed her preference, and they climbed to the belfry where no bell hung.
“I have no plans to ring it, so why replace it?” he said as he led her up a heart-stoppingly narrow spiral of stairs that took them to the roof. “This has been inspected. We’re safe,” he assured her.
“I forgot my phone,” she said with a pat of her pockets. “I want photos!”
She went to the corners of the roof, more awed by the view each direction she looked. She paused to watch where the sun was sinking behind one peak, leaving a glow of gold across the surrounding mountaintops. The air was clean and cool, the height dizzying enough to make her laugh.
“You must have loved coming here as a child. How long has it been in your family?”
“I bought it for myself when it came on the market a few years ago.”
“Oh. That’s interesting.” She glanced at him. “Why?”
“Because it’s beautiful and private.” His tone said, Obviously.
“You didn’t buy it to hide your women here?”
“Like a dragon with a damsel? Yes, I’ve
lured you here and you can’t leave until your hair grows long enough to climb down. No, Amy. What women are you even talking about?”
“I don’t know. The ones you have affairs with. Discreetly. On private islands.” She turned to the view because this was a conversation they had to have, but she didn’t know how.
“Actually, this is where I hide from those legions of women, to rest and regain my virility,” he said dryly. “I’ve allowed my sister to stay here, but you’re the only person I’ve brought as my guest, female or otherwise.”
“Ever?” She moved to another corner.
“Why is that so surprising? Exactly how many lovers do you think I’ve had?”
“Enough to get really good at sex,” she said over her shoulder, as if she didn’t care. She did care. A lot more than she ought to.
“You’re really good at sex.” He came up behind her to trace his fingertips in a line down her back. “Should I ask how many men you’ve been with?”
“How do you know it’s just men?” She swung around and threw back her head in challenge.
He didn’t laugh. Or take her seriously.
“You really do have to work harder to shock me,” he admonished. “I honestly don’t care what you’ve done or with whom so long as it was consensual and safe enough that I don’t have to worry about my own health.”
Her heart faltered. She wondered if she could shock him with the deplorable thing she’d done with her teacher, but he set his hands on the wall on either side of her waist, crowding her into the corner. Now all she could see was his mouth, and her thoughts scattered.
“I’m very interested in what sort of history you’d like to have. With me. What do you want to do, Amy?”
“Nothing kinky,” she warned, reflexively touching his chest. “Just normal things.”
“Normal?” His smile was wide, but bemused. “Like tennis and jigsaw puzzles?”
“Yes,” she said pertly. “And read books to one another. Austen preferably, but I’ll allow some Dickens so long as we have a safe word.”
“Nicholas Nickleby?” The corners of his mouth deepened. “Tease. Will you sleep in my bed and continue to ruin me for every other woman alive?”