Thinking about home—why did he persist in calling it home when it had never been anything like one?—always made him antsy. He’d spent far too many years of his childhood yearning for a home and family like that of his schoolmates. Chatsfield House was one of the most beautiful houses in the English countryside but no one could ever call it a home. It had no heart. No warmth. No soul. And as for family...well, with his older siblings and his younger one with issues of their own and a father who sought refuge in a bottle, it was hardly what anyone could describe as a happy family life.
The official poured Lucca a drink and informed him the princess would be with him shortly before bowing politely and leaving.
He checked his phone to see he had missed a call from Orsino. He’d yet to talk to him about Giatrakos and was faintly curious to see how the Greek had attempted to co-op his brother. It was hard enough to get hold of his twin at the best of times, considering he was usually halfway up a mountain, or saving starving children in some godforsaken place, so how on earth Christos had contacted him was anyone’s guess. When Lucca dialled Orsino’s number there was no answer—typical—so he left a brief message without saying much about his situation.
Ten minutes later Lucca had paced the floor so many times he was sure he’d left a foot-deep trench in the soft carpet. Was this another game of Lottie’s? He didn’t like the tables being turned on him. He was the one who played and won. If Lottie thought she could manipulate him to walk out before the time was up she was in for a big surprise. Nothing and no one was going to make him relinquish his goal. No one.
He turned when he heard a light footstep at the door. Lottie was standing there looking very composed but he noticed she was doing that flicking thing with her finger and thumb. She was dressed in black from head to foot, which did nothing for her colouring. Her hair was scraped back in an even more severe style and she wore no cosmetics or any jewellery. There was a spark of defiance in her gaze, however, that alerted him that her choice of garb this time might well have been for his benefit. Even her shoes were something a grandmother with bunions would wear.
‘Who died?’
Her brows met between her eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He waved a hand to indicate her outfit. ‘Have you been to a funeral?’
That stubborn little chin came up. ‘I happen to like wearing black.’
‘You look terrible in it. It makes me want to rush to the nearest blood bank to order a transfusion for you.’
She walked into the room with her head high. ‘If and when I want fashion advice from you I will ask for it.’
‘I liked that tracksuit you were wearing on the beach yesterday. I almost didn’t recognise you.’
Her cheeks were pink when she turned to face him, her eyes behind their glasses—the tortoiseshell ones—brittle with resentment. ‘Did you enjoy your drink?’
‘It was very enjoyable. The view was amazing.’
Her look was brimful of dislike. ‘The beach or that blonde’s cleavage?’
He gave her a glinting smile. ‘What do you think?’
She flattened her mouth as if she didn’t trust herself to respond in a civil fashion. She stalked over to where some drinks were laid out and poured a glass of water but he suspected it had more to do with her needing something to do with her hands than actual thirst. She turned and cradled the glass without taking a sip from it. ‘How did you know I wasn’t going to go up to your penthouse?’
He studied her tense little expression for a beat or two. ‘I knew you weren’t ready.’
‘Not ready?’ she spluttered, eyes flashing at him in indignation. ‘What, you think it’s only a matter of time before I jump into bed with you?’
‘Your body wants to, it’s just your head hasn’t quite got around it.’ He took a measured sip of his whiskey and added, ‘But it will.’
Her hands around her glass tightened. ‘Your overblown confidence astounds me. I have absolutely no intention of becoming another one of your pathetically shallow conquests.’
Lucca wasn’t used to women saying no to him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. But something about Lottie’s spirit of defiance fired his blood like a shot of adrenaline. It was ironic that even dressed as she was like a nun, his desire was rampaging harder and faster than if she was standing before him in a string bikini. Or less.
He wondered why she was so determined to deny herself sensual expression. He had felt such intense passion in her kiss. But for some reason she refused to allow her passion to have free rein. He saw it in the way she held herself, that tight, almost-rigid containment, as if she was afraid of her emotions getting the better of her so had to put them under lock and key.
She didn’t kiss like a nun. She kissed like a wildcat in heat. He wanted to feel that hot little mouth again and not just on his mouth. His body stirred and stretched at the thought of her sucking him dry. Of her hands skimming over his flesh, teasing him, burning him up with feverish longing.
Sexual conquests had become a little too easy for him. He didn’t have to work very hard to get what he wanted. It had even become a little too predictable if he were to be perfectly honest with himself. He had the seduction routine down pat—a smile, a charming word or two, a drink and/or dinner and then sex. It had never failed him in the past. It hadn’t failed him that afternoon on the beach, although he hadn’t taken up the girl’s offer to meet up after her shift.
But while the blonde girl had been beautiful, she hadn’t made his flesh zap and crackle and tingle the way Lottie’s touch did. Even the unbridled dislike in her flinty green gaze turned him on. She loathed him with every ounce of her being but the chemistry that pulsed between them was undeniable.
‘Bet it wouldn’t take me long to change your mind.’ He gave her a lazy smile as he took a sip of his drink.
Her chin came up, those cat’s eyes flashing at him haughtily. ‘You’re forgetting something. I’m a princess. I don’t sleep rough.’
‘I’ll be gentle with you.’
Her cheeks pooled with colour but her mouth was set in schoolmistress reproach. ‘Is there no limit to your impropriety? We are here to discuss the business of my sister’s bachelorette party.’
‘Fine. Talk to me. What did you have in mind?’ He held up a hand. ‘No, let me guess. You’re thinking cucumber sandwiches, Earl Grey tea and scones in the conservatory, right?’
She sucked her cheeks in momentarily, bristling like a pedigree Persian cat in front of an ill-bred dog who was trying to pull off Best in Show. ‘You’re wrong. I was thinking of brunch.’
‘Same difference.’
She frowned in irritation. ‘What’s your brilliant suggestion, then? Something tastefully inappropriate, I suppose?’
His eyes gleamed with something dark and dangerous. ‘Has this draughty old castle got a dungeon?’
CHAPTER FIVE
LOTTIE BLINKED, TRYING to ignore the cold dread that slithered down her spine. ‘Yes, but I hardly see what—’
‘Perfect.’ He grinned at her. ‘What better place to put a bunch of girls who want to kick over the traces?’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ She stared at him in horror. ‘A dungeon? For a hens’ night?’
‘Run with it for a moment. We could set it up as a nightclub for the night. Hire a DJ, get the girls to dress up in costumes and—’
Lottie clapped her hands over her ears. ‘I don’t want to hear this. La de da—’ she raised her voice in a childish singsong chant ‘—I’m not lis-ten-ing!’
‘Where’s your sense of fun?’ he asked. ‘Come on, think about it. How much fun would it be to have them party down there in the dungeon? We could dress the waitstaff in black leather.’
She dropped her hands and clenched them by her sides instead. ‘What is wrong with you? Ne
xt you’ll be suggesting they carry whips and handcuffs and tie all the guests up.’
‘Brilliant!’ His dark eyes twinkled. ‘I knew you’d get into the spirit of it. Your sister and her friends will have a ball. It’ll be a night to remember.’
She gave him a withering look. ‘Drunken debauchery in the dungeon? Yes, that’s really classy.’
‘I can see you in a skin-tight catsuit with over-the-knee black leather boots. And a mask that only shows your incredible eyes and that sexy little mouth of yours.’
Lottie suppressed an involuntary shiver as his smouldering gaze ran over her as if he were already picturing her leather clad. ‘You won’t be seeing me. It’s a girls-only event.’
‘Aw, don’t be a spoilsport.’ He gave her a sexy smile. ‘Can’t I have a private audience with you before the party kicks off?’
The rattle of the dinner trolley arriving was never a more welcome sound to Lottie’s ears even though her appetite was non-existent...or at least her appetite for food. A hunger of an entirely different sort was gnawing at her now. She felt it pulling at her low and deep in her belly. A soft, insistent tugging sensation that made her insides feel hollow. Her skin felt too tight for her body, her senses too aware.
The air contained a silent note of anticipation.
If only he hadn’t kissed her!
Then she wouldn’t be feeling this wretched sense of emptiness and longing. Kissing him had been like tasting the highest quality chocolate for the first time. She would never forget the warmth, the melting smoothness and the seductive, addictive taste of temptation going head-to-head with years of temperance. Temperance didn’t stand a chance. It was like a moth trying to fight off a mammoth.
That wicked glint in Lucca Chatsfield’s eyes had lured dozens of women into his sensual orbit. She would have to fight with every atom of her being to not become yet another one of them. He was so practised at seduction. Even the way he spoke was like a caress—the deep mellifluous voice with its well-bred English accent that now and again betrayed his half-Italian heritage over certain words. The way he slipped endearments in so casually, the way he smiled with that sexy tilt of his mouth, the way his touch was so electric and exciting.
Lottie allowed him to seat her at the table but tried desperately not to show any sign of the impact his presence had on her. She had dined with numerous guests at the palace over the years. She knew how to get through a meal without spilling food or wine or leaving ghastly silences unfilled. But something about sitting opposite Lucca Chatsfield was another story entirely. His knees were almost touching hers underneath the table. She had tucked herself well back in her chair, and had even surreptitiously edged it back a little farther from the table after he had seated her, but even so she was aware of those long, strong, lean legs just inches from her own.
She picked up her wineglass with the tiny measure of wine she only ever allowed herself. ‘What do you do in your spare time, apart from partying?’
‘Not much.’
She searched his features for a moment. His eyes had shifted from hers as he reached for his glass and raised it to his mouth to take a sip. ‘Don’t you ever get bored with doing nothing other than spend your family’s money?’
‘It’s my money too. I can’t help if it I was born into a wealthy family. I just take what I’m given and make the most of it.’
She frowned at him. ‘But don’t you want to do something with your life? Something meaningful?’
He gave her another one of his devil-may-care smiles. ‘Like what?’
‘Study. Train for a career in something. I’m sure you’re not without a brain. You could do something, surely? What about volunteer work? Work for a charity? Set up one like your brother has.’
He gave a negligent shrug. ‘I tried studying but I got kicked out of Cambridge during my second semester. I won’t tell you why. It’d make you blush.’
Lottie blushed anyway as her imagination ran riot. She didn’t like to think what sort of stunt got him expelled from one of England’s finest universities but she had a pretty fair idea it would have had something to do with his prolific sex life. ‘Are you good at anything? I mean, other than seducing women?’
He averted his gaze as he twirled the contents of his glass. ‘I have a few hobbies. Nothing too serious or strenuous. I didn’t inherit the ambition gene in my family.’ He put the glass down and levelled a look at her. ‘What about you? What do you do apart from smashing champagne bottles against boats?’
She pursed her lips. ‘I do lots of things behind the scenes. I don’t like the spotlight so I leave the showy stuff to Madeleine. I organise the palace timetable. Setting up dinners for visiting royals or dignitaries. Garden parties, guided tours of the palace, that sort of thing.’
‘Boring stuff, then.’
Lottie pushed her tongue into the side of her cheek and inhaled a long breath. ‘It might seem hideously boring to someone like you, but I happen to find it immensely satisfying.’
The edge of his mouth tilted upwards, setting off a mocking light in his eyes as if the same muscles were involved. ‘Sounds like a riot. Getting all those unruly ducks in a neat little row. Day after day after day. Year after year after year.’
She shifted in her chair as his satirical scrutiny continued. ‘So I like order. Is that a crime?’
That same side of his mouth lifted in a lip shrug. ‘You can’t control everything in life. You have to leave some wriggle room for spontaneity. No fun waking up each day to the same old tedious routine.’
She gave him an arch look. ‘I am quite sure no two days in your calendar are ever the same. Waking up every morning with a different woman lying beside you would almost certainly guarantee that.’
‘Ah, but that’s where you’ve got me all wrong.’
She tried to ignore the wicked gleam in his eyes but even so the backs of her knees tingled. ‘Oh, really?’
‘I never spend the whole night with someone.’
Lottie couldn’t decide whether to show surprise or disgust. ‘Why not?’
‘Why would I want to? Once the sex part is over it’s time to say goodbye. I need my beauty sleep.’
‘So no post-coital hugs or pillow talks till dawn?’
He gave a deep rumbling laugh. ‘No. Not my scene, I’m afraid.’
‘Interesting choice of words.’
His smile was still in place but it had hardened slightly around the edges. ‘Which words would they be?’
‘You’re afraid.’
The hardness moved up to his eyes like a screen of opaque glass. ‘What would I be afraid of?’
‘Intimacy.’
He pressed his index finger on to the tabletop and made a game-show ‘wrong answer’ sound. ‘Nope. I love sex.’
‘I’m not talking about sex,’ Lottie said. ‘I’m talking about allowing someone to get close to you.’
‘You can’t get much closer than having sex. Or is it so long since you got down and dirty you’ve forgotten the moves? Do you want me to give you a refresher course? I’d be happy to oblige. I’ll even do a house call—or palace call, I should say.’
Lottie gave him a quelling look. ‘Do you really think I would sink so low as to indulge in a fling with you?’
‘Whoa there, sweetheart, I didn’t say anything about a fling.’ He winked at her. ‘Just one night of bed-wrecking sex.’
She arched one of her eyebrows. ‘One full night?’
‘Half.’
‘You drive a hard bargain.’
He glinted at her again. ‘You won’t find anyone harder than me.’
She suppressed a shiver of reaction and hoped he didn’t see it. ‘I was being sarcastic.’
‘Sure you were.’
‘I was!’
He reached across the table and
captured her right hand before she had time to snatch it away. He turned her hand upwards and traced a light-as-fairy-footsteps circle around her palm, all the while holding her gaze with the impaling sexiness of his. ‘You think by hiding your assets underneath that horse blanket you’re wearing you’re going to stop me from wanting you?’
Lottie swallowed. His touch was like fire against her skin, his gaze like a searing laser. Her body was a pathetic traitor. It trembled and ached. It pulsed and throbbed. It wanted.
She pulled her hand out of his with a sharp little jerk. ‘I hate to deflate that overblown ego of yours, Mr Chatsfield, but I am not going to be seduced by you.’
His smile was lazy and supremely confident. ‘You want me so bad I can feel it from here.’
She coughed out a disparaging laugh. ‘You’re mistaking disgust for lust. I loathe you. You’re the total opposite of the sort of man I would consent to sleep with.’
‘Describe him to me.’
Lottie beetled her brows. ‘Describe whom to you?’
‘Your fairytale lover. Your dream date—’ that wicked gleam danced in his eyes ‘—the man you’d drop your granny knickers for.’
Granny knickers? Did he really think...? She might lean towards the conservative side in her clothes but her underwear was another story. What she wore underneath her clothes was her private indulgence and there was nothing whatsoever grandmotherly about it. She chewed at the side of her lip, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘Why should I tell you that?’
He lifted a shoulder in one of his careless shrugs. ‘I could help you find a suitable candidate.’
Lottie recoiled in alarm. ‘You mean like set me up? Matchmake? A blind date or something?’
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