He had no idea how much satisfaction it gave her to say that to him.
A sardonic smile broke out on his lips. “If anything, I was trying to protect your female sensibilities. You would have to cling to me like you were my second skin,” he said in a husky tone, leaving her in no doubt what he was thinking.
“However if that’s your heart’s desire, far be it from me to deny Prince Enzo’s lovely fiancée her final request.”
Again she looked away, thrilled to realize she’d accomplished her first objective. But she wasn’t going to fool herself that obtaining her second goal would be as easy to achieve.
“The bathroom is down that hallway on the right. Feel free to freshen up while I find his helmet for you to wear.”
She made a show of frowning. “But in the movie, the woman didn’t wea—”
“Forget the film.” He broke in without hesitation. “If, God forbid, something unforeseen should happen while we’re out riding, I would never forgive myself if you suffered an injury. Prince or no prince.”
He stood there with his hands on his hips, his appeal so virile and potent, her body trembled when she thought of being plastered against him.
“If you’ve changed your mind, signorina…”
Now he was baiting her, expecting her to back down.
“No. I’ll be ready in a moment.”
“That’s good. We have very little daylight left.”
She headed for the hallway on unsteady legs. That was the effect he had on her.
Valentino followed. She knew he was standing guard outside the bathroom door because she could hear him snoring. He sounded just like her own dog, reminding her how much she missed Chloe.
When she was ready and reached the foyer, Nicco was waiting for her with a helmet under his arm, another black one in his hand.
He rapped out something in Italian to the boxer who immediately took a sitting position. Then he opened the door.
“After you,” he said to Callie, indicating she should exit first. She retraced their steps to the outside of the apartment building. By the time she approached his cycle, he’d already put on his helmet.
Up close she could read the name of the model. It was called a Danelli NT-1 super bike.
“How much does something like this cost?”
“In lira or dollars?” he drawled.
“Dollars.”
“Upward of $150,000 or more.”
Even more than she’d thought. “For a down-and-out prince, he must pay you a hefty salary to afford this.”
Ignoring her comment, he lowered the other helmet over her head and fastened the chin strap. His piercing black eyes trapped hers briefly before he moved to drop the rear foot pegs.
While she stood there in a daze, he threw his leg over the seat and straddled his bike. Once he’d started the powerful engine, he turned toward her.
“When you get on, place your feet on the pegs and wrap your arms around my waist, interlocking your fingers. That’s all you have to do.” He lowered his shield and waited.
From the second she’d laid eyes on Nicco, she’d known he was a dangerous man. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine she’d get anywhere near a motorcycle like his, let alone ride on one. She bet it could reach over a hundred miles per hour in less than ten seconds. To feel that kind of lightning acceleration was going to be thrilling.
Heavens—if it weren’t for the ghastly trouble Ann had gotten herself into, Callie would be having the time of her life.
Her heart pounded outrageously as she watched him pull in the clutch and put the bike in gear. He was impatient to go, letting her know it was now or never.
With an eagerness she couldn’t suppress, she jumped on behind him and adjusted her shoulder bag.
“I’m ready,” she said, placing her sneaker-clad feet on the pegs. With a tug on her face shield, she lay against him and slid her arms around his hard-muscled body. No sooner had she intertwined her fingers than the bike sprang to life as if it had a will of its own.
He maneuvered them down the alley to the street. Then there was an initial leap and everything became a blur. They literally flew along the parkway to join the freeway.
CHAPTER THREE
THIS was ecstasy.
Nicco had incredible control as he wove so smoothly between cars. The daring way he took corners with breathtaking accuracy, every practiced move as she leaned with him, conveyed the expertise of a racing pro.
When he wasn’t working for the prince, did he race? Was that how he could afford the bike? Or was this a special model paid for by sponsors?
A rush of adrenaline surged through her veins at the possibility she could be riding with one of the very best in the world. Yet she sensed he was still being careful to make certain nothing happened to her.
Callie wondered where he was taking them. The freeway seemed to be leading away from Torino’s core to the outskirts. They whizzed past centuries-old residences and fairy-tale palaces of Baroque design.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Torino with its four rivers and miles of gardens had been left behind. They’d reached an alpine valley that looked like a patchwork quilt of vineyards. A marvelous fruity essence seemed to envelop them.
Though the air had grown cooler, Nicco’s warmth had invaded her body from her shoulders down. They were melded like two hot metals in a refiner’s fire. The feeling of oneness was indescribable.
Never wanting their magical ride to end, she moaned in disappointment when he pulled off the road to follow a path through the vegetation. It was evident he knew about this spot. She assumed he wanted to rest for a minute before returning to the city.
Soon they arrived at a charming three-story farmhouse with a portico. Closed green shutters stood out against the pale orange exterior.
He geared down and came to a stop in the empty courtyard. The place appeared deserted to her. Remembering her plan, now would be the best time to make her getaway. Otherwise she might never have another opportunity.
Callie quickly got down from the bike and lifted the shield of her helmet. While she waited for him to climb off, she looked all around. Tall cypress trees were silhouetted against the sky, heralding the approach of night. She would need the motorcycle’s headlights to help her find the way out of the mountains.
The second he swung his leg over she said, “That was an exhilarating ride. Before we go back to town, can I sit on it by myself for a minute?”
Nicco was still wearing his helmet which made it impossible to read his expression. He raised his shield.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you think you could help me up?”
He made a little sound which could have been exasperation. She wasn’t sure, but he did as she asked. With effortless masculine economy he lifted her on to the seat which she straddled.
“This is more exciting than opening my favorite present on Christmas morning! How do you make the dials light up like an airplane cockpit?”
With a swift movement he reached in front of her to turn on the key which was still in the ignition. The motion caused his arm to brush against her chest. Such intimate contact, even if it was accidental, sent her pulse zinging off the charts.
“I-it’s a beautiful work of art isn’t it?” her voice almost squeaked because she was shaking so hard in reaction.
“Are we still talking about the bike?” he asked in a sensuous tone.
The darkness hid the red staining her cheeks.
To her surprise his hands went to his chin strap. He was about to remove his helmet. She couldn’t understand why, not when she assumed they’d be going right back to the city. Still, it was the exact kind of distraction Callie could take advantage of to carry out her next move.
She waited till he started to lift it over his head. Wasting no more time, she kicked the stand back, then pushed the start button. As she pulled in the clutch at the same time, the bike took off like a missile shot from a silo.
Callie he
ard an immediate explosion of Italian invective behind her, but it quickly faded because of the engine’s whine. Praying to gain as much time as possible, she opened up on the dirt road.
Good heavens—there was so much power between her legs, she almost lost control as it ate up the kilometers leading down the main road to Torino.
If she could reach the American Embassy, she would ask for help getting home. At that point Nicco could claim his motorcycle while Callie’s sister arranged for an attorney to deal with Prince Enzo.
Five miles later she whipped through the tiny town of Monferrato. About a mile beyond it, the bike seemed to lose steam. She downshifted and gave it more throttle. Nothing happened.
To her horror, the fuel gauge registered empty!
No-o-o-o-o-o.
She had no choice but to coast to the side of the road and pull to a stop.
Much as she wanted to thumb a ride from a passing car, she didn’t dare leave a $150,000 bike sitting out in the open. It was too heavy to push anywhere, so the only thing she could do was wait until a motorist came along and she could pay for them to buy her a can of gas back in Monferrato.
Someone must have been watching out for her because she saw an old blue truck coming along the road in her direction. The driver slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder. Leaving the headlights on, he got out of the cab.
As she watched, she saw a tall, well-honed male walk toward her carrying a gas can in one hand, a helmet in the other. When she realized who it was, her legs began to tremble and wouldn’t stop.
Looking at him or touching him, she couldn’t deny Nicco was an exceptionally beautiful man.
In the animal kingdom there were gradations of beauty. Valentino took top honors for a boxer dog. If there were such a contest for the human male, Nicco would be hailed as grand champion. To find herself this attracted to him made it particularly hard to remember he was her enemy.
Finding her had been child’s play to Nicco who’d known his bike was almost out of gas.
The reason he’d picked that particular farmhouse to visit was no longer a mystery. Evidently it belonged to a friend who was happy to do any favor for him, even providing him with gas or lending him a truck.
“I underestimated you, signorina,” came his deep, chilling voice before he put on his helmet. “Believe me, it won’t happen again.”
The contempt in those black eyes sweeping over her was surprisingly hurtful.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying,” she mocked his earlier words through the open shield of her helmet. But when she tried to shrug her shoulders the way she’d seen him do, her effort failed miserably in the translation.
Ignoring her, he moved to his bike and unlocked the lid to the gas tank. At this point she was shivering from the cold as well as nerves while she waited for him to fill it.
Once that was accomplished, he tossed the can into the roadside vegetation. Then he did something unexpected and removed his jacket.
“Put this on.” He held it out to her.
She shook her head. “That’s all right. I don’t need it.”
“Prince Enzo will never forgive me if you should come down with a bad cold on your wedding day. So you will wear it, even if I have to bundle you into it myself.”
There was no mistaking his intent if she refused him, so she slipped it on and zipped up the front over her purse which hung from her neck. But she would never give him the satisfaction of knowing how good it felt to be enveloped in the heavy, Kevlar-reinforced leather where his body warmth was still trapped.
“Get on the bike, signorina.” There was steel in his demand.
She climbed behind him and once again wrapped her arms around his rock-solid frame. The heat from his skin crept through the thickness of his turtleneck to her hands and fingers interlocked against the muscles of his taut stomach.
With a nudge of his boot, the kickstand went back.
“What about the truck?” she cried.
“It’s a little late for you to be showing concern for someone else’s property.”
His withering comment only added to the guilt she was feeling for having done anything as outrageous as stealing his fabulous bike almost out from under him in order to escape.
He maneuvered it around so they were facing the other way. Like déjà vu it surged forward, carrying them toward Monferrato with dizzying speed. This time she noticed he gave no thought to the passenger clinging to him.
Now that he had proof she could ride, he let his bike fly as much from the sheer enjoyment of the rush it gave him, as from the anger fueling his emotions. Having pulled this unforgivable stunt, she knew he wouldn’t give her the slightest chance to get away from him again.
Since he’d denied her the use of a telephone to call for outside help, she would have to come up with something more ingenious. They were at war and it was a prisoner’s duty to try to escape.
Callie couldn’t possibly marry Prince Enzo.
She wouldn’t!
In a few minutes she heard him say, “After you, signorina.”
Nicco opened the door of the farmhouse they’d driven to earlier. The upper stories might be closed off, but someone lived on the ground level.
They entered a large kitchen area with original cotto tiles on the floors. Something that smelled delicious was cooking in the oven. She was so hungry her mouth started to water.
He removed his helmet, then proceeded to undo the chin strap on hers and pull it off. Callie turned to the side so he wouldn’t get it into his head to undo the jacket and take it from her. She was still too aware of his nearness and the way he made her feel when he touched her.
After she’d pulled down the zip and slipped out of it, he took it from her and laid everything on a side table against the wall.
“There’s a guest bath at the end of the room. Make yourself at home, then we’ll eat.”
“Whose farmhouse is this?”
“A friend’s. There’s a couple further up the hill who take care of it. You and I will sleep here until tomorrow morning when I drive you to the church to be married.”
It was no use getting into a verbal fight with him. He wouldn’t listen to her. For the moment, the only thing to do was pretend to go along with his wishes until she could work on another plan to escape.
“Come join me,” he said when she came out of the bathroom a few minutes later. She took a seat opposite him at the table placed in front of the hearth where a fire was burning. The warmth felt good against the slight chill of the night air.
She ate the veal and pasta with relish, but turned down the wine he would have poured in her glass. Callie didn’t drink alcohol. It was just as well since she needed to keep her wits until she could get away from him.
So far she’d seen no bars at the windows. Long after Nicco had gone to bed, she would climb out one of them and run through the woods until she came to a road where she could hitch a ride to Torino.
He drained the rest of his wineglass, then sat back in the wooden chair, crossing his long, powerful legs at the ankles in an almost insolent male gesture.
“You don’t need to be nervous about the ceremony in the morning. A priest speaking Italian will perform it in the private chapel of the Tescotti palace with only the prince’s family as witness. At the proper moment you’ll be alerted to say, ‘I do,’ in English, and that will be it.”
Callie pushed herself away from the table and stood up. “You might drag me in there, but you won’t get a word out of me.”
His dark eyes flashed her a look of mocking indifference. “That will present no problem. If you are foolish enough to remain mute, the prince will simply answer for you.”
Trembling with rage she cried, “I won’t wear a wedding dress, either!”
“As you wish, signorina. Like you, the prince isn’t interested in what you’re wearing, or not…”
Heat wafted through her from head to toe. “Do you honestly believe God would sanction such a travesty?”
“Since I can’t speak for Him, I have no idea.” He rose to his feet. “The important thing to remember is that you’ll be married in the eyes of the church and the country and of course legally.”
While she stood there in frozen frustration, he cleared the table and blew out the candle.
“Morning will be here before we know it. Though you’re one woman who doesn’t need her beauty sleep, I’m sure you’re tired after your long flight from Los Angeles. The bedroom is to the right of the bathroom. Though not elaborate, it’s clean. Follow me.”
Now that she’d eaten and felt revived, she was eager to see it and plan her escape route. But all her hopes were dashed when she entered the sparsely furnished room that didn’t look like anyone had slept here in years.
“Which bed do you want? The one by the window or the door?”
“I’m not ready for bed!” she blurted angrily.
“When you are, just remember that the upper floors are closed off. But please don’t worry. None of my lovers has ever accused me of snoring or walking in my sleep.
“However if you’re frightened that those problems make up part of your fatal flaws, I promise I won’t tell the prince. Tomorrow night will be soon enough for him to discover your secret delights for himself.”
Like a child having a temper tantrum, Callie tossed her purse on the other bed and walked to the window. There were two tall panes of glass which could be opened without difficulty.
“You can try…” she heard him whisper.
When she spun around, she noticed he’d already stretched out on top of the bed near the door, boots and all.
This was never going to work! Without giving him a backward glance, she ran from the room to the door of the farmhouse. Naturally he’d locked it.
As for the windows in the kitchen, they weren’t the kind that opened. She was his virtual prisoner.
Feeling as if she’d taken a trip to the outer limits, she sank down on the floor in front of the fireplace. Looping her arms around her raised knees, she stared into the dying flames.
Short of finding a way to incapacitate Nicco, it appeared she might have to wait until she was facing the prince at the altar before she had another opportunity to take everyone by surprise and run away.
Bride Fit for a Prince Page 4