* * *
Bella stared. Crown Prince Antonio De Santis had accepted her challenge and was standing in her small office. She’d thought he’d decline, all unbending regal politeness. But it seemed he really had chosen this morning to inspect her business—obscenely early, name-dropping the man who refused to acknowledge her and dressed like that.
She’d recognised him the second he’d pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt but he looked nothing like the austere Crown Prince she’d seen on screens and in magazines. That man was tall and broad-shouldered, with not a hair out of place and almost always dressed in an immaculate midnight-blue suit. Perfect for the reserved, always polite but distant Prince.
The man in front of her now hadn’t shaved. His hair was mussed. He must have been out running or something what with the old sweatshirt, track pants and trainers he was wearing. And the edge she’d glimpsed in his eyes? She never would have expected that. Nor would she have expected to feel breathless and hot in his company. Not so hyper-aware.
She never felt that around any guy.
‘You’ll find everything is in there.’ She opened the file and turned it so he could read it, reading it upside down herself. She wanted him to see every single piece of paper and be satisfied and leave as soon as possible. She wasn’t going down without a fight. She’d prove to all her doubters that she could manage this club. She’d prove it to him.
So never mind that she was in her shortie pyjamas, her top slightly too loose and with no bra beneath, because she couldn’t be embarrassed. Never mind that she’d only managed two hours’ sleep because she had so much to do. The club had been open only a week and, while it looked promising, she had a long, long way to go before it could be declared a success and she could sell up and start up the business of her heart.
But he didn’t say anything about the paperwork. She glanced up and caught him staring at her. Again.
She was used to men looking. They all wanted the same thing, right? They all thought they knew everything there was to know about her. But the ice in this man’s eyes was something else. It burned.
He stood silent. Guarded. Judging.
She’d not expected that from San Felipe’s broken, beloved Prince. Wasn’t he supposed to hide a wounded heart? Wasn’t he supposed to be kind and benevolent under the weight of all that duty?
Everyone knew his story. His ‘One True Love’ had tragically died of cancer barely two months after his coronation and the accident that had claimed the lives of both his parents. He’d not been linked to another woman since. The Prince had buried his heart with his girlfriend. And, according to the glossy mags, the nation believed only the love of a pure and perfect woman could heal him and bring him happiness...
That woman clearly wasn’t her given he was looking at her like that.
Forbidding. Disapproving.
Thrown off balance, she felt goaded into provoking a reaction from him. Beneath the fifty feet of ice he hid behind, it had to be there—emotion of some kind.
She should have been intimidated. She should have remained polite. She should have respected the power he held. But she was too tired. And too hurt.
‘Why are you staring at me like I’ve forgotten something?’ She stepped out from her desk. ‘Should I have curtseyed as you walked in?’ She lifted her chin at his utter impassivity. ‘Should I get on my knees before you?’
She regretted the sultry taunt the second she’d uttered it.
Because there was no reaction. He didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t speak a word. Just kept, ever so coolly, regarding her.
Her cheeks burned as shame grew. She’d been everything the world expected her to be—a scandalous, tarty temptress. But she was a big fat faker.
And he wasn’t. He really was as frozen-hearted as they said. And every bit as breathtaking.
‘You’re going to have to do better than that,’ he finally said. ‘Do you think you’re the first woman to try seducing me by stripping and dancing in front of me?’
His words hit like hailstones.
‘I didn’t strip.’
‘Only because you didn’t bother getting dressed properly.’
‘And I didn’t dance for you.’ She ignored his interruption. ‘I was just warming up alone. You’re the one who stopped to watch. You could have kept walking, Tony.’
For a split second she got a reaction—his jaw dropped. Before he snapped it shut and then shot his words like bullets.
‘What did you just call me?’
‘Tony,’ she repeated, refusing to back down. ‘Crown Prince Antonio is too much of a mouthful.’
There was a pause, then his gaze skittered down her body—so deliberately. ‘Too much of a mouthful,’ he echoed slowly.
This time Bella’s jaw dropped. Did he say that while scoping out her breasts? Which, yes, were on the fuller side. Especially for a dancer.
Crossing his arms, he continued to regard her, making her feel uncharacteristically vulnerable. His complete attention wasn’t like any ordinary audience of thousands. His scrutiny was way more intense.
‘I’ve seen it all, every artifice, every attempt to attract me,’ he muttered. ‘It won’t work.’
‘Because we’re all out to entrap you?’ she asked, shocked at his direct approach. ‘You think I’m trying to use my feminine wiles to draw you in? Because you’re the biggest prize?’
‘Aren’t you?’ he answered, cocking his head. ‘Or are you just trying to provoke me? You want to win a reaction from “the Ice Prince”,’ he mocked. ‘Because you’re all about getting the reaction.’
She drew breath at the accuracy of his hit.
‘I’ve had every kind of play,’ he continued with a quietness that belied the edge to his words. ‘The sympathy, simpering agreement and the bitchy comebacks of the treat-me-mean kind...there’s nothing I haven’t seen or heard, so don’t bother.’
Anger rushed along her veins, scalding her skin. ‘You think I want you anywhere near me?’
His lips twisted in a coolly mocking look and he didn’t bother to answer.
‘You’re unbelievably arrogant,’ she said.
‘You think?’
Yes, she did. But swirling beneath the frost-covered atmosphere was elemental attraction at its most basic. He was appallingly attractive—her body yearned to get closer to his. And when he didn’t back away from her challenge?
Primitive instinct could be a powerful thing. But she had more of a brain than that. So her basic instinct could go bury itself back in the cave it had been dwelling in for the last three years.
‘I have no desire to attract you,’ she declared passionately. Totally meaning every word. ‘This isn’t some ploy with which I hope to gain your grace or favour or sexual interest. You do not interest me in the least.’
‘You interest me,’ he said softly, slicing the ground from under her.
Sensual awareness feathered over her skin.
‘Why San Felipe?’ He stepped closer. ‘Why now?’
Her heart stopped beating as she looked up into his blue eyes. For a second he actually looked human—as if he actually cared. And for a second she longed to open up and just be honest.
But as if she could ever tell him. When he’d so arrogantly assumed she wanted to land herself a princely lover? When he chose to listen to the father who’d always refused to recognise her?
He’d be just another man who denied her.
She wanted him to leave but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. She’d thought she could handle anything. But she wasn’t sure she could handle him.
He reached out as if to take her hand. ‘Why now, Bella?’
Abruptly she turned to avoid his touch.
‘Careful—’
His warning came too late. As she whirled to escape her weak ankle went and she stumbled, catching her thigh on the corner of her desk.
* * *
Antonio winced at the grimace of pain on Bella’s face as she grabbed the desk to stop herse
lf falling down. She’d gashed her leg, just above her knee. As he looked close he saw a long, jagged scar running in a wonky line up her shin.
She paled, her lips pressed together to mute any sound of pain.
It had been so long since he’d had any kind of physical comfort. Or offered any. He’d almost forgotten how. ‘Bella?’
‘It’s fine.’ She straightened and drew in a deep breath.
‘I’m sure,’ he replied, but he knew it wasn’t.
‘Wouldn’t want you thinking this was another ploy.’
‘It is my fault you fell,’ he said stiffly, his hands at his side, wanting to help her yet feeling oddly impotent.
‘You feel responsible? Rest easy, I won’t sue you.’ Her lips compressed. ‘It’s no more damaged than it already was.’
‘It still needs dressing.’ Blood was already oozing from the small wound. ‘You have a first-aid kit?’
‘Of course.’ She didn’t move.
He sighed at her reluctance. ‘I need to see it. Or I’ll revoke your operating licence.’
She gritted her teeth and limped behind her desk. His irritation smouldered. She really didn’t want him to help. Was that because he’d really offended her or because he’d struck too close to the mark?
She had been trying to get a rise out of him, but she hadn’t meant the vampish ‘on her knees’ offer—not when she’d jumped to get away from him.
She clutched the small container but he held out his hand. Sending him a death look, she passed it to him. Antonio bit back the smile of satisfaction and opened the lid.
‘Lean on the desk,’ he told her.
‘This isn’t necessary.’
He wasn’t used to repeating instructions. He glanced up and her stormy expression clashed with his. ‘Lean on the desk.’
Slowly, stiffly, she rested her body back.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ultra-politely.
He knelt at her feet, inwardly grimacing at the irony given her provocative remark only moments ago.
He knew an injury had ended her professional career. In the last decade Antonio had attended the ballet only out of duty but he could appreciate the strength and commitment it would have taken Bella to reach the level she had.
Her body was still incredibly athletic. This close he could smell her light, floral scent. It made him think of summer sun, not endless nights in a darkened dance club. In his mind’s eye he saw her on the floor, bumping and grinding up close to her patrons. He gritted his teeth. Not jealous. And not aroused.
He was not aroused by her.
He wasn’t like all the other red-blooded men in the world. He didn’t have time to be. He didn’t have the right. But just at this moment, he was every inch a mere man.
‘Do you dance your way through all your tasks?’ he asked, trying to distract himself from her sweet scent and delicate skin. He dabbed the blood and prepped a plaster as quickly as he could, not touching any part of her beyond necessary.
‘Is that a serious question?’ she mumbled.
‘Yes.’ Satisfied with how the plaster neatly covered the gash, he glanced up to read her expression. She was sitting unnaturally still—apparently holding her breath.
She met his gaze with those deep green eyes that were now almost liquid. ‘You want to know if I dance while brushing my teeth?’
He inwardly smiled at the image. ‘I bet you brush in time to the music playing in your head.’
Her eyes widened and her smile broke free—her full mouth softened and her eyes sparkled. She looked fresh and beautiful and bright.
Heat flared from flicker to flame, urging him to touch those lush curving lips—
He jerked to his feet and stepped away before he did something colossally stupid.
‘Have you been out drinking?’
He turned at the bitterness in her tone and saw her smile had vanished.
‘I don’t drink,’ he said simply.
‘No vices at all?’ she mocked. ‘No sex, right?’
That speculation was correct. It had been years since he’d had a lover. He was only about duty: to serve his country and to protect his people. All of them—dead and alive. That was his penance.
‘And no drinking,’ she added. ‘I guess that just leaves drugs.’
‘None of those either.’
‘Fast cars?’
He shook his head. ‘The Crown Prince cannot be injured or killed in a car accident. That can’t happen in San Felipe again.’ His parents’ tragedy had cut the nation too deeply.
‘So you’re reduced to watching.’ Storms gathered in her eyes.
‘If you wanted privacy you would have kept your curtains closed,’ he answered abruptly. ‘But you didn’t, because you like to be watched. You’ve made a career out of it.’
Anger flashed in her face. Before she could reply a short melody burst through the charged atmosphere. Then again. And again. His damn cell phone.
‘Are you going to answer that or would you like me to?’ Those temptress tones returned—but so shaky this time.
She was trying to goad him again, using her voice, her eyes, her femininity to bring a man to his knees.
Not this man. He wasn’t that weak.
Yet she knew that already. And that was the twist. She expected him to pull away—she wanted to drive him further back because she didn’t want him too close. Because his nearness bothered her.
That realisation shocked him. His body had already betrayed him. She was so damn beautiful, for the first time in years his desire was stirred.
‘It’s my security team.’ He cleared the frog from his throat and ignored the call.
‘I’m amazed they let you wander the streets alone,’ she said dryly.
‘They know exactly where I am.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You told them you were coming here?’
‘GPS.’ His watch was tracked. It even had a silent emergency alarm button. Very spy film but he’d had to agree to it to get his morning walks alone.
‘Your every movement is accounted for? So you’re like a prisoner on electronic monitoring?’
‘The concept is not dissimilar. They’re concerned because I’ve not returned to the palace by my usual time.’ He pulled the phone from his pocket as it began to ring again. If he didn’t reply to this next call, a security team would be on its way in seconds.
‘A change in the usual routine,’ she drawled. ‘Heaven forbid.’
‘Yet here you are, doing the same warm-up dance routine you’ve been doing for years,’ he answered blandly. ‘We are creatures of habit, just doing what we usually do.’
Like falling back on old defences.
But as he read the message from his security chief he tensed. He double-checked the time on the screen—how had twenty minutes passed so quickly? He crossed the room to glance out of the window. In the space of a few minutes, the world had changed.
Outside people were lining the barricaded street, already standing two to three deep. He’d been so engrossed in dealing with Bella he hadn’t heard the crowds gathering.
Swiftly he stepped back. To be seen inside Bella Sanchez’s apartment at this hour of the morning would be unacceptable. But to be seen leaving it even worse. Especially given his unshaven, dishevelled appearance. The world would think he’d had another kind of workout altogether.
His gut burned.
Was this want? It had been so damn long since he’d wanted any woman. Clenching the phone in his fist, he faced her. She’d stilled, listening to the rising clamour outside. Given the way her features had tightened, the realisation the world had woken wasn’t good news for her either.
‘It seems it is your lucky day,’ he muttered, feeling like provoking her the way she had him. ‘I will have to remain here.’
Her eyes widened. ‘For how long?’
Until his team could work out a subtle extraction plan. ‘Until they’ve all gone home.’
‘But that race won’t finish for another six hours!
’
Her obvious discomfort gave him a macabre pleasure. That she didn’t want him near echoed his own unwanted feelings.
But he looked at her, outwardly unmoved. ‘What do you suggest we do to pass the time?’
CHAPTER TWO
BELLA STARED. HE was joking, wasn’t he? But Prince Antonio never joked; he looked as straight up serious and remote as ever. Worse, if anything.
‘Why can’t you leave now?’ She still didn’t understand why he was here at all.
He stepped further from the window, looking at his phone as it buzzed again. ‘The crowds outside are already too big.’
‘They love their Crown Prince. They’ll be happy to see you.’ He could do no wrong in his people’s eyes.
‘I’m not prepared for a meet and greet at this point in time.’ He quickly sent a text.
‘Because you’re not in one of your navy suits? The track pants aren’t all bad...’ In the baggy hoodie he looked younger and more approachable than in any of the stills she’d seen. In fact dressed like this he looked alarmingly attractive. ‘A prince at leisure—’
He glanced up and her words died in her throat. It finally dawned on her why he refused to leave.
‘You don’t want them to see you here,’ she said. ‘With me.’
He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. She could see it all over his icy expression.
He was loath to be seen anywhere near her. Why? Did he think she could taint him in some way?
That hurt where she was most vulnerable. No one—not her old dance company, not her ex-boyfriend, not even her own father—wanted to claim a personal connection to her. Only those wanting instant Internet fame wanted to be caught near her. And as if that were what he wanted. Like her, Crown Prince Antonio De Santis had been born famous, but he was legitimately so—whereas she?
The Mistress That Tamed De Santis Page 2