Defying the Prince Sarah Morgan

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘It’s the charity single to be released ahead of this year’s Rock ‘n’ Royal concert.’

  Her stomach flipped as she realised he was involving her in something of enormous importance. ‘So you need something with instant appeal that people are going to want to download straightaway. Unless they’re contemplating suicide, it isn’t going to be that track you just played. Is that all you’ve got?’ She tried to focus on the music and not the shadow darkening his jaw or those long strong fingers resting on his thigh. She should have felt exhausted but instead she felt more alive than she could ever remember feeling.

  He played another track and she instantly shook her head. ‘The phrasing is wrong. The whole thing is too … too … waffly. I think they’ve tried to keep it interesting by avoiding repetition but they’ve managed to produce something that just isn’t memorable. You want something that people are going to be singing in the bath and in their car. What you have is instantly forgettable. Next.’ She could have sat there all night with him, listening to music and exchanging opinions with that warm glow inside her and the almost euphoric feeling of happiness.

  He played another track and a hard, pounding rhythm filled the room.

  Izzy winced. ‘It’s a good track to have sex to, but I’m presuming that isn’t the effect you’re going for.’ She spoke without thinking and their eyes met.

  Shaken by the raw power of the attraction, Izzy pressed herself back against the sofa and wished she’d dressed in something more sophisticated than frog pyjamas.

  Again he switched the track but Izzy was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything except the man sprawled on the other side of the room.

  ‘So?’ He switched off the final track and the sudden silence intensified the electric atmosphere of the room.

  ‘None of those is right.’

  ‘I agree.’ He was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he watched her. ‘I know what I want.’

  So did she.

  She forgot all about the music and the fact that this was her dream. She forgot about the Rock ‘n’ Royal concert. She forgot about everything except the man. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want your song.’

  Her mind in a completely different place, Izzy gaped at him. ‘My song?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You want me to sing my song as this year’s charity single?’

  ‘No. I want to give it to someone else to sing.’

  Aware that she’d been microseconds away from making a gigantic fool of herself, Izzy found her hands were shaking. ‘Wow. I think that’s the equivalent of patting someone on the head and punching them at the same time. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be ecstatic or outraged.’ Or bitterly disappointed that he didn’t want her, he wanted her song.

  ‘You should be singing it. I’m not denying that, but it isn’t just about the song, it’s about the artist. I need a name.’ His words were as blunt as his delivery. ‘This is going to be big. An unknown artist singing an unknown song just won’t cut it. You know that.’

  ‘So you’re basically saying, “We love your song, Izzy, but we think you suck so you can’t sing it.”’

  ‘You do not suck. But nor do you have the profile we need to give this track instant appeal. Since you clearly have a great deal more commercial brain-power than everyone around you appreciates, I’m sure you understand that.’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at him, torn. ‘Yes, I understand that. But it’s my song. I wrote it for me.’ It was about her. It had significance. It was personal.

  Look at me, I’m not what you see.

  ‘Do you want your song heard by half the world, sung by a famous artist or do you want to keep it yourself to sing in the bath?’

  ‘Ow, that’s brutal.’

  ‘You said you appreciate honesty.’

  ‘I thought I did but maybe I was wrong about that.’ Even knowing that he was speaking sense, she hung on to her song as if it were part of her. Surely if there was one thing worse than singing someone else’s crappy song, it would be hearing someone else putting their own interpretation on a song she’d written for herself?

  Or maybe not.

  Her career was pretty much dead. She needed to do something.

  Maybe it didn’t matter that she wasn’t the one singing it as long as the whole world was downloading it. The truth was she was finding it harder and harder to think about the song because all she could think about was him.

  Misinterpreting her silence, he launched into an argument to convince her. ‘Music executives get sent thousands of tracks daily. Tracks they don’t even listen to. For someone with no contacts the chances of breaking into the business are one in a million. It’s all word of mouth—who you know. If an A&R person says “listen to this” then they listen. A songwriter can’t just write songs, they have to know how to market themselves—to get their music heard. This is your chance.’

  ‘People aren’t interested in who writes the songs.’

  ‘They’re going to be interested in this one because it’s going to be everywhere.’

  He was so confident. Not arrogant, she realised. Just self-assured.

  Cautiously, she tested the flavour of his idea. ‘Who do you have in mind to sing it?’

  ‘Callie. She’s moving towards a more contemporary sound and it would be perfect for her.’

  Izzy had to agree. ‘I love her voice. I have all her albums.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I can’t imagine she needs a song from me. She might say no.’

  ‘She won’t. She’s looking for something a bit different and her own creative well has dried up. She’s going to love this.’ His phone was already in his hand and he raised his eyebrows. ‘Is it a yes? Because there’s a lot to do. I need to get a team on to it—not just the recording people but the lawyers … everyone. This is huge, Izzy, but we have to move fast.’

  Izzy’s head was buzzing.

  Her song.

  The song she’d written with nothing but her imagination and her voice.

  Matteo rose to his feet. ‘You’re exhausted. Get some sleep. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’ He walked towards the door and opened it.

  Izzy watched him for a moment and then slid off the couch and walked towards him, summoning as much dignity as a woman could when wearing frog pyjamas. ‘She can sing my song.’

  ‘Good decision.’ His arm brushed against hers and that brief touch was all it took. Liquid longing poured through her, heating her body from head to foot.

  Having spent the past hour watching him she was so revved up her body was on fire. She desperately wanted him to kiss her again but at the same time she didn’t.

  Her last relationship had been an absolute disaster.

  The fallout had affected her for months.

  He stepped back from her quickly and Izzy caught his eye.

  ‘OK, this is crazy. Do you have any idea why we feel like this? Because honestly, if you know please tell me so I can talk myself out of it.’

  Until she’d met him she’d never known that sexual attraction could be this powerful.

  With a soft curse he slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face to his. For a moment he looked down at her and all she could think about were his fingers, warm and strong against her face, and the fact that her heart was sprinting inside her chest.

  She could hardly breathe. ‘I don’t know why I feel like this because honestly you drive me nuts.’

  ‘You drive me nuts too.’ His eyes darkened and she saw her own conflict reflected in his gaze.

  His head lowered slightly, or maybe it was just her imagination because she wanted it so badly. The memory of the way he kissed turned her thoughts to a foggy pulp and sent a dragging ache through the base of her belly. Breathless anticipation became a wicked hunger and her willpower, her self-control and her ‘goals’ all retreated to a place where they were no longer accessible.

  ‘Cristo, you’re right. We can’t do this.’ His voice ho
arse, he took a step backwards, wincing as he crashed into the wall behind. ‘You’d better go. Go now.’

  Her head still spinning, Izzy stared at him dizzily. ‘Yes.’ She tried to walk but her legs wouldn’t move. ‘Just for the record, this is because I’m a tacky popstar and you’re a prince, right?’

  ‘No.’ His jaw was clenched and his eyes were two narrow slits. ‘This is because you’re young and you have a romantic view of relationships.’

  ‘There’s something wrong with believing in romance?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he drawled, ‘providing those views are shared by the man in question. You believe in love and happy ever afters. Your view of the world is based on a fairy tale. I, on the other hand, am a grim realist. I’m jaded and cynical. Any relationship between us would be guaranteed to end in heartbreak.’

  ‘Given that you’re reputed not to have a heart, I presume it’s my heart that’s going to be breaking in this scenario.’

  ‘Yes. And my ideal woman doesn’t have a heart to break.’

  ‘Apart from the fact that one of my goals is to avoid emotional involvement, you’re so not my type there just isn’t any way I’d fall in love with you.’

  A sardonic smile touched his mouth. ‘A risk I’m not prepared to take.’

  ‘You think you’re that irresistible? That really is arrogant.’

  ‘For once I was being unselfish, but if you wish to call it arrogance that doesn’t worry me. You’ve already been hurt once. I’m not about to do it a second time.’

  Humiliation washed over her and her face caught fire. ‘You know about that?’

  ‘I saw the pictures of you crying on the steps of the church.’

  ‘Oh, great.’

  His mouth twitched. ‘The dress was hideous.’

  The comment made her laugh. ‘Yes, it was. Rhinestones. God, what was I thinking? It was worse than red sequins. Maybe that’s why he didn’t turn up.’ Swallowing back the hurt, she gave a weak smile. ‘No, actually he didn’t turn up because my record bombed and I was no longer a useful person to be associated with. He used me. And I suppose I shouldn’t mind about that given my own track record, except that at least I’m honest about it. Who would have thought we would have so much in common? Anyway, that’s enough of my sob story. What’s yours?’

  ‘Why do you assume I have a sob story?’

  ‘A prince who doesn’t believe in happy endings? Something must have gone wrong in your fairy tale.’ The temptation to reach out and touch him was almost overwhelming. She was fascinated by the brief glimpse of bronzed skin at the neck of his shirt. ‘So what happened, Your Highness? You loved her too much? Not enough? She broke your heart? You broke hers?’

  The change in him was instantaneous.

  It was as if he’d slammed the door in her face.

  ‘You need to go to bed.’ His voice was raw and her heart turned over with a yearning for the impossible.

  ‘So you prefer meaningless relationships.’

  ‘That’s what I do, and I do it well.’

  She was absolutely sure he’d do it supremely well and just the thought of it made her knees weak. His fingers were still touching her cheek and she willed him to slide his hand behind her head and bring his mouth down on hers.

  ‘What if I told you I prefer meaningless relationships too?’

  ‘I’d know you were lying.’ There was a long silence and then he breathed deeply and stepped back from her. ‘Buonanotte, Izzy. Go to bed and dream of happy endings because that’s all they are. Dreams. In the morning we’ll see what we can do about that other dream of yours.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  IN THE end she dreamed of princes. Or rather, of one prince in particular. But her dreams didn’t involve marriage. Instead she was singing live at the Rock ‘n’ Royal concert in front of millions of people and the prince was trying to drag her off the stage. Her red sequined dress split under the strain and she was left standing naked in front of half the world.

  Relieved to wake up, Izzy dragged herself to the bathroom to splash her face and clear her head.

  Any relationship between us would be bound to end in heartbreak.

  He was right.

  She’d known him for less than three days and she’d woken up thinking of him rather than her daily goal. That had to be a bad thing.

  As she pulled on a turquoise skirt and strappy top she’d bought specially for the holiday, she tried to focus on the fact that one of the hottest artists in the US was going to sing her song.

  This was her dream, wasn’t it?

  Well, half her dream. It was her song, even if she wasn’t the one singing it.

  She should have been dancing with excitement, instead of which she just kept thinking about how his mouth had felt on hers.

  She was sitting on the edge of the bed when there was a tap on the door and one of the prince’s household staff entered.

  ‘His Royal Highness has asked for you to go straight to the helipad, signorina. The helicopter is waiting.’

  ‘Helicopter?’ Izzy’s stomach flipped. He was sending her home. He’d decided it wasn’t a good idea having her here and he didn’t even have the guts to tell her himself.

  Under the sick disappointment, anger fizzed. He had his song and now he wanted her out of the way. Determined to keep her dignity, she stood. ‘It’s going to take me five minutes to pack my things. I’ll be down in a minute.’

  The man gave her an apologetic look. ‘His Highness was most insistent that you leave immediately, signorina.’

  So he wanted her out of here so fast he wasn’t even going to let her pack.

  Feeling really fed up and angry, she followed the man to the helipad and boarded the helicopter, furious with herself for feeling the hot sting of tears.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ the prince’s deep, sexy voice greeted her from the helicopter, and Izzy was thrown because she hadn’t expected him to be there in person and she’d spent the past few minutes building him up into a monster in her head.

  He handed her a helmet. ‘Put this on.’

  The fury in her died as she met his eyes. She didn’t want to leave. ‘It’ll ruin my hair,’ she muttered, ‘do I have to?’

  ‘While I’m the one at the controls, yes.’

  ‘You’re flying it?’ She jammed the helmet on her head. ‘Why are you flying me yourself? Are you afraid I’ll ask them to land somewhere else? Do a runner on the way home?’

  ‘You’re not going home. And I always fly myself.’

  ‘I’m not going home?’

  ‘Of course not. Why would you think that?’ Reaching out, he adjusted her helmet. ‘Is that comfortable?’

  ‘No, but never mind.’ She didn’t even care. As long as she wasn’t going home, she didn’t care about anything. Feeling lighter inside, Izzy settled herself in the helicopter. ‘At least you’re not giving me a lift in a fast jet. I should be grateful for small mercies. Am I going to be sick?’

  ‘You drank all that champagne and managed not to be sick so I have high hopes for you,’ he drawled. ‘Get in. We’re already late.’

  ‘I don’t even know where we’re going.’ Izzy looked at the instruments. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing because I’m too young to die in a crumpled heap of mangled metal.’

  With an exasperated shake of his head, he fastened her harness and then his hands were on the controls, sure and steady, and she could hear his voice through the sound system in her helmet. ‘We’re going to visit the Roman amphitheatre at St Pietro d’Angelo. I’m meeting a few members of the committee to discuss final arrangements for the concert along with some of the production, light and sound crew. You’ve been nagging me to let you get involved with the concert—I thought you’d find it interesting.’

  Izzy gripped her seat. ‘I’m sure I will. If I live that long.’

  ‘I thought you were gutsy.’

  ‘I’m not good with fairground rides and I have a feeling this is going to be the same.’

 
‘You’re going to love it.’ He shot her a brief look of amusement before concentrating on the controls.

  Her stomach swooped as they rose into the air and she felt a lurch of fear that swiftly turned to wonder as the world shrank beneath them. ‘Oh, it’s fantastic! Like being a bird.’ And her grin widened as he flew them across the island. ‘I really, really thought you were sending me home.’

  His eyes were fixed on the horizon. ‘You’re not going home, Izzy.’

  Not yet.

  Eventually she would, of course, but she wasn’t going to think about that now. She wasn’t going to let anything spoil this moment.

  There was a wicked thrill involved in watching him—something inherently sexy about the way he handled the powerful machine. Maybe he was a touch arrogant and he certainly had a habit of commanding everyone around him, but having met so many useless, dependent men in her life she found his take-charge attitude a refreshing change. Power was an aphrodisiac, she realised, and suddenly she felt ridiculously happy.

  ‘So how far is this amphitheatre?’ Please let it be a long way so that she could stay in the air forever, with this incredible bird’s-eye view. Beneath them lay silver sand beaches and dramatic cliffs, tiny fishing villages with houses in shades of pale rose and terracotta overlooking a translucent turquoise sea. As he flew inland the vista changed and she saw the remains of a ruined temple half hidden on the lush hillside. ‘It’s very green for a Mediterranean island.’

  ‘Olive growing is a major industry here. If you look to your left now you have a perfect view of the amphitheatre.’

  And there beneath her on top of the hill, resplendent in the sunlight, lay a thousand years of history and Izzy caught her breath because nothing had prepared her for something so spectacular.

  Matteo’s hands were steady on the controls as he landed. ‘It was built by the Romans, at around the same time they built the amphitheatre in Verona. The acoustics are perfect. It’s used for an opera festival in the summer and once a year we use it for the Rock ‘n’ Royal concert and the place is transformed. You won’t recognise it. Tomorrow night there’s a light and sound spectacular so the sound and lighting crew are treating it as a run-through for the concert.’