by Jennie Lucas
“Twenty-four hours.”
A whole day and night? Was he kidding? She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Starting now.” He stood up, holding his hand out to help her up. “Those are my terms. Do you agree?”
She stared at his outstretched hand. Endure this assault of sensual pleasure for twenty-four hours without giving in? Impossible!
And yet, the prize glittered before her: She’d be able to survive the next three months without surrendering either body or soul. Being married to Maximo was hard enough. She could see why so many women fell for him. But she couldn’t allow herself to do the same. Otherwise, when he abandoned her when her grandfather died, she would be devastated. Crushed. She’d be no good to Chloe. No good to anyone. And she would have only herself to blame for not being strong enough to resist the playboy prince.
Twenty-four hours. Could she do it?
She had no choice, she realized. What was the alternative? Twenty-four hours—or simply wait for him to seduce her at will during the next few months, anytime, anywhere?
This was her only chance at survival. Holding her breath, she put her hand in his.
“I accept.”
He pulled her up from the sofa. Her body pressed against his, her naked breasts against his hard, dark-haired chest.
“Bene,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. He lowered his mouth to hers.
His kiss made her ache from within. She felt his hands everywhere: cupping her breasts, clasping her backside, stroking the inside of her thighs over her jeans. Gently he laid her back against the sofa, pressing his heavy body against her own. She could feel his hardness against her, and it was sweet agony as he slowly ravaged her resolve with exquisite, practiced touches that showed her why no woman on earth could resist him.
I can handle this, she told herself desperately. I can.
But her whole body was exploding with bliss and longing. She felt as soft and yielding as honey. With his every kiss, she lost her mind; with his every touch, she found it harder and harder to remember why she’d forbidden herself to surrender.
Gasping out a hoarse breath, she looked desperately at the old clock over the fireplace. Would the torture soon be over? How long had she endured?
Twenty minutes?
She swore aloud as he kissed her, covering her profanity with his sweet, sweet mouth. She fell back against the sofa, pulled beneath his body, drowning in pleasure…
Then, from the small bedroom, Chloe gave a startled little cry. She sometimes woke at night, and nearly always fell back asleep on her own. But Lucy seized on it as a daughter’s gift—Chloe unknowingly protecting her mother from her weakness. Thank you, she thought gratefully, and pushed away from the couch.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I agreed to your bargain,” she said, buttoning up her shirt. “But you don’t expect me to just let my baby cry?”
“Lucy—”
“She’s just scared to be sleeping alone in a new place. She’s lonely,” she said hastily. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Evading his arms, she ran for the little bedroom, closing the door behind her—and locking it.
She took a deep breath, leaning back against the door. She glanced at the crib. Chloe was already asleep again, but Maximo didn’t need to know that.
With a little luck, she thought, hunting through the dark for her suitcase, they would both sleep until late in the morning. Then, she would only have twelve hours to resist Maximo’s powerful onslaught—and her own aching need.
Rummaging through the suitcase, Lucy found her pajama top, but couldn’t find the pants. Putting on the silk shirt, she climbed into the wire-framed twin bed beside the crib.
Twelve hours?
It would take a miracle for her to win this wretched, horrible, agonizingly sweet war.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BANG—crash—bang!
Lucy’s eyelids fluttered. For a moment, stretching her body against the soft mattress, she was still in her dream. It had been so wonderful. A happy family living in a rose-covered cottage by the sea. A houseful of children, laughing and playing. And after they were asleep, a dark, handsome prince had taken her to bed at night, making her moan and scream with pleasure such as she’d never known…
Their bargain.
Her eyes flew open. She was in the snug little bedroom, lying on the slender mattress with an old metal frame, beneath a handmade quilt. On the nearby nightstand, she saw a basin full of freshly cut roses.
She sat up. Warm sunlight scattered across the old handwoven rug on the hardwood floor. It was late morning.
“We did it,” she whispered aloud. “We slept late. Chloe—”
But the crib was empty!
Crash—bang—crash!
Where was her baby? Lucy leaped out of bed. Wearing nothing more than a silk pajama top that barely reached the tops of her thighs, she pushed open the door and ran out into the hall.
What she saw in the kitchen made her stop in her tracks.
Two pairs of eyes looked up at her. Chloe was sitting on the rug in front of the stove, her chubby fists holding two big wooden spoons, which she was using to beat heartily upon an upside-down copper pot placed in front of her. Blue smudges covered her baby’s chin and mouth as Chloe looked up at her with a joyful smile.
And behind the baby, his face dusted with flour and looking adorably out of place, was Maximo. Making breakfast.
“Buon giorno, cara.” Setting down a plate of fresh blueberry scones, he pulled her close and kissed first one cheek, then the other. “Would you like some coffee?”
Bemused, she nodded.
“Sit down. Cream? Sugar?”
“Yes,” she blurted, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table.
She didn’t understand. She’d cheated him of the first twelve hours of their bargain. So where was the payback? Why wasn’t he tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying her to his bedroom right now?
“Did you sleep well?” He brought her a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. Without even trying to touch her, he turned his back and started packing a picnic basket.
“I…um…yes,” she mumbled. She took a bracing sip of coffee.
“Bene.” He put some wrapped sandwiches and silverware into the basket. “The weather looks to be very fine today. I thought we’d go for a picnic brunch after you have your coffee. It should be unseasonably hot.” He looked her over from her silk pajama top to her bare legs. “Hotter than I’ve known for a long, long time.”
Her body turned to steam under his gaze, even as things suddenly made sense again.
He meant to seduce her on the picnic.
She hastily plotted her defense. She would wear the closest thing to a snowsuit she could find. She would keep her daughter close at all times. If Chloe sneezed, Lucy would claim she had an impending cold; if Chloe whined, Lucy would say she needed a nap. Both good reasons to bring her inside.
Her baby would protect her.
As if on cue, Chloe crawled toward her, then held up her arms. Lucy picked her up and hugged her close. Her baby’s chubby cheeks were smeared with blueberries. For a playboy who had no experience with children, Maximo seemed to know just how to delight her baby.
It was a pity Maximo wasn’t Chloe’s father…
The thought stopped her cold. It was bad enough that Lucy wanted Maximo in her bed. But to also wish he could be her child’s father—a man who’d sworn he would never settle down? How stupid could her blind heart be?
Stop it, she told her errant heart. Stop it right now.
“Did you say something, cara?”
Dear heaven, had she mumbled the words aloud?
“I was just wondering how long Chloe has been awake?”
“Two hours.”
“Two hours?” she gasped. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He shrugged, lifting his hands in an expressive gesture. “I heard her talking in her crib, and I was awake anyway, checking sale
s figures from our Tokyo office. I thought you might appreciate a lie-in.”
It was the first time she’d had the luxury of sleeping in since Chloe had been born. Lucy felt wonderful. Well-rested. But she didn’t understand. He’d given up two of the precious twelve hours left—to let her sleep?
“Thank you. But your gallantry will not help you win.” The extra sleep had only made her stronger for battle. “You’ve just made your first mistake.”
“We’ll see.” He allowed himself a private smile. “If you are done with your coffee, shall we get ready to go?”
Chloe gurgled nonsense syllables at him, waving her wooden spoon happily.
“What’s that you say?” He warmly smiled down at the baby. “You want us to hurry?”
Lucy laughed up at them, then stopped.
Realization ripped through her like the beam of sunlight through the mullioned windows.
This. This was the family life she’d always dreamed of. This moment, right here. A laughing child, a warm kitchen, a handsome husband.
This was happiness…
It’s an illusion! she told herself desperately.
But her feelings only intensified as the three of them shared a picnic, sitting on a blanket on a hillside of flowers overlooking the sea. They laughed and ate a simple repast of roast beef sandwiches and fruit, with blueberry scones for dessert.
Afterward, in the sun-drenched field of flowers, beneath the wide blue Sicilian sky, Lucy actually saw her daughter take her first steps.
Three trembling, falling baby steps from Maximo’s arms to hers. And Lucy was here to see her daughter’s milestone. Thanks to Maximo.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at his handsome face with a kind of dazed joy. “Thank you for making it possible for me to be with her.”
He held Chloe’s hands as she stood unsteadily on her feet. Reaching for the petals of a flower, the baby lost her balance and plopped back on the blanket. She spotted the picnic basket, crawled to it and discovered the last scone with a delighted cackle.
“I’m happy to be here with you. Both of you,” Maximo said. Something in the tone of his voice made Lucy turn to look at him. His eyes were an endless deep blue. “If I were the sort of man who wanted to settle down, I might think…”
“Think what?” she said, holding her breath.
“Kiss me.”
Across the blanket, he moved his head toward her and she couldn’t move away. Just a kiss, she told herself. Surely nothing bad could come of a single kiss? She’d worn skinny jeans—tight and very hard to take off—and a Victorian-inspired, high-necked blouse with a dozen tiny buttons. With his big fingers, Maximo would never be able to get the shirt off her.
And if that didn’t work, there was Chloe sitting next to them. She’d need a bath with all the blueberries she had plastered to her hair and clothes…
“Salve, Maximo!” A woman’s voice called from a distance behind them.
They both turned. Lucy saw an older woman waving at them as she descended over the hill. She had a chic white pageboy haircut, unlined skin and a happy smile.
“Salve!” he called back.
“Who’s that?”
“My zia—my aunt Silvana.” He gave Lucy a grin. “She’ll be watching Chloe for the rest of the afternoon. Just in case she gets lonely and needs company.”
A flutter of nerves went through her belly. So he’d seen through her baby ploy, had he?
Of course he had. She bit her lip. “That’s Amelia’s mother? She’s beautiful.”
“Yes.” He stared out toward his aunt. “So beautiful that your grandfather wanted to marry her.”
“My grandfather proposed to her?” Lucy said in shock, wondering if she’d heard wrong. “But he’s so much older than she is!”
“He was a forty-year-old widower with a son when he moved to Aquillina, and she was fifteen. But he fancied himself desperately in love.” He gave a brief, humorless smile. “Of course, my grandfather scorned the offer. Who was Ferrazzi? Nobody. What right did the nouveau riche son of a Roman shopkeeper have to marry a princess d’Aquilla? My grandfather slapped him for even asking. Ferrazzi swore he’d get even for the insult.”
He stopped, clenching his jaw.
“And…did he?” Lucy breathed. “Get even?”
Maximo finally looked at her, his eyes as blue as a haunted sea. “Sì. Long after my grandfather was dead, long after my aunt was married to another man, Ferrazzi got his revenge on my whole family.”
She reached for him. “Maximo—what did he do?”
He just shook his head. “Silvana.” He rose to his feet as his aunt came within earshot. “I’m so glad you could come.” He picked up the baby, cradling her in his strong, muscular arms. “This is Chloe.”
“Faccia bedda!” Silvana exclaimed. “What a sweet little face!”
Smiling, she held out her arms, and after a brief moment of hesitation Chloe went to her. The older woman slung the Ferrazzi diaper bag over her other shoulder, then departed with a wave. It all happened so quickly that by the time Lucy reacted, it was too late. They were gone.
“Wait! Where are they going?”
“To my aunt’s palazzo. She’ll bring Chloe back home after dinner.”
Scowling, she turned on Maximo angrily. “That’s not fair! You distracted me with that story of my grandfather—it was never part of our deal to—”
“Fair?” He gave her a hot glance. “Let me show you fair.”
He swept her up in his arms, setting her down on the blanket in the field of flowers. For an instant, she was dazzled by the image of his silhouette against the bright blue sky, the warm Sicilian sun.
“After your trick last night, I wanted to make sure you had no excuses. Nowhere to run. Where will you flee now? You play dirty, cara,” he growled, “then so do I.”
Slowly he popped the buttons from her shirt. Removing her bra, leaving her naked from the waist up beneath the sun, he lowered his head between her breasts.
She gasped as he suckled one taut nipple, then the other. She strained beneath his weight, trying to twist away from his strong hands.
“No—” she whimpered, wanting him desperately. “Please. You can’t—”
He silenced her with a kiss. Taking off his black T-shirt, he pulled her onto his lap, facing him. Through the jeans, she could feel how much he wanted her. Against her will, she swayed against him with an intake of breath.
He gave her a wolflike smile.
“And now,” he ordered, brushing her hair off her face, “you are going to kiss me.”
Sitting in his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist and her blouse ripped open beneath the hot sun, she felt his skin against hers. Her breasts were crushed against his dark-haired chest. His heart against her heart. Her body snug against his. She heard the cry of birds overhead and felt the sun on her face.
And Lucy knew she was going to lose—everything.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WIND blew the flowers and grass of the field around them, waving the branches of the olive grove as Maximo looked at her beneath the hot Sicilian sun.
And he knew she was his for the taking.
Her eyes were closed, her lashes dark against her creamy skin. Her head was tilted back to expose her trembling neck. Dark hair tumbled down her shoulders, against the white cotton that barely clung to her arms, against her magnificent breasts, high and full with nipples the color of pale April roses…
He shook his head in amazement. How could he have ever thought Lucy was plain? She was more than a beauty. She was a goddess. And she didn’t know. Her innocence of her own power intoxicated him.
She was fated to be his.
Maximo never wanted to let her go.
Find her a new husband? Dio santo. He must have been out of his mind to even suggest it. Introduce her to his friend in Rio? Maledizione. Joaquim would take one look at those long legs, full breasts and gorgeous smile and be only too happy to consider her as his potential b
ride.
And then Maximo would have to kill him.
With a low growl, he stood up from the blanket. He picked her up, her legs still wrapped around his waist. She clung to him in surprise, her eyelids fluttering in bewilderment.
“What—” she whispered. “Where—”
“I’m taking you home,” he said gruffly.
But the way her body felt against him as he carried her, even her slender weight was an unbearable burden. The path along the cliffs, which had been so pleasurable on their walk to the picnic, was now a long journey of unbearable agony. All he wanted to do was satiate his desire for her satin-smooth skin, her tart mouth, the full curve of her backside, the heaven of her breasts. To push her down amid the flowers, rip off her clothes, and push himself into her until they both exploded. To feel her body convulse around him.
But there was something more he wanted. Something he didn’t understand. It made every nerve in his body taut with the drive to possess her.
She belonged to him. It was fate. He would allow no other man to touch her—ever.
He barely made it back to the cottage. He went to the master bedroom, tossed her on the bed. He peeled off her snug jeans and panties. He could bear it no more. This taut desire for her was making him pazzo, demented. Spreading her legs apart, he buried his head between her thighs and tasted her.
She gasped, arching her back as she grabbed his shoulders.
“Please—” she panted. “Please.”
Was she begging him to relent or to continue? He wondered if she herself even knew.
“Don’t come, cara,” he whispered. “Stay still. Resist me. Do not explode with pleasure, and I will let you go.”
But it was a lie. He would never let her go now…
He touched her thighs, lightly caressing the hair between her legs. He stroked her with his finger, relishing her slick, satiny wetness. He wanted nothing more than to pull off his jeans and thrust himself inside her, but he forced himself to wait, to delay his own pleasure. Because this was about far more than his own ecstasy.
He wanted to possess her completely, body and soul.