Mail-Order Prince In Her Bed (Silhouette Desire)

by Kathryn Jensen

  Still, it was lovely to recall how delightful it had been when he had stood there beside her. She bought herself a small Caesar salad for lunch at a restaurant that had just opened its sidewalk café on that early spring day. She told herself it was in honor of Antonio and Italy.

  Sarah was stepping from the apartment building’s entrance as Maria locked her car. She grinned when she saw Maria coming.

  “What’s gotten you into such a great mood?” Maria asked.

  “I’m just wondering how I can get a package like yours delivered,” her neighbor said, laughing as she tossed back a flow of red curls over her shoulders.

  Maria frowned, confused. “What package?” She hadn’t ordered anything.

  “The one waiting outside your door.” Sarah moved off, walking backward down the sidewalk, smiling slyly, swinging her purse in great, happy loops. “Looks yummy!”

  Maria took the elevator up, stepped off at the eighth floor, preoccupied with thoughts of the mysterious package…and let out a yip of surprise. “Antonio! What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you. I knew of no other way to find you on the weekend. Your neighbor said she expected you wouldn’t be much longer.”

  Maria’s heart raced in her chest. She fumbled with her purse, dug out her keys, somehow managed the lock. “Well, come in. Did your flight get cancelled?”

  He stepped up close behind her. His body radiated heat, and she caught a keen sensation of reined-in tension. When she turned around, he still hadn’t answered her, and his expression looked strained. She dropped purse and keys on the coffee table.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing is wrong,” his deep baritone assured her, although she didn’t believe it. He was looking around the room distractedly.

  “Then why aren’t you on your plane back to Italy?”

  He swung around and observed her with a deceptively lazy smile. “I had a wonderful idea, Maria.”

  “You did?” she asked suspiciously.

  Had he returned to teach her more? Part of her thrilled at the possibility. Another was instinctively wary. She had never intended to start an affair with him.

  Or had she? Subconsciously, of course. That thought troubled her.

  “Listen,” she began, a little breathlessly, “I like you an awful lot, Antonio. But I never meant to take lovers before I married. I thought you understood that.”

  “I do,” he assured her. “This has nothing to do with a sexual relationship.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  She was at a loss. What did he see in her besides a possible pillow partner?

  “This is business,” he stated solemnly.

  She blinked up at him, waiting. “Business?”

  “Si. I have told you about my family’s oliveti, our groves, and the factory where we produce our olio.”

  “Yes. But I don’t see what they have to do with me. I have no experience with agriculture or manufacturing of any kind. I have the proverbial black thumb. No plant is safe in my apartment.”

  “That’s not why I need you, Maria.”

  Something in his solemn tone and steady gaze made her even more wary. Was it her imagination, or did the words “need you” resound with multiple meanings.

  Antonio took her hands and drew her down with him onto her couch. “Several years ago, I decided to introduce Boniface Olio d’Oliva to the American public. But I haven’t yet found a way to guarantee success. It’s a risky venture.” He took a breath, his eyes bright. “I want you to design a marketing strategy for me. After all, you are in public relations, you are an American. You know what sells in this country and how to approach the public effectively.”

  Maria squinted at him, yanked her hands out from under his. “This seems rather sudden. Why didn’t you mention such a possibility before?”

  “Because it only occurred to me this morning.” His expression seemed open, yet she couldn’t help wondering if he was being totally honest with her.

  “So I would be working for you?”

  “For the company. I am chief operating officer and president. So, yes, in actuality, for me.”

  She felt suddenly hot, irritated and more than a little angry. Was he trying to manipulate her? Trick her? “You expect me to give up my job in this country, with all of my benefits—”

  He interrupted. “I will make sure you are paid well. Here—” He pulled a piece of paper out of his hip pocket and unfolded it on the coffee table in front of her. She picked it up. “I called an associate here in Washington and asked him what the average salary would be for someone in your current position. Then I doubled it to make relocating worth your while.”

  “This much?” she gasped.

  “Then I’ve guessed appropriately.” He nodded, looking satisfied. “I want you to feel you are taking a step up in your career. The benefits you are leaving, I will match. I promise, you won’t lose anything by accepting this offer.”

  She might be young, and still relatively inexperienced, but she wasn’t totally naive to the ways of men in power. “And what would my duties be in addition to developing a marketing plan for your company?”

  To his credit, Antonio didn’t pretend not to understand what she was hinting at.

  “I realize I can’t expect you to become my mistress as part of this business arrangement. In the times of the Medicis, this would have been acceptable. In this new millennium, women can’t be bought in this way.” He looked down at her from beneath lowered lids, and the hunger she saw there was real and raw but, for the present, contained. “As disappointing as that might be to some men, including me.”

  A warm something curled low inside her stomach. She felt herself blush.

  “I will have to let you determine the direction of our personal relationship. No matter what you decide, I will respect your professional advice and use it. I will also enjoy watching you color my life with your enthusiasm and joy.”

  He took her fingertips lightly, kissed them. “If it’s your wish to keep our relationship strictly professional, I’ll understand and respect that decision.” He took the paper from her and laid it on the table so that he could take her other hand too. “I probably won’t like it, but I’ll live with it, cara.”

  She was too shocked to remain angry. “You actually find me that appealing? I mean, with all the women in your own country and other places you must travel…” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m attracted to you, but it’s more than that. I find it easy to be with you, Maria, unlike with other women. I believe we could be very close friends. But I understand that you have other plans for your future, and I won’t force the issue while you’re my employee. If you wish to pursue your original dreams after fulfilling your business obligations to me, I’ll not stop you from leaving.”

  She nodded, her throat feeling hot and tight. For several seconds, she couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t think.

  Why did it matter that they wouldn’t be together in the way she’d always imagined being with a man? Why did marriage mean so very much to her? How many women would toss aside all inhibitions for a lover like Antonio? Her head and heart felt awash with questions, emotions, and no answers at all.

  “Come to Italy,” Antonio whispered. “Come work for me. Promise to stay for at least six months to get my product off to a good start in the States. It will be hard work and long hours. But if you do this for me, you will receive a generous salary, a private suite on the estate, as many of your meals as you’d like prepared for you, even time off to travel.”

  Maria knew there were even more benefits than these. With the experience she would gain working for Boniface Olive Oil, she could reenter the U.S. job market, impressive credentials hot in her little fist. Any advertising or PR firm in the country would welcome her, and at a much higher position than as a fledgling associate.

  He had offered her the stuff of dreams.

  Maria was tempted to accept immediately. But she was also
terrified. A sensually charged atmosphere had gripped them from the moment they met. No matter what Antonio promised, she feared the intimacy that being on his turf would assure.

  “What happens,” she asked slowly, “once we’re working side by side every day? What happens if you make demands on me, or I am tempted to forget my promises to myself?”

  He nodded. “Fair questions.”

  “I don’t want to be put in the classic position—the secretary being chased around a desk.”

  “And are you more worried that I would catch you? Or that I might never give chase?” He was toying with her now.

  “Antonio!”

  “I’m sorry.” He smiled. “I couldn’t help myself. Please believe my word is good. I’ve already proven that once. Do you remember, Maria?”

  Oh, she most certainly did remember. She recalled vividly every single move he’d made, every intimate, delicious sensation that had raced through her body at his experienced touch. And he’d kept his word then, stopping short of entering her, though it had obviously cost him.

  “You have to understand,” she tried to explain. “If I’m with you, romantically, I won’t be available to Mr. Right, should he come along. I must guard my heart.”

  He nodded. “I accept this much. I won’t expect more of you than you can give me—either professionally or in other ways.” His smile seemed genuine, if still playful. “So what is your answer?”

  She closed her eyes, hoping for a quick, sure answer. But nothing seemed clear to her. “I need a little time. I can’t make such a big decision on the spot.”

  He sighed, looking troubled. “I need to return as soon as possible to take care of my affairs at home.” He took a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “Take a few days. A week or two if necessary. Then call me with your answer. I promise, you won’t regret coming, Maria. Be brave.” He kissed the top of her head, gently. “Take risks; life is short.”

  Five

  Take risks. Those were the words he’d left her with.

  But risks weren’t something she was accustomed to taking. Her favorite ice cream flavor was vanilla. Her chosen ride at the county fair was the merry-go-round. She hated roller coasters. When she selected a college, she started out at the local community college, so that she could still live at home, then moved to University of Connecticut because there was a campus still an easy bus ride away.

  Easy, simple, safe choices were for her.

  In a way, her career had been safe too. Although PR and advertising might seem high-profile jobs to some people, this had been the career of her best girlfriend’s father. She had observed him with avid interest all of her growing years, and he had been a mentor to her.

  Leaving the cities and country she’d grown up in, to move to a foreign land did not seem safe…or natural…or anything but terrifying. Yet something drew her along the path toward making that move. And at the end of three weeks she had quit her job, given notice that she was vacating her apartment, said farewell to Sarah and her other neighbors, and put her furniture in storage.

  As Maria changed planes in Rome, from the sleek, silver Alitalia that had carried her eight hours across the Atlantic to the smaller prop job that would make the short flight to Brindisi on the southeastern coast of Italy, she was amazed that she’d severed nearly all ties with her past. It was so unlike her.

  Cautious Maria. Bashful Maria.

  But Antonio’s words, more than anything else, had haunted her. There was more.

  There was the memory of his touch. The irrefutable, compelling need to be close to him again. Despite her knowledge that he could never be the one, the important man in her life, she felt bound to follow him. To what end, she had no idea.

  And so she stepped on the second plane, and sat watching out the window as the Apulian landscape came into view beneath her. The jade green of the Adriatic, tipped with white caps, sped beneath the plane’s fuselage. A pale strip of sand and rock edged the shore, then the land rose sharply sometimes in jagged cliffs, sometimes in wedding-cake tiers of pastel villas, until it flattened out into rocky fields.

  Here and there were villages and towns, many crested by what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient castle. Some structures appeared more sound than others. Cars parked nearby indicating they might even be inhabited.

  They flew lower still. Between towns were rough fields growing what might be wheat or gray-green artichoke plants. The staked vines, she guessed, were varieties of wine grapes. Vast groves, at various stages of budding out and flowering, appeared to be the olive and almond trees she’d read so much about. Lemons, so immense and sunshine bright she could see them from the air, hung in profusion from the branches of still other trees.

  Her heart raced with anticipation. One of those groves might be Antonio’s, and one of those romantic, stucco villas below might be her home for the next six months. Such a daring adventure for herself she never could have imagined.

  In Brindisi, the passengers used a metal staircase to disembark from the plane. Luggage was unloaded by hand from the compartment below the passenger seating and sorted onto carts. She spotted her bags and was about to reach for them when a hand gently moved her aside.

  “I’ll take them for you.”

  She turned, already waving off the porter whose services she didn’t want to have to pay for. Antonio stood smiling down at her.

  “Welcome to Italy,” he said. “These are yours?”

  “Yes,” she said, her heart pulsing in her throat. “I didn’t realize you’d be meeting me.” He had sent her instructions to give the taxi driver on reaching Brindisi.

  “I had spare time. There was no reason I shouldn’t pick you up. Were your flights pleasant?”

  “The first was very long, but I slept some.”

  “Good. You’ll have time to rest at the house before we start work. Then I can give you a tour of the property including the groves.”

  “I’m not tired at all,” she said. Which wasn’t entirely true. But she was running on nervous energy now.

  And, she thought, the sooner she became familiar with the groves, factory and house where she’d be living, the sooner she’d be able to start in earnest the work Antonio was paying her so well to do.

  “Fine. We’ll take your luggage to your suite by way of the garden, then walk the groves. The factory can wait for another day.”

  Maria had understood that Antonio was wealthy and owned a sizable estate that had been in his family for generations. But until she actually arrived in Carovigno, she couldn’t have comprehended how grand his lifestyle was in comparison to any she’d known.

  As they walked the grounds, he described the estate, located a half mile from the center of the village. “My family’s home is called a masseria fortificata, a fortified farm, originally built in the sixteenth century. The high stone walls once protected the noble residence, barns, sheds and laborers’ cottages against highway robbers and pirates, who sometimes worked their way inland a few miles to raid wealthy landholders.”

  The main house was a two-storied villa of cream stucco. Deep green shutters framed generous windows, shielded from the intense Italian sun by modern retractable metal blinds. The roof was flat, as were most in the area. The buildings reminded her of photographs of Middle-Eastern architecture she’d seen in National Geographic magazines.

  “If I remember my history,” she said as they worked their way through the garden, “this part of the peninsula changed hands many times over the centuries.”

  “Another reason for building castles and little fortresses,” he commented with a nod. “The ancient Greeks defeated the indigenous people, and were in turn defeated by the Romans. Saracens raided the shoreline repeatedly. For a time this area was under the protection of the Holy Roman Empire and, eventually, individual nobles.”

  “But even they were always battling each other for territory,” she added.

  He smiled appreciatively. “You know your history. Good. Maybe it will come in ha
ndy as you plan our American launch.”

  “It might at that,” she agreed, glad she’d crammed like a high school student on the long flight.

  She could see how the appealing architecture, art, agriculture and foods of the region reflected a rich mixture of ethnic influences. And Apulia was such a little known or understood area, compared to more popular tourist destinations like Rome and Venice. Perhaps this was grist for her advertising mill?

  Her suite of rooms was on the second floor, and included a balcony overlooking the lush Mediterranean garden they’d just walked through. Roses were in full bloom, although it was only April. Portulaca blossomed in a profusion of summery hues, and azalea, lemon trees and hibiscus perfumed the air. Although the sea wasn’t visible from the estate, the air was scented delicately with its salt.

  “This is a beautiful place,” she murmured, breathing deeply of the fragrant air.

  “I hope you will be comfortable here, for the time you stay with us.” Antonio had moved up close behind her shoulder. “The masseria was originally built by my family, then enlarged, rebuilt and modernized throughout the centuries until it has arrived at its present design.

  “There are still catacombs beneath one wing of the house. Used as hiding places when invaders appeared. And those pillars you see at the far end of the garden date back to Imperial Roman times, before the house was built. Beneath the fountains there is brick work attributed to early Etruscan civilization.”

  This royal family, she thought, has roots! In her own country, only the lucky could trace their family back a few hundred years. Here, time was measured in millennia.

  Maria intentionally stepped to one side before turning, so as not to bump into him. “I’ll have to concentrate very hard to get any work done in these surroundings. They’re exquisite, Antonio.”

  He smiled, looking pleased.

  “Papa! Papa!” a little voice cried.

  Waves of adoration mixed with pain crossed Antonio’s face as he turned toward the door to the hallway. A toddler with curly, black hair and eyes as richly brown as his father’s were blue, barreled through the door and toward the man. Antonio was down on one knee before the little boy reached him.