‘And the alcohol, of course.’
‘Well, there is that, of course,’ she echoed, and he smiled.
They stood looking at one another in the way that two people did at parties when there was a strong sexual chemistry between them.
Lucy was wearing a simple green velvet tunic dress—quite short, so that it came to mid-thigh and made her legs look endlessly long. But her baggy suede boots gave the outfit a quirky appearance. Her hair was loose, flooding down over her shoulders in a heavy Titian fall.
Guido thought that she looked like a very sexy bandit. Her face was pale and freckled—he liked the freckles—and her wide honey-coloured eyes were slightly wary—he liked that, too.
Lucy thought, quite honestly, that he was the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. But then, she had never seen a man who looked quite like this.
He was tall, and his body was both lean and powerful. His hair was as black as the night, and his eyes only a shade lighter, and he had an almost aristocratic bearing. She wondered if he was Italian, or maybe Spanish. He was certainly European.
And he almost certainly has a girlfriend, she told herself. If not one, then a legion of them.
Guido waited, but she said nothing, and he liked that even more. So, did she know? he wondered. And was she pretending not to? ‘You’re not from round here?’ he questioned slowly.
‘No.’
‘You’re on holiday?’ he persisted.
‘Not really. I work for Pervolo Airlines.’
‘As a pilot?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
His eyes glittered. ‘One of us has to.’
Hers glittered back. ‘I’m a flight attendant, actually—but thank you for not making the assumption.’
‘Assumptions are such a bore, don’t you think?’ he questioned carelessly.
It was something about the way he spoke—some unknown quality underlying the velvet accent of his voice—which Lucy had difficulty recognising at first, because she had never heard it before. And then he gave her a silent clue in the proud way he was holding his head—in the dismissive little curve of his sensual mouth as a woman wearing so little that she might have been one of those belly-dancers started ogling him from the other side of the room.
It was privilege, Lucy realised. A sense of self-worth bordering on arrogance which radiated from him in a way which was almost tangible. Haughty, but with a devilish glitter to his eyes, he managed to be both gloriously touchable and yet impossibly remote at the same time.
‘You’re the Prince,’ said Lucy slowly, and she felt the slightest pang of disappointment. Just her luck to find someone who could have whisked her off her feet and then discover he was out of bounds! ‘Aren’t you?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You knew?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘No. I’ve just guessed. Someone said there was going to be a prince here, but I didn’t believe them.’ Her eyes were candid. ‘What a bore for you—that everyone knows about you in advance.’
‘The perfect catch for the ambitious society hostess,’ he observed drily.
‘Yes, quite.’ So, was that arrogant? Or merely honest? Lucy expelled a sigh and gave him a small, regretful smile. She certainly wasn’t going to fill the stereotypical role of hanging around and being star-struck. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you—’
‘But we haven’t, have we?’ he said suddenly. ‘Met, that is. Perhaps we should remedy that?’ His smile was irresistible, and so was his voice, and he took her hand in his without warning. ‘I’m Guido.’
‘Lucy,’ she said breathlessly. His touch was sending her senses haywire. ‘Lucy Maguire—but you’d better let me go—I don’t want to monopolise you.’
‘Liar,’ he taunted softly, his fingers continuing to curl possessively around her narrow wrist. ‘You know we both want to monopolise each other.’
‘How outrageous!’ she murmured, but she didn’t move from the spot.
They talked all night. She was simultaneously lulled and stimulated by his quicksilver mind and sexy accent. He came from the Principality of Mardivino, but he had long ago rejected princely privilege. ‘Perhaps you find that disappointing?’ he mocked.
‘I thought you weren’t into making assumptions,’ she returned crisply. ‘Because that was an extremely arrogant one.’
‘You sound like a prim schoolteacher,’ he observed sultrily. ‘Even if you do not look like one.’
Lucy raised her eyebrows but said nothing—certainly not anything that was going to lead into the tantalising land of sexual fantasy.
‘So, what do princes do?’ she questioned. ‘When they’re not being princes?’
‘Oh, they wheel and deal,’ he murmured, drifting his gaze over her freckle-spattered face. ‘Just like other mortals.’
She didn’t think so. Other mortals did not have the faces of dark fallen angels. ‘A-anything in particular?’ she stammered—because when he was looking at her like that it was difficult to breathe, let alone to speak.
‘Property,’ he said succinctly.
He offered to give her a lift back to her hotel, but Lucy refused—though she let him flag her down a cab. She wasn’t sure she trusted his unique brand of sexy charisma enough to be alone in a car with him—or maybe it was that she didn’t trust herself not to respond to it.
He leaned into the cab and handed her his card.
‘Why don’t you ring me when you’re next in town?’ he suggested softly.
Lucy smiled politely and took the card, but the smile was edged in a frost he appeared not to notice. She got the distinct impression that he felt he was bestowing an enormous favour on her by giving her a contact number. Bloody cheek!
She didn’t bother ringing. His arrogance had disappointed her, yes—but it was more than that. He was a prince, for heaven’s sake—and thus completely out of her reach. Only someone with a streak of masochism would willingly subject themselves to such inevitable rejection.
But Guido, of course, had never before been ignored by a woman.
At first he simply couldn’t believe that she wasn’t going to bother to ring. But after several weeks he had no choice but to do so.
Why, he couldn’t even remember her surname!
But that, of course, did not pose any real problem. Guido had left his life as a working prince behind a long time ago, but very occasionally he used his title. He still had to exist with all the drawbacks of having it, he reasoned—so why not enjoy some of the benefits?
And Pervolo Airlines seemed only too happy to release a few facts about one of their stewardesses to a prince!
He found out when she was next flying and settled back in his seat in First Class, anticipating her reaction with a certain degree of relish, feeling himself grow deliciously hard as he saw a pair of long, long legs slinking down the cabin towards him.
Lucy had noticed him, of course—it would have been difficult not to, even if they hadn’t already been briefed by the Purser that there was a Royal prince on board.
But she had no intention of reacting to the look of appreciation which had softened the ebony eyes. She had no desire to be just another notch on a handsome, privileged man’s bedpost, and she was perceptive enough to know that this man could be a real heartbreaker.
She reached him, her face set in an unflappable, official smile. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Can I get you a drink before take-off?’
He had been expecting…what? That she would blush and stumble over her words? Look regretful or uncomfortable? Suddenly he laughed, and his pulse began to race.
‘No, you can have dinner with me tonight instead,’ he murmured, and some of his arrogance dissolved as he stared up at her. ‘Please.’
Lucy would have defied anyone to resist that look, or the one-word plea she guessed he hadn’t had to make very often in his life. So she went for dinner with him, and then—after not much of a fight—to bed. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, a
nd to hold him off any longer would have been hypocritical and self-defeating.
But, despite the passion of the night which followed, an instinctive feeling of self-protection made her noncommittal towards him the next morning. She was determined not to seem pushy, or to act as if it would be the end of the world if he didn’t ask to see her again, and her very coolness seemed to fascinate him.
She guessed he’d never encountered it before, and to a man with an appetite jaded by exposure it was fresh and exciting fare. Soon it would no longer be fresh, nor exciting, and it would pale, but she was prepared for that—or at least that was what she told herself over and over again.
Apart from a minor blip at the very beginning, they now met up once every couple of months and it was perfect—for what it was. They had dinner, sometimes saw a film, and once or twice he had taken her to the theatre. But she had never met any of his friends, nor he hers. It was a complex game they played, with its own set of unspoken rules. As if she had been given her own separate compartment in his life—the one marked ‘mistress’—and as long as she accepted that, then she was okay. The moment she started wanting more, then it would be over.
So why had he brought her to his apartment today? Why not the usual anonymity of a hotel?
She stared down at his sleeping face just as the dark lashes fluttered open and ebony eyes blazed sleepily up at her.
‘Ciao,’ he murmured, and reached for her breast. ‘Come back here.’
‘In a minute.’ She let him stroke idly at her breast as warmth began to flood over her. If he had broken a rule of a lifetime, then why shouldn’t she? Lucy trickled her fingertip down through the thick whorls of hair at his chest to dip it into his belly, and he groaned with pleasure. ‘How flattering that you have allowed me onto your territory, Guido,’ she commented softly.
‘Why not?’ His eyes were watchful black shards. ‘Though you’ve never shown any particular desire to see where I live.’
‘Ah.’ She raised her eyebrows. And presumably if she had then his apartment would have been off-limits! ‘Interesting.’
How her self-containment enthralled and exasperated him! Why, any other woman would have used his post-coital sleep as an opportunity to poke around the apartment! Yet here she was, naked and beautiful beside him, as though she visited his home every day of the week!
He narrowed his eyes as he felt the heavy throb of desire beating its way through his veins. As a lover, he could not have asked for better. She was responsive and beautiful and she made no demands on him. How unlike most women!
His mouth hardened as he thought about commitment and expectation. And, in particular, about the lavish christening of his nephew, soon to take place on Mardivino, and all that it would entail. He stared at the naked woman beside him and an idea began to form in his mind. Maybe her cool indifference could work to his advantage…
‘Would you like to go away with me for the weekend, cara mia?’ he suggested casually.
Lucy didn’t answer immediately—it was never a good idea to appear too eager; every woman knew that! ‘Did you have anywhere particular in mind?’
‘But of course.’ His eyes glittered as he wondered what her reaction would be. For if she read too much into it then it simply would not work. ‘I thought that perhaps you might care to accompany me to Mardivino.’
There was silence as, for a minute, Lucy thought she was hearing things. ‘To Mardivino?’ she repeated blankly.
‘Do try to contain your excitement,’ he commented drily.
Oh, if only he knew! Lucy’s heart was banging against her ribcage and she felt quite faint. He was taking her home—to meet his family!
A slow smile curved her lips. ‘And to what do I owe this honour?’
Guido concentrated on whispering his fingertips over her tightening nipple. ‘Maybe I’d like to show you the land of my birth,’ he murmured.
Lucy closed her eyes, partly because the way he was touching her meant that she could barely think straight, but partly to hide her eyes. To conceal from him the breathless excitement she was feeling.
Don’t frighten him away with emotion, she told herself, sinking into his arms. Let’s just take it one step at a time.
‘Okay,’ she said lightly, as if it didn’t matter. As if it didn’t matter! ‘Why not?’
He smiled with satisfaction at her response. It was better than he could have anticipated! ‘And maybe I would like a beautiful woman to accompany me to the christening of my nephew.’
There was a long pause as Lucy stared up at him. ‘Say that again.’
‘My brother’s child is being baptised. Would you like to come?’
She blinked her eyes very quickly. A baptism was a private and very sacred thing, and he was asking her…her… ‘Are you…are you sure?’
‘I wouldn’t ask you unless I was.’ He ran a fingertip reflectively down over the bare silk of her shoulder. ‘You will need something to wear, of course. We shall go shopping later, yes?’
It was as if someone had given her a gorgeous present and then snatched it away again, and Lucy froze. ‘You’re saying that you don’t think I have anything suitable?’
There was not a flicker of reaction on his face. ‘Cara, you always look meravigliosa.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘There is no problem.’ He chose his words carefully. ‘But it will be—of necessity—a very lavish affair,’ he said slowly. ‘And I would like to buy you an outfit.’
‘You think I’m going to turn up in jeans and a sweatshirt?’ she demanded.
‘Of course I don’t!’
‘Well, then—I can buy my own outfits,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Yes, I know you can.’ He moved his head away to look down at her, his black eyes like jet as he chose his words in a way calculated not to offend her sweet but misplaced pride. ‘Let me put it another way,’ he said softly. ‘You are my lover, Lucy, and tradition dictates that as my lover I am allowed to spoil you. I want to spoil you,’ he added huskily.
And this, too, was all part of the game, she realised. If she accompanied him then it was imperative that she look the part. It didn’t matter if she dressed with style and panache—her budget was far too limited to allow her to be able to compete with other women at a Royal gathering.
And she wanted to go. Badly. If she allowed stubborn pride to rear its head then he might refuse to take her. And if she held out to wear one of her own outfits—then wasn’t there a chance she might let him down?
Besides—if she was being one hundred per cent honest—then wasn’t there a wistful Cinderella side to every woman—that wanted someone to wave a magic wand and transform them from an ordinary woman into a princess? Well, that was just what Guido was offering to do, and as long as she didn’t expect the Cinderella ending then why not just go with the flow and enjoy it? What else was she going to do? Tell him no and have the relationship peter out?
The thought of that hurt far more than she wanted or had expected, and she shrugged her shoulders, as if the unwelcome stab of reality wasn’t poking brittle fingers at her heart. ‘Very well, Guido,’ she said slowly. ‘I accept.’
‘You test me, I think, cara,’ he observed evenly.
‘Oh?’
‘A man does not offer a gift to have it treated as though it is some kind of punishment to be endured.’
‘A gift should be offered without ties or expectations,’ she returned sweetly. ‘Didn’t you know that?’
‘Do you always have a smart answer for everything, Lucy?’
‘I certainly hope so.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘If it is submissive gratitude you desire, Guido, then there must be any number of women who would be only too glad to provide it.’
And she was right, maledizione! He enjoyed much more than just her lovemaking because she challenged and intrigued him—he could not now dispense with those qualities when it suited him.
He put his hand between her thighs and heard her gasp. ‘I am going
to make love to you again,’ he said, on a note of husky intent. ‘And then I am going to take you out and dress you from head to foot.’
Lucy let him whisk her around Manhattan, unable to shake the slightly surreal sensation of feeling as though she was appearing in a film as Guido took her from shop to exclusive shop. Stuff like this didn’t happen in real life, she told herself dazedly.
But it seemed that it did.
First came the lingerie—stuff like she had never seen before: drifts and drifts of delicate silk, trimmed with lace so fine that it seemed to have been spun from gossamer. A brisk, efficient Frenchwoman measured her, and it transpired that Lucy had been buying the wrong bra size off the peg for years!
‘We’ll take them both,’ drawled Guido carelessly as she vascillated between a matching set in electric blue trimmed with cerise satin and a more conventional pure white outfit—which was, she thought with a fleeting wistfulness, exactly the kind of thing a bride might covet for her trousseau. ‘And the black.’
‘Guido, no!’ protested Lucy as the saleswoman tactfully withdrew from the room.
‘Guido, yes,’ he argued, with a smile of satisfaction.
‘I won’t be wearing more than two sets of underwear in a weekend!’
‘But after the weekend you will, and I want to see you in it all. And out of it,’ he said, his voice dipping into a note of erotic promise.
Of course she couldn’t possibly argue after that—because his words implied that their affair was going to run and run when they got back from Mardivino.
She silenced the cruel little voice in her head which asked her just how long she was prepared to dedicate her life to a relationship which was doomed to go nowhere.
In a succession of luxurious shops he bought her an outfit for the christening, plus the most gorgeous hat she had ever seen, two evening gowns, daywear, negligees, and a cashmere wrap.
‘Sometimes the evening breeze which comes down from the mountains can chill the skin,’ he murmured. ‘Especially skin as fine and as fair as yours, Lucy.’
He ran his fingers lightly over her bare arm and Lucy began to tremble. Tersely he asked for the garments to be wrapped and delivered and then took her back to his apartment and made love to her all over again. He was wild for it, and so was she, and the sound of her ecstatic cries rang round his vast bedroom as she lay shuddering in his arms afterwards.
The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 2) Page 3
