Forbidden nights with the prince
Crown prince Antonio De Santis hasn’t touched a woman since the tragedy that took his fiancée. But an unexpected encounter with notorious temptress Bella Sanchez has this royal breaking his one rule…and he discovers this seductress is not what she seems!
For Bella, life has been an empty performance since the injury that ended her prima ballerina career. But when Antonio demands her presence in his palace, she can’t resist the stolen moments he offers. Their forbidden affair must be kept secret, but soon Bella is faced with a choice—surrender her heart, or tame the De Santis prince!
‘You’re untemptable, right? Your absolute rejection of any physical intimacy is cowardly.’
‘In what way?’ Antonio asked icily, his words sharply enunciated. ‘Doesn’t it denote self-control?’
Something burned in his eyes now, but Bella was too hurt to take heed and too hurt to stop herself lashing out. ‘Maybe you’re afraid that once you start you won’t be able to stop.’
Silence strained for two beats, before he broke it with a soft-spoken, hard-hitting whisper. ‘You want me to prove it?’
He didn’t move a muscle, but somehow he made the room smaller. The subtlest change in his tone, the darkening in his eyes put her senses on alert. He’d gone from angered to something else altogether. Something more dangerous.
Goosebumps rose on her skin, but deep down satisfaction flickered. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’
He walked closer, until he loomed in front of her. She held her ground and watched.
Dared.
These powerful princes request your presence before
The Throne of San Felipe
Destined for the crown, tempted to rebel!
Crown prince Antonio and his wayward brother Prince Eduardo have grown up in the shadow of the San Felipe throne. Now, with their royal destinies fast approaching, the rebel Princes must choose their path.
They’ve always resisted expectation, so the kingdom waits with bated breath to discover if the San Felipe heirs will be dictated to by duty or ruled by desire...
The Secret That Shocked De Santis
The Mistress That Tamed De Santis
Available now from Mills & Boon Modern Romance
NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending—which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings she loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.
If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on facebook.com/authornataliea, follow @authornataliea on Twitter, or visit her website/blog: natalie-anderson.com.
The Mistress That Tamed De Santis
Natalie Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk
For my husband and family, and for the laughter we share.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
The Throne of San Felipe
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
Extract
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
CROWN PRINCE ANTONIO DE SANTIS strolled along the dark street, savouring the stolen moment of freedom as he walked off the burn from the last eighty minutes in the palace gym.
Silence. Solitude. Darkness. Peace.
He checked the hood of his sweatshirt still hid most of his face. He’d soon have to turn back. In less than an hour this road would be crawling with workers frantically finishing preparations and testing the barricades they’d installed over the last day. The crowds would gather early too. San Felipe’s car rally was prestigious, hotly contested and the starting gun for the annual carnival, which meant Antonio’s next couple of weeks were even more packed than usual. State balls, trade meetings, society events, the carnival celebrations required a round-the-clock royal presence as the world’s wealthy and glamorous came to indulge and experience his country’s beauty. And with his younger brother away, Crown Prince Antonio was the only royalty on offer.
He’d do it all anyway; he always did.
He approached an intersection. The road to the left headed into the heart of the city and was the entertainment ‘strip’—lined with restaurants and bars that would soon be packed for race action. He glanced up at the ornate exterior of the former firehouse on the corner—the latest building to have been reclaimed and refurbished into a hot night spot. But after only a week of business, the city’s residents were debating the merits of this particular establishment more than any other.
BURN.
The four bronze letters bolted to the wall screamed both defiance and demand. He read it as a blatant statement of intent—she was here, she didn’t care, and she didn’t intend to hide.
Antonio frowned. Suddenly the window just ahead was flung wide open. The shutter banged on the wall right beside him. If he’d been one pace on, he’d have been knocked out cold on the pavement.
He halted. Even with the relaxed rules in carnival season, the club ought to be closed at this hour. He glanced into the open window, expecting to see a few intoxicated patrons still partying, but no noise streamed out. No endless thud, thud, thud of drum and bass. No high-pitched giggles, loud laughs or low murmurs. It seemed there was no one in the vast room—until something white silently flashed in the deep recesses. He looked closer, tracking the fast-moving creature as the white flashed again. The woman wore a loose white top and...nothing else? The most basic instinct had him locking on her legs—unbelievably long legs that right now were moving unbelievably fast.
Pyjamas. Short pyjamas.
His suddenly slushy brain slowly reached a conclusion. She opened another window down the side of the room and turned again. She wore ballet flats on her feet, not for fashion, but for function, dancing across the floor—spinning so quickly her auburn hair swirled in a curling ribbon behind her. She leapt and landed near the window on the opposite side of the room and opened that one with another dramatic, effervescent gesture before turning yet again. That was when he saw her face properly for the first time.
She was smiling. Not one of the usual sorts of smiles Antonio received—not awed or nervous or curious or come-hitherish... This smile was so full of raw joy it made him feel he should step back into the darkness, but he couldn’t find the will to turn away.
Heat kicked hard in his gut.
Anger. Not lust. Never lust.
He’d have to have spent the last six months living under a rock not to know she’d moved to San Felipe. Given he ruled the island principality, he knew exactly who she was and why she was here. And he didn’t give a damn that she was even more stunning in real life than in any of the pictures saturating the Internet. Bella Sanchez was here to cause trouble. And Antonio didn’t want trouble in San Felipe.
Nor did he want Bella Sanchez.
He didn’t want anyone.
Yet here he was with his feet glued to the pavement, watching her whirl her way round the room with glorious abandon, from one window to the next in flying leaps until she’d opened them all.
She executed another series of dizzying spins across the floor, and suddenly stopped—positioned smack bang in the centre of the window frame he was looking through.
‘Enjoying the view?’ Her smile had vanished and her voice dripped with sarcasm.
When he didn’t move, she glided closer, her feline green eyes like lasers. She wasn’t even breathless as she stared him down like a Fury about to wreak revenge on a miscreant.
Antonio’s reflexes snapped. She thought she could shame him into scuttling away? Another hit of heat made him clench his muscles. He pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt and coolly gazed back up at her, grimly anticipating her recognition of him.
Her eyes widened instantly but she quickly schooled the shock from her face—her expression smoothing until she became inscrutable. Somehow she stood taller. She had the straightest back of anyone he’d ever seen.
‘Your Highness,’ she said crisply. ‘May I help you with something?’
Unfortunately he couldn’t reply; his tongue was cleaved to the roof of his mouth. How could she look this radiant so early in the morning? She had to have had an extremely late night and yet here she was without a scrap of make-up on, looking intolerably beautiful.
Antonio actively avoided being alone with women—especially models, actresses and socialites—but, given his single status and Crown Prince title, they littered his path and made their play nonetheless. Over the past few years he’d met hundreds, if not thousands, of stunning, willing women. He’d refused every single one.
But none had ever looked as gorgeous as Bella Sanchez did right now. And none had looked as haughty.
At his continued silence, she stepped closer. ‘You were spying on me?’
His anger sharpened. He’d avoided meeting her most of all and now she made him sound like a peeping Tom. No matter that in part he felt like one.
‘It is past closing hours,’ he said stiffly.
‘You’re policing me?’ As she stared down at him that haughty barrier locked fully into place, leaching the last of the vitality in her eyes. ‘The club is closed.’
Her English accent was muddied. He figured it was from the years she’d spent abroad and the mix of people in her life.
‘I’m merely ventilating the rooms,’ she explained.
‘Getting rid of suspicious smells?’ He’d heard the rumours and he wasn’t going to ignore them.
A small smile emerged, nothing like the earlier one. ‘This is a non-smoking venue, not some den of iniquity.’
‘There are other vices,’ he replied with calm consideration. ‘Salvatore Accardi warned me this operation was going to bring San Felipe nothing but trouble.’
‘He would know all about trouble.’
She didn’t so much as blink as she snapped back her answer.
He’d wanted to see her reaction to his reference to Accardi—but he’d got almost none.
Salvatore Accardi, former Italian politician, had taken up permanent residence in his San Felipe holiday home. And Salvatore Accardi was reputedly Bella Sanchez’s father.
Twenty-odd years ago she’d been born of scandal, supposedly the love child of the married Salvatore and his sex-symbol mistress. Their affair had been splashed across all the newspapers of the day. But Salvatore had never acknowledged Bella as his baby. He’d refused to undergo paternity testing. He’d stayed with his long-suffering wife, pregnant at the time, and raised their daughter, who’d been born a mere three months before Bella.
Bella had been raised in the public eye, eventually dancing professionally before becoming chatelaine of this party house in the heart of Antonio’s principality. And according to Salvatore Accardi now, her presence would attract nothing but sleaze to San Felipe.
‘Is it so terrible to provide a place for people to have fun?’ Bella asked, shrugging one of her delicate shoulders. She looked slender, but strong.
Antonio frowned at the direction—distraction—of his thoughts.
‘This isn’t about that,’ he said coldly. ‘This is revenge. This is setting up so you’re right in Accardi’s face.’
‘Is that what he told you?’ Her poise cracked briefly as anger flashed. ‘Do you honestly think you can believe everything—or anything—he says?’
At a gut level Antonio had never much liked Salvatore Accardi, but nothing had ever been proven. All those rumours of corporate and political corruption had remained only rumours. And if the man had the personal morals of an alley cat, that was his own business. He’d owned property in San Felipe for too long for Antonio to find reason to require him to leave.
Just as there’d been no reason to refuse a work permit and residency to Bella Sanchez.
And didn’t everyone have the right to be believed innocent until proven guilty?
In her white short pyjamas Bella looked both innocent and unbearably sensual, because that white cotton was thin and she wore nothing beneath it. And when she moved? He could see the outline of her slim waist and generous curves.
‘I’m not sure a venue like this suits San Felipe,’ he said tightly.
‘As if there aren’t other clubs?’ she questioned softly but her gaze was sharp. She almost leaned out of the window frame, making him acutely aware of her unfettered breasts. ‘This isn’t a sex club. There are no pole dancers or strippers.’ She lingered over her quiet words, but then her eyes glinted. ‘Definitely no drugs in dodgy back-room deals.’
Her voice shook with fierceness. He knew her mother, Madeline Sanchez, one of the world’s greatest ‘mistresses’ in a time when such things had been scandalous, had overdosed more than a year ago in a Parisian apartment. Everybody knew all there was to know about Bella Sanchez.
‘This is a legitimate bar and dance floor,’ she added more calmly. ‘And I’m a responsible club owner.’
‘You’re young and inexperienced.’ He paused pointedly. ‘In managing a commercial enterprise, that is.’
Her eyes widened, for a split second she looked furious. But he watched the change as she controlled her emotions once more—the stiffening of that already ramrod-straight spine, her smile so different from the one earlier, the hint of calculation as she glanced at his casual attire.
He braced. She was sizing him up and about to fire her own shot. And oddly, he was looking forward to it.
She swept her arm across her body in a dramatic gesture, drawing his attention to her attributes once more. ‘Why don’t you come in and find out for yourself?’ she invited in a sultry tone. ‘Come inside and see if you can find anything wrong with my club.’
It was a blatant dare—she’d switched into ‘Bella Sanchez, Sex Symbol’ without skipping a beat.
But it wasn’t that challenge that did it for him. Not that coy smile of sophisticated amusement. It was the emotion lurking in the backs of her eyes. The anger she was trying hard to control—that slight tremor in her fingers before she curled them into a fist.
‘Yes.’
He said it because she didn’t expect him to.
She thought he’d politely and coldly refuse, smile distantly and retreat, like the conservative Crown Prince he was. She’d called his bluff.
So he’d called hers. Because at this moment, he damn well felt like doing the last thing anyone—least of all her—expected.
And she hadn’t expected it. Her shock flashed for one satisfying second.
He waited while she unbolted the heavy door, opened it and stepped aside for him to enter. He paused just inside the room, watching as she closed the door and marched around him to lead the way.
‘No suspicious smells, see,’ she said pointedly. ‘Nothing illegal.’
The ground-floor space was sleek and smelled clean, not yet permeated with the lingering, less than fragrant scent of five hundred sweaty clubbers dancing there night after night.<
br />
He glanced up—away from the back view of her never-ending legs—and saw the decadent wallpaper and the wrought-iron railings protecting patrons who wanted to party on the mezzanine floor. The chandeliers gleamed even this early in the morning. He hadn’t been in a nightclub in a decade. He’d been crowned in his early twenties, but had been aware of the restraints on his behaviour for years before that. He’d always been dutiful. He’d had to be.
Only now he felt the stirrings of a desire he’d buried deep all those years ago. When had he last danced?
‘You’ll want to see the liquor licence.’ She stalked over to the main bar. ‘And there it is, exactly where it should be. The emergency exits are well marked,’ she added, all officiousness. ‘It was formerly a fire station, you know.’
He did know. But there’d be no putting out the fire in her eyes.
‘The rest of the paperwork is upstairs,’ she said defiantly, turning to face him.
‘So lead the way,’ he answered bluntly. He was committed now.
For a split second her shock was visible again.
Yes, Crown Prince Antonio would never ordinarily go up into the back room of a notorious nightclub in the sole company of a supposedly scandalous siren...but he felt like doing it just to see that reaction again.
He suppressed a smile as he followed her to one of the winding staircases that were like pillars at each side of the room. But as he climbed behind her his amusement faded.
He hadn’t been so alone with a woman so barely attired in years. And it shouldn’t have been a problem now. Except her legs went on for ever. He tried to tear his attention from them. Failed. Was relieved when they reached the mezzanine and she darted ahead to open another window. She then headed to a small alcove that hid a door marked ‘Private’.
Another flight of stairs.
This time he gave in to the temptation to look. She would never know. But there was the faintest flush on her porcelain cheeks as she waited for him to walk into her office.
The top floor was clearly her private space and very different from the dark and sensual decor of the club downstairs. This room was lighter, with white walls and a cream rug covering the floorboards. A large desk dominated the room. A laptop sat open on it, paper files spread beside it. A filing cabinet was behind the desk, while a couple of chairs sat at angles in front of it. But Antonio remained standing because there was another door—open—through which he could see a small kitchenette. And given she was wearing pyjamas, he figured it was safe to assume there was a bed in there too. Tension hit. This had been a mistake. And Antonio couldn’t afford any mistakes.
The Mistress That Tamed De Santis Page 1
