by Teri Wilson
“Julia, you have my word. The bill will be paid. I really must go.” He looked pained, which was laughable. Why would he care about leaving? She was the one who had to clean up his mess.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, you can’t leave. Not until you’ve made arrangements with my boss to get the charges taken care of.”
She pulled out her cell phone, ignored the texts and missed call notifications that had come in while she’d been escorting Mano around the Forum, and jabbed at the number for the touring company.
“Julia, wait. Please.” A knot formed in the tense set of his jaw. A knot that she would have found devastatingly sexy a half hour ago.
Maybe she still did. Just a little. “It’s ringing.”
“Julia,” he growled. “Hang up the phone immediately.”
His intensity was deadly, but if he thought she was following his orders, he had another think coming. He wasn’t her ruler.
“When in Rome. Buongiorno.”
Julia had never been so happy to hear Paola in her life. “It’s me, Julia.”
“Julia. Oh,” Paola said flatly.
A prickle of unease snaked its way up Julia’s spine. “I need to speak to Guiseppe. It’s an emergency.”
There was a weighty silence on the other end before Paola finally said, “I’m sorry, but he ordered me not to put you through. He said you no longer work here.”
Her stomach sank to her feet. Her eyes burned. She blinked furiously. “Don’t be silly. Of course I work there.” Why was this happening? And why, oh why, did it have to happen in front of him?
“I’m afraid you’ve been fired. Check your texts.”
Fired.
Via text message.
Perfect. Just perfect.
“What? Why?” She’d been doing everything she could to avoid eye contact with Mano. Being fired was mortifying enough, without the added humiliation of having him bear witness to it. But for a fleeting moment, her gaze fixed on his.
And she knew.
Somehow, some way, he was to blame for this fiasco. There was no mistaking the veil of remorse that had befallen his features. This was his doing.
He mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” and she wasn’t sure she’d ever hated a man so much in her life.
“Julia, Giuseppe spent the entire day facilitating Mr. Romano’s tour. I told him about your earlier call and your insistence that the client was with you. But that’s just not possible. Mr. Romano was with Giuseppe today. All day, in fact.”
Julia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Mano Romano was standing right there in front of her. He’d kissed her. He’d touched her. He’d made her feel special. He’d made her feel . . . when she’d been numb for such a very long time.
But it simply wasn’t possible for a man to be two places at once.
“I don’t know who you’ve spent the day with.” Paola sighed. “But it was most definitely not Mr. Romano.”
* * *
NICCOLO CAUGHT JULIA’S PHONE in midair a millisecond after she hurled it at his head. Which was a damn good thing. Her aim was deadly accurate. Coupled with the force with which she’d flung it, he’d narrowly missed a black eye. Not a good look for a royal prince.
“Who are you?” Her petite form shook with barely contained fury. Niccolo did his level best to keep his gaze from straying to her blouse and those shivering, wet polka dots. “Who are you? Tell me right now. You owe me that much.”
Maybe it was the way her damp clothes clung to her delicious curves. Maybe it was the fact that his momentary lapse in judgment had obviously gotten her in trouble at work. Or maybe it was something more, something deeper, something to do with the difficulty he seemed to be having in tearing himself away from her. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he had the sudden, irrational urge to be honest with her, to tell her exactly who he was.
My name is Niccolo La Torre, His Royal Highness, Crown Prince of Lazaretto.
He couldn’t, of course. If ever there had been a moment to reveal his true identity, it had been the instant that they’d met. He still didn’t know why he hadn’t told her the truth at once. At the time he’d blamed it on the booze. And the simple fact that he enjoyed talking to a pretty woman who was unaware of his identity. But deep down, he suspected the reasons were more profound than that. He’d realized as much even then.
He couldn’t tell her now. Things had progressed much too far. A line had been crossed. A line that a prince had no business crossing. Especially a prince who was desperately trying to save his family’s reputation and secure the future of the crown.
She stood glaring at him. Her wide doe eyes shot fire. He’d never seen a woman so furious, wet, and wanton. And by God if he didn’t want to cross that line again. Here. Now. Over and over, until the line was as distant a memory as Caesar himself.
It would be a miracle if she ever let him touch her again. If he had any intention of staying in Rome, which he did not.
“Call me Nico.”
“Nico?” she said, as though it were a curse word. “And your last name?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather not say.”
Revealing his last name was wholly and completely out of the question.
“Seriously?” She waited a beat until it became clear he intended to remain mum on the subject. “I don’t know why I’m even asking. It’s not as if you’d tell me the truth.”
“Nico is, in fact, my real name. I assure you.” His mother had called him Nico. No one else. And for that reason alone, it had always felt more real, more genuine than Niccolo.
He had no idea why he’d just exposed that part of himself to Julia. He hadn’t even realized what he was going to say until the words had left his mouth. Thoughts of his mother had been haunting him since he’d stood at the foot of Caesar’s tomb.
All those flowers . . . petals upon petals of painful memories.
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” she spat. “Mano . . . Nico . . . whoever you are. Thanks to your little stunt today, I’ve been fired.”
“You’ve been sacked?” That seemed extreme, even under the circumstances.
Who would let someone like her go? She was a brilliant tour guide. Her vast knowledge of art and architecture was staggering. He’d never met anyone who had such a passion for history, who could bring the past alive the way that Julia did. It went beyond education. It was the way she looked at the world. Her vision. Such knowledge couldn’t be taught. It was felt.
Whoever made the decision to terminate her needed to have his head examined.
“That’s what fired means. Yes. My boss, Guiseppe, won’t even take my calls. I’m officially unemployed.” Her chin gave a little wobble.
Niccolo didn’t know whom he hated more at that moment, himself or Guiseppe. “I know you may find this difficult to believe, but I’m a man of my word, Julia. I will pay you for the tour, and I will make amends for the loss of your job.”
He would pay the bill one hundred times over. Five hundred, if necessary.
Why did it matter so much? Why did she matter?
“Your word means nothing to me. I don’t even know you. Do you think you’re the first man to do this to me? Newsflash—you’re not. Even my own father lied to me about who he was, and I was the one left behind to deal with the mess he’d created.”
Betrayed by her own father. That certainly struck a familiar chord. “We have that in common, I’m afraid.”
She held up a hand. “Don’t. Just don’t. I highly doubt we have anything in common.”
He wanted to argue with her, but she was right. Unless she’d grown up in a palace, their upbringings had been vastly different. “I suppose not.”
“You know, I would have my master’s degree in archaeology by now if I hadn’t made the mistake of trusting a man. But I did. He stole every penny I had, and now I’m spending m
y time doing this instead of working on my thesis. Or I was . . . until you got me fired.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.
A master’s degree. No wonder she seemed so brilliant. This job was beneath her. She deserved more.
He wanted to take her father to task. And he wanted to murder the man, the mysterious ex, who’d ruined things for her. And he hated the fact that at the moment, he himself bore a striking resemblance to that man. “Julia . . .”
“So you’re right. I find it difficult, if not impossible, to believe you,” she said with a sniff. “Which is why you’re not leaving my sight until I get my money. Let’s go.”
Not leaving her sight? Was she serious? The steely look in her eyes said yes, dead serious.
He arched a brow. “Where is it that you think we’re going?”
“Back to the hotel, assuming you’re actually a guest there. And assuming that’s where your people are staying as well. You know, those people who carry your money and pay your bills.” She turned her back and walked away. As if he weren’t standing there, still holding the phone that she’d wielded like a weapon. As if he would follow her like an obedient, lovelorn puppy.
Which, to his great mortification, he did.
He ground his teeth and went after her, paying no mind to how spectacular her lush bottom looked in her crimson jeans. All the same, he had a sudden yearning for cherries. “Under no circumstances can you accompany me to the Hotel de Russie.”
They might as well walk right through the front door of the palace back home in Lazaretto.
The color drained from Julia’s face, and she stopped in her tracks. “Oh my God, don’t tell me. You’re married?”
Niccolo’s mood—which had been less than stellar since she’d felt the need to point out that not every woman he met wanted to sleep with him—took a sharp turn for the worse. Married . . . she thought the reason he wanted to keep her away from the Hotel de Russie was because he was married.
He cupped her elbow with a gentle, but insistent touch. He needed her to look at him and see how seriously he took such an allegation. “Married? I can’t stop imagining, wanting, needing myself inside you, and you believe I’m married to someone else? You think that highly of me, do you?”
You think I’m no better than my father?
He nearly choked on the words he couldn’t say.
“I . . . um . . .” For a breath, she froze. She didn’t struggle against his hold on her, but his grip tightened nevertheless. Ever so slightly.
What was he doing? He shouldn’t have his hands on her. Not like this. But whatever was happening between them was beyond his control. Beyond the propriety and convention that ruled every facet of his life. This was brutal. This was sexual.
Julia opened her mouth slightly and she stole a breath. Niccolo could feel her pulse beneath his touch, pumping in time with his own. She could pretend all she wanted, but her body betrayed her. Beneath their mutual anger, beneath all that had gone unsaid, she still wanted him. Just as badly as he wanted her.
She’d offended his royal dignity. She’d accused him of the very behavior he despised most. And still he wanted her. He wanted to consume every bit of her fury. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her until his demons became nothing more than distant memories.
He wanted her. Far, far too badly.
He released her arm and spoke with as much indifference as he could manufacture. “You cannot accompany me to the Hotel de Russie for reasons other than my marital status. I am not, nor have I ever been, married. Is that understood?”
“Yes.” There was the briefest hesitation before she squared her shoulders and resumed her furious stance. “If you don’t want me at your hotel, that’s fine. But you’re not going there without me.”
Just what did she intend to do? Follow him wherever he went? God, she did, didn’t she?
He didn’t have the patience for this. He’d already sacrificed an entire day of royal obligations in the name of lust. He couldn’t lose another twelve hours. There was a private jet all fueled up and waiting for him at Ciampino International Airport. Right now. “Julia, I’ll see to it that the money is wired directly into your bank account. It will be there first thing in the morning.”
“If you think I’m giving you my banking information, you have lost your pompous mind. I need cash. Cold, hard cash. And you are not leaving my sight until that cash is in my hands.” She smiled at him, as if she were capable of engaging him in this sort of battle. Her naïveté would have been charming, if he had had the time to indulge her.
“And where do you propose we spend the hours until I get my hands on your money?” Moonlight spilled over the Forum, casting the archaic shrines in a golden, otherworldly glow. Sans Cartier, Niccolo wasn’t sure exactly what time it was. He knew he was late. Just as he knew the banks had most likely closed up shop for the night.
She cleared her throat, her gaze shifting uneasily downward. “My flat, I suppose.”
Her flat. What must the virgins be thinking?
Nothing would happen, of course. Under no circumstances could he sleep with her. Spending the day with Julia without disclosing his identity was one thing. Taking her to bed was another entirely. He couldn’t allow himself to do it, no matter how badly he wanted to.
Because he most definitely did. “Why Miss Costa, you shock me. Are you certain that’s a wise idea?”
“Would you prefer the police station? Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t an illicit rendezvous. This is a business matter. As soon as you’ve paid me what you owe, you’re free to go.” Her mouth compressed. Her lovely, decadent mouth.
A host of inappropriate images began spinning in Niccolo’s head. He allowed himself a brief glance at her wet blouse and teasing, taut nipples. He ached to touch her. Really touch her. Skin on glorious skin. Let her take every penny he owned. The palace and all its contents. Anything.
He met her gaze again. Held it.
This was a bad idea. The worst. He couldn’t trust her. And she sure as hell couldn’t trust him, alone together in her flat.
“Perhaps my idea of a business arrangement is different from yours,” he said hotly. “Because what you’re proposing sounds rather like a hostage situation.”
“Call it what you will.” She shrugged an elegant, enticing shoulder. “It’s getting late. The Forum closes soon. We’ve got to leave, and you’re coming with me.”
So this was how it was going to be? Julia planned on ordering him about, as if she really did have him under her control.
Let her think that, if it pleased her. He would play along until he got her the money. There was a way to get his hands on a few thousand euros at this time of night. Absolutely there was. He was a prince. Nothing was beyond his reach. As soon as they got to her flat, he’d call Piero and make arrangements to have a suitable amount of cash delivered at once.
This would all be over in an hour.
Two, tops.
Surely he could go that long without doing something they would both come to regret.
CHAPTER
* * *
TEN
Julia blinked, trying to come to terms with the sight of Nico standing in the tiny entryway to her apartment. He’d ridden behind her on the back of the Vespa and then walked wordlessly beside her up the steep cobblestone hill from the narrow alley where she always parked. And now here he stood, filling up the small space with the enormous intensity of his presence.
Why was she so nervous all of a sudden? She was his captor. She was the one in charge here.
Her mouth grew dry. For all practical purposes, she’d abducted a man. Granted, she had her reasons. Good ones. But she doubted the polizia would see things in the same light that she did. At least she hadn’t used a weapon. Unless her cell phone counted.
What had she been thinking? And what in the world was she going to do with
him now that she had him here?
To her complete and utter mortification, it seemed her body had plenty ideas of what to do with him. Physically, she was still hot and yearning and had been since that first kiss at the Colosseum. If anything, the hunger his touch had stirred had only grown worse in the hours since she’d issued her impetuous protest.
I’m your guide, not your mistress.
But she wasn’t exactly his guide anymore, was she?
Not that it mattered. There were still plenty of reasons not to sleep with him. Two hundred fifty of them, actually. She should not be attracted to him anymore. Not after what he’d done.
To make matters worse, the bed loomed in the center of her little efficiency apartment. A forbidden oasis. Had it always been so big? Why, oh why, couldn’t she have a proper flat with a proper bedroom?
Because this is all you can afford.
She tried to force her gaze away from the bed, but suddenly it was all she could see. And she couldn’t seem to look at it without imagining herself naked, tangled in sheets, with Nico doing unspeakable things to her. His hands in her hair, his lying lips on her thighs . . .
“This is where you live?” he asked, surveying the four hundred square feet that she called home.
“This is it.” She pasted on a smile. “Home sweet home.”
“It’s . . .” He looked at the bed, at her, then back at the bed. “Charming.”
Julia’s knees buckled a little. Thankfully, Valentina, her little Yorkie, chose that moment to awaken and come charging toward them from her dog bed in the corner. She was just what Julia needed—a chaperone. Even a furry, pint-sized one was better than nothing.
Valentina yapped and ran in frantic circles around the two of them.
“Is this miniscule creature your dog?” Nico asked. His skillful lips curved up in amusement.
“Yes, but don’t try and pet her. You could get hurt. She’s not fond of men.”
Nico arched a dubious brow. “I think I can manage to hold my own.”
“I’m dead serious.”
