by Gina Kincade
"He didn't?"
Raul shook his head. "No. Unfortunately, he didn't get around to touching the finances before he bowed out."
"How old was your brother when he died?"
"Thirty." He plucked her nipple, for the first time ever, as a counterpoint to the single word and she cried out. It took her a concentrated effort of will to re-focus on the conversation.
"Do you think he ever would have gotten around to fixing the finances?" she said. "I mean, if he hadn't tried by the time he was thirty, when was he going to start?"
Raul stared at her. "What are you suggesting? He was the golden boy. He could do anything."
"Could he?" She decided to leave it at that. Not only because she couldn't think, but also, because she wanted to give him something to mull over. He would have to draw his own conclusions.
All the while, he was continuing to caress her. Not just her breasts, but he'd moved down across her stomach and was going lower. His hands were gentle, expert and, now that she'd stopped talking, he moved his mouth to her body and used it to follow the trail blazed by his hands.
When her nipples were stiff and aching, he leaned down, pressed his beard-roughened cheek against her softness, and then began licking. One side, and then the other. Back and forth, until she was gasping his name, and ready to do anything for him.
The need that had been building since that first dance with him burst into a full-powered flame.
As if he sensed her surrender, he lay down on the bed next to her, still fully dressed, still kissing and caressing her.
She wanted to touch him. She wanted to remove his clothes. But she knew how that would end up. So all she could do was stop him.
"I can't do this, Raul." She gasped as he licked a trail down her stomach. "We still have this—this thing between us."
He lifted his head, but pressed his hips against her. "Yeah, I know. And this 'thing' wants you really badly."
"That is a very bad line," she scolded.
"It's the best I can do. I'm not getting any blood to my brain."
Despite herself, she laughed.
But didn't change her mind.
"Don't do this, Raul." The words burst out of her. "Don't become real."
"Become real?" He looked confused. "What the hell does that mean?"
"You were a fairy-tale duke, you know, at the Valentine's Day Ball."
He grimaced. "I have to maintain a certain image. We all do. Because money makes money."
He paused, gazing at her, and didn't seem to see the answer he sought. "Look, I had to start working when my brother died and I was faced with reality. And I had to use the assets I had. Which were my family name and image. Nothing more.
"If people knew how thin the ice was that I'm skating on, they'd be spooked off. I need investors, Alessandra. That requires sprinkling a bit of fairy dust, I'm afraid."
She didn't want him to be a person with problems and worries. If he were, then she'd have to care about him. And if she cared about him, she might be forced to wonder if he had a better claim to her grandmother's land than she did.
That was a thought she wasn't ready to contemplate.
She let it go when he bent his head again and captured her mouth. His kiss was warm, patient, all-encompassing. She forgot what they'd been talking about as he sprinkled his fairy dust all around her. She speared her hands into his thick hair and held him to her. Why was she arguing with the man?
And he was a man, not a romantic figure from a fairy tale, not a prince who could solve her problems. In fact, he was adding to her problems. But she wouldn't pass this way again. If she wanted to experience the pleasure he was offering, she had to seize the moment.
Or let it go forevermore.
This was a one-time event.
Tomorrow, they'd be back to battling about her identity, and the land.
He might win. Or she might win. But one of them would lose. That would cause anger, and hurt feelings. Only for tonight, was the outcome still in abeyance. She could postpone reality for one night. Couldn't she?
Raul was kissing her neck, biting and then soothing the spot with his tongue, and somehow he'd moved on top of her. The very real, very male essence of him sought out her softness.
She spread her legs, the decision out of her control. She had to experience him, just once.
As always, he sensed her emotions.
"Alessandra," he whispered. "I'm going to get undressed."
She reached for the buttons on his shirt.
"No." He levered himself off the bed. "I can be faster." He flung his jacket to the floor, opened a couple buttons on his shirt, and pulled the whole thing over his head.
He paused for just a second before he pulled a condom out of his pocket and tossed it on the nightstand.
Alessandra froze. That was a very real symbol of his intentions.
But he was no fool. In seconds, before she could react, he kicked off his shoes, shoved down his pants and there he was, in all his glory.
She held out her arms, and he came to her.
The first feel of his naked flesh against hers drove everything out of her mind.
Everything but pure pleasure.
She got to stroke him, to feel his skin and his muscles, to hear him groan with need, and then with pleasure. She licked his lips, and his sweat and all of his fierce masculinity.
Only then, when both of them were panting with need, did he grab the condom, roll it on, and surge into her.
And she welcomed him with everything she had.
He was a man, but he was also her fairy-tale duke.
For one night.
Chapter Eighteen
In the morning, Alessandra stirred before dawn when she felt Raul move away from her.
"Raul." She had to whisper because she didn't want to say the words. "Is that why you want the land my grandmother owned, to repair your family fortunes?"
He sighed, and was silent for a long moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs over the side, his back to her. A faint light edged the curtained windows, but it was a cold dawn light.
Finally, he turned his head to look at her. "I've bought all the land around Adela’s property, using debt and equity from investors. That's the last piece I need in order to build a twenty-first century ski resort." He paused, and then spoke as if the words were wrenched out of him. "If it is your grandmother's land."
Her heart clenched even as her mind told her to be sensible. At least he was honest. He still didn't believe her. She couldn't help wondering why not. She believed his confessions. But there was nothing more to be said.
She'd had her moment.
He'd had her.
"Please, Alessandra, don't look at me like that." He stood, shoved one leg into his pants, then the other. "I can't give up my claim." He buttoned, and the faint rasp of his zipper sounded. "I have responsibilities to an entire dukedom, as overly dramatic as that sounds."
"And my claim pales in comparison?"
He plucked his shirt off the floor. "That's not fair, I know. But these are people I love. A heritage I love—"
"And you don't love me." The words fell out of her, and she heard them with horror. Of course he didn't love her. When had he ever implied that he did? Why did she have to be so stupid and needy? She should have learned by now that she wasn't number one to anyone in the entire world. It wasn't his fault that she needed that lesson drummed into her repeatedly.
He drew on his shirt with sharp movements. "I don't even know who you are," he snapped. "And I don't want a guilt trip here. This was consensual." He shoved his feet into his shoes, stuffing his socks into the pocket of his jacket.
"Why are you so angry?" She hugged the sheet to her. "Why does it matter to you who I am?"
"Because," he said. He drew closer to the bed, placed his hands on the edge of the mattress, and leaned over. "I would give anything to have Lessie Ranieri return to Austria. Anything at all." For a long moment, his gaze locked onto hers. Then h
e pulled back, pressing his lips together as if holding in more words. "There. Are you happy?"
She knew she'd enrage him further, but she had to ask. "Why?"
"We were friends. She—she meant something to me. It enrages me that someone else would try to take her place."
"How are you so certain that I'm not her?" Alessandra asked softly.
"She had light hair. It was fluffy, not thick and dark and long like yours." As if he couldn't help himself, he reached over and stroked her hair. "I could accept that change. Maybe."
There was a long moment of silence, which Alessandra was reluctant to break. He had another reason. She could feel it hovering in his actions, in the way he kept himself walled off from her. Had he kept alive a dream of Lessie, waiting for her to appear before he would open his heart to anyone?
"She was the same age I was," he finally said. "She and Calandre and I. We were all the same age. I'm sure of that."
Alessandra sucked in a breath. There was no answering that. He was fixated on that fact, and she had no rebuttal.
Chapter Nineteen
"The investors are coming tonight to hear your report." Stephano projected his expressionless legal stare at Raul. "They expect to hear that you've gotten the problem of the land all straightened out."
"They're going to be disappointed then." Raul gulped his coffee, desperate for the caffeine hit. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Which had been in a great cause—he could still feel Alessandra’s lithe body writhing beneath him, her perfume in his nostrils—but Sunday was a new day, and he needed to be prepared for it.
"Raul, damn it, think!" Stephano stood up and paced around his chair. "If you don't pull this deal off, you'll be ruined. You know that construction on the resort has to start this spring. Interest on your debt needs to be paid every month. It won't go away."
Raul shook his head. "I can't pay for my success by hurting someone else."
"You're going to just give her the land? Some little no name from America?" Stephano continued pacing behind his chair. "I can't let you do that."
Raul lifted his gaze from his coffee mug. "You can't stop me."
Stephano leaned over his desk, fixing Raul with a stare. "Don't make me sound like a girl, Raul, and force me to say you're my best friend. That is totally against bro code rules."
Raul didn't smile. "She's not a no name either."
Stephano rolled his eyes. "That's just the problem. She has too many effing names. Which one is real? The one the paparazzi found, or the one she's parading around with in Austria?"
Raul shrugged.
"Okay, let's try this, then. I'm your lawyer. I'm responsible for safeguarding your interests. I don't intend to let you martyr yourself and your entire family over some girl. You need that land and you need to build that resort. Otherwise, you will lose everything. Your home, your respect, and your financial security."
Raul tugged his hands through his hair, wishing he could rip this sense of despair out of himself. "I'll have to find another way," he said stubbornly.
Stephano stepped back and pushed his chair violently into his desk. "There is no other way. You've been putting together this plan for the resort for almost a year now. You don't have time to start all over."
"You don't understand." Raul gulped the hot coffee as if it might be his salvation. Because he wasn't sure he understood his change of heart either.
"Damn right I don't," Stephano snapped.
"Alessandra has nothing," Raul explained. "For some reason, this land, or maybe the house, represents a home to her. Something she craves more even than she knows. I don't know what will happen to her if she goes home to America empty-handed."
"That won't be your problem."
Raul sighed. Now they were getting to the crux of the matter. "It wouldn't have been," he said, "if I hadn't slept with her."
"Damnit." Stephano pulled back the chair he'd been banging around, and sat down in it. "I didn't want to say this, but you do know that she and Sarah set up that whole scene in the sauna?"
Raul almost smiled. "I know."
"She trapped you." Stephano's voice rose with frustrated anger.
"Into doing what I already wanted to do. I don't blame her for that. I saw Sarah's tits, too, which didn't make me want to screw her."
"You did?" Stephano was momentarily distracted. "Damn, I missed all the fun."
Raul was forced into a laugh. "With the result that you have a clear conscience this morning and I don't."
"Screw your conscience." Stephano slapped a hand against his desk. "You'll have nothing when you're done throwing away your only chance to rebuild your estate. All that money you've spent buying the land around her plot will be pissed down the wind. It's worthless without the Ranieri land. And what in the name of God is she going to do with the property anyway? It can't be home to her if she's only masquerading as the granddaughter."
"I don't think she is Adela Ranieri's granddaughter. But—" Raul leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "What if she is?"
"Why have you been so certain that she isn't?"
"It's a small thing," Raul admitted. "But factual. Something that can't be explained away. She's twenty-six. I'm twenty-eight, and of course Calandre is as well. We were very good friends with the real Alessandra when we were all children."
Stephano raised a brow. "And?"
"And we were all the same age. Within a month. Our birthdays were in June. Hers, in July. July 17."
Silence spread through the library as Stephano pondered that.
"You know," Stephano said, "or actually, you don't. But I have made some inquiries in the States. If her name is Alessandra Love, as the paparazzi insist, she did graduate from high school at the age of eighteen."
"Not when Calandre and I did," Raul said softly.
Stephano nodded. "Two years later."
Raul spread out his hands in a gesture of futility. "So you see, no matter what I wish, Alessandra can't be Lessie."
Chapter Twenty
"I drove out to Daenos again." Alessandra laid a piece of paper on the table in front of Tem just before lunchtime on Monday.
He glanced at her. "What's this?"
"My birth certificate." She said the words calmly, but there was a world of relief in her tone.
His eyes gleamed for a second before he picked up his glasses, put them on, and looked at the paper. He read the entire document before looking up at her again. "I thought you couldn't find your birth certificate?"
"I had the wrong year." She spoke very evenly. Fury had already burned through her, last night when she'd had the epiphany. She'd been trying to sleep, trying to come up with a new plan to prove her case. Already, her second week in Austria had arrived. Time was nipping at the back of her neck. She had to get back to her job in the U.S.
For some reason, Raul's words about her birthday swam around in her head, sometimes moving to the forefront, sometimes receding. Why was he so certain that they'd been the same age?
Not for the first time, Alessandra wished Calandre was in Austria. But that train of thought wasn't going to take her anywhere. She circled back to the issue of her birth date.
She couldn't remember whether or not they'd all been the same age. Of course, they'd been close in age, but their geographic proximity was a big part of the reason why they were always together, at least in her memory.
The Stirling summer home was very close to her grandmother's home. The children had been constant companions. But had they been the same age? She simply didn't know.
And now, Raul was two years older than she was.
The answer smacked her like a bolt of lightning.
Her mother.
Her mother, who'd done her best to keep Alessandra out of the way, never mentioning her, never allowing her to be seen on the rare occasions when friends visited their home. Of course, Alessandra knew why.
Ingénues didn't have teenage daughters. They really didn't have kids at all, but if they had to,
they should be babies.
Her mother had lied about her age.
Her mother had changed their name. Why hadn't Alessandra realized she'd change something else?
She tossed around in bed, turning the idea this way and that. She wanted to jump up and drive back to Daenos, to the clerk's office, and check an earlier date.
