The Ice Prince

by Sandra Marton

  Anna couldn’t help smiling. “And a good thing it isn’t.”

  “I agree, for if it were a courtroom …” Draco rolled her onto her back. “If it were, I could not do this.”

  “Oh. Oh …”

  “Or this.”

  Her lashes drooped to her cheeks. “Draco,” she whispered, “Draco, wait …”

  He kissed her, and this kiss was not tender or soft—it was hot and urgent. So was the play of his fingers on her breast. And when he parted her thighs, brought his mouth to her core, Anna cried out, reached for her lover, rose to him and impaled herself on his rigid flesh.

  It turned out that there was no problem with bed-head hair.

  “Don’t look at me,” Anna said a long time later when Draco wanted to do exactly that. “I’m a mess.”

  His dark eyebrows rose.

  “You think so?” he said, and when she nodded, he scooped her into his arms, carried her to the bathroom and stood her before the full-length mirror. “Look,” he said, and when Anna groaned and tried to turn away, he wouldn’t let her. “Look,” he demanded in a tone she’d learned meant he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  So she looked—and saw herself, her hair a tousled mass of gold curls, her mouth pink and gently swollen, her breasts still rosy from her last orgasm.

  She saw the faint blue bruises on her thighs where Draco had nipped her flesh, then soothed it with kisses; saw a matching mark on her throat …

  Saw him standing behind her, his arms cradling her.

  God, how beautiful he was. How incredibly masculine. How big and powerful and …

  Her breath caught as he cupped her breasts, played with her nipples as his eyes grew dark as the night.

  Watching him, watching herself, was the most erotic thing Anna had ever done.

  He bent his head, nuzzled aside the curls from the nape of her neck and kissed her skin, then kissed the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She moaned, reached between them and encircled as much as she could of his rigid, straining erection.

  A growl rose in his throat; his teeth sank into her flesh and she cried out in passion.

  “Hold on to the vanity, bellissima,” he said thickly, his hands clasping her hips. “Sì. Just like that …”

  She sobbed his name, came apart the instant he entered her. She heard his cry, felt him shudder and the world shattered again.

  Draco’s arms swept around her. She fell back against his hard body, trembling, her legs boneless. He held her as their heartbeats steadied, his face buried in her hair, and then he turned her to him, enfolded her in his embrace, held her close as his big hands stroked up and down her spine.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  Anna nodded. He lifted her face to his, brushed his lips lightly over hers. Then he scooped her off her feet and carried her into the shower.

  He washed her. She washed him. It was a game at first; how could it have been anything else after what had just happened?

  But their hands moved more and more slowly, found more and more places to soap and gently, carefully wash until Draco groaned, leaned his forehead against Anna’s and said, “I hope the maid has a strong heart.”

  Anna looked up at him. “Why?”

  “When she finds us in here, waterlogged … Well, you and I will have died happy, but I doubt if she will.”

  Anna laughed. Draco grinned, turned off the shower, grabbed a bath sheet and wrapped her in it.

  “You think that’s funny, Orsini?” he said, trying his damnedest to sound stern. He didn’t feel stern, not even jokingly so. He felt … he felt happy, and though he’d felt a lot of different things after sex, happy wasn’t a word he’d have used to describe any of them.

  “You have to admit,” Anna said, “it’s an, um, an interesting image.”

  “What is?” he said, and then he remembered what he’d said about the housekeeper and he laughed and tipped her chin up. “Where’s your compassion?”

  “Where’s yours?” she said, teasing him right back. “A compassionate man would have phoned down for coffee by now.”

  “You’re right,” he said solemnly as he spun her toward the door, then patted her lightly on the backside. “Get into your robe while I order breakfast.”

  Anna looked at him. “Was that an order, Valenti? Because you need to know I don’t follow orders.”

  Her tone was still teasing, but there was a quick flash of fire in her eyes. Dio, Draco thought, this was one hell of a woman.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he said huskily, and he took her mouth in another long, deep kiss.

  Breakfast arrived.

  And somewhere between the fresh fruit and the coffee, reality once again began its inevitable claim.

  I don’t follow orders, she’d said.

  And Draco had answered, We’ll see about that.

  Meaningless banter … Or was it?

  Those were not the words you wanted to hear from your adversary.

  That was who Draco Valenti was. Her adversary. She’d come to Rome to deal with him. Instead, she’d slept with him.

  She’d even told him to order breakfast.

  It was such a silly mental segue that Anna almost laughed …. But she didn’t. This was her room. She should have phoned down for the meal. Why let a man do what she could and should do for herself?

  She looked at Draco, sprawled back against the pillows in a matching hotel robe, his dark-as-midnight hair still damp, his skin tanned and golden against the white linens.

  Was this what came of letting your lover spend the entire night in your bed?

  Actually, he wasn’t her lover. They had no relationship apart from what had happened last night and this morning.

  What she’d let happen.

  Okay. So she’d broken a rule. Let him spend the night. Well, no. She’d broken two rules. She shouldn’t have had sex with him in the first place. This was no different than being in a courtroom.

  Would she sleep with the prosecutor? And hadn’t she had the discussion with herself already? She had. Then how had this happened? How had she let this man make her forget such basic principles?

  “A penny,” Draco said in that low, husky voice of his. Anna raised her eyebrows and played dumb. He smiled. “For your thoughts.”

  He had an amazing smile.

  Tender. Sexy. Masculine. She felt its effects straight down to her toes. Even looking at him looking at her made her feel … well, it made her feel strange.

  As if she’d lost her equilibrium. Or something.

  It was unsettling. She didn’t like it. Or maybe she liked it too much, and what in heck was that supposed to mean?

  “Anna?” He put his coffee cup on the nightstand and sat up straight. “What is it?”

  Anna cleared her throat.

  “Nothing. I mean—I mean, I was just thinking …. Perhaps this would be a good time to agree on what happens next.”

  He grinned. It made her pulse stutter.

  “An excellent suggestion, cara.” He took her cup from her hands and set it beside his. His fingers brushed hers. She fought the sudden urge to fling herself into his arms.

  What in the world is wrong with you, Orsini? Are you losing your mind?

  “I suspect we can think of something,” he said.

  “No.” Her voice was breathy, the kind of old-fashioned I’m-just-a-girl-and-you’re-such-a-sexy-stud thing she despised in women. “No,” she said, briskly this time, and drew back her hand. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  His eyes focused on hers. “What way did you mean it?”

  Anna wished she were not wearing a robe, not sitting on a bed rumpled from a night of sex, not facing a man who looked as if he had just stepped out of GQ.

  “I meant … well, I was thinking that—that I hope you understand, this was, uh, it was fine.”

  His eyes narrowed to obsidian slits.

  “Fine?” he said softly, and Anna winced
.

  “It was great.”

  “Great,” he said even more softly.

  She was digging herself into a hole. She took a breath, forced what she hoped was a brilliant smile.

  “You know what I mean. It was—it was—”

  “What was, Anna? Breakfast? The coffee?” A muscle knotted in his jaw. “Or are you speaking of what happened between us in this bed?”

  Now she was blushing. She knew it. And what was there to blush about?

  He folded his arms over his chest.

  “Let me save you the trouble. You were thinking that the sex had nothing to do with our situation.”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m glad you understand. We’re still adversaries.”

  He said nothing. Perhaps he hadn’t understood her. His English seemed flawless but, as an attorney, especially one who worked with the poor, she often dealt with people who seemed to speak excellent English and yet still struggled with words that had a particular subtlety to them.

  “You know,” she said carefully. “The land.”

  He went on looking at her, saying nothing. A muscle ticked in his jaw; she saw it and she stood up to gain whatever advantage it might give her.

  “Look, I’m simply trying to set things straight. We slept together.”

  “Such a charming phrase.”

  “Why? Because it comes from a woman?”

  Draco’s lips drew back from his teeth. “It comes from the Orsini consigliere.”

  Anna’s chin came up. “You’re twisting my words.”

  “Then let me untwist them. You’re telling me that we had sex. And I should not assume the event was a turning point in our little legal drama.”

  His voice was more than flat; it was as cold as winter. Anna moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “I wouldn’t have put it quite so—so—”

  “Bluntly?” He stood up, and she lost whatever pathetic advantage in height she’d had.

  “Well, yes. I mean—”

  “You mean,” he said with a quick, sharp smile, “I should not think that by sleeping with me, you’ve given up your right to try and take from me that which is mine.”

  There it was again, all that upper-class arrogance. That I-am-rich-and-you-are-not rubbish that had driven her parents from Sicily, that she saw every day in her work.

  “The land is not yours, and you damned well know it!”

  “It is mine, it has always been mine, and no Sicilian thug is going to change that by sending his daughter to do his dirty work in her bed.”

  “You—you aristocratic bastard!”

  “Tell me, Anna. Whose idea was it to sleep with the enemy? Yours? Or your father’s?”

  Anna’s hand flew through the air and cracked against Draco’s jaw. He caught her by the wrist, twisted her arm behind her, brought her to her toes.

  “Did you really think I would tell you that I changed my mind? That I would be happy to let you have the land in exchange for me having had you?”

  “That’s disgusting!”

  “What is disgusting,” he said in a low voice, “is that I should have forgotten, even for a moment, that the blood of thieves and thugs runs in your veins.”

  “Get out,” she snapped. “Get the hell out of my room!”

  His hand fell from hers. “With pleasure,” he said, turning his back and reaching for his clothes.

  “Just get this straight,” Anna said, her voice shaking with anger. “The Orsinis will see to it that you’ll never be able to use that land, not if I have to stay here for the next hundred years.”

  He turned toward her just as his robe fell open.

  Her heartbeat stuttered.

  Naked, he was as dangerous looking as he was beautiful. The wide shoulders, leanly muscled torso and long legs. And the part of him that was male, that she knew so intimately, knew was almost frighteningly potent …

  The air in the room seemed to turn thick and still.

  Anna’s gaze flew to Draco’s face. She could hear the pulse of her blood beating in her ears. Neither of them moved until, at last, he gave a harsh laugh.

  “You flatter yourself, bellissima. I have had my fill of what you so generously offered.” Slowly, confidently he dressed, then strolled to the door. “I’ll return for you in an hour. Be ready. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready to deal with our mutual problem so that we can see the last of each other.”

  Anna moved toward him. “Just tell me where to meet you. I absolutely forbid you to—”

  “Was that an order, Orsini?” His smile was as thin as the blade of a knife. “Because you have to know I don’t follow orders.”

  “Listen, Valenti—”

  “No,” he snarled, “you listen! I will be back in an hour, il mio consigliere. And if you have anything in your luggage besides those lady lawyer suits and ridiculous stilettos, I suggest you wear them.”

  “You’re despicable,” Anna said. “Absolutely des—”

  Draco caught her by the wrist, hauled her to him and stopped the angry flow of words with a merciless kiss.

  Then he was gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE hotel doorman was not the same one as last night.

  He looked shocked when Draco asked for his Ferrari.

  A Ferrari? Here? No. That was impossible. Surely the signore could see that this was not a hotel at which anyone would leave such an automobile.

  True enough.

  The place was clean, but that was about it. Apparently, Cesare Orsini didn’t believe in providing his consigliere with a decent expense account.

  Draco, fighting an anger he knew was meant for that consigliere and not for the pudgy fool dressed like an extra in a bad operetta, agreed.

  The hotel was not the place for a Ferrari.

  Nonetheless, he said, he had left his Ferrari here, at the curb, last evening. And as he said it, he took a hundred-euro note from his wallet and handed it over.

  Ah, the doorman said, palming the bill, how could he have forgotten? He snapped his fingers, pointed at a pimply-faced kid wearing what Draco figured was a bellman’s costume, and sent the boy running. Seconds later the car was at the curb. Draco tipped the kid and got behind the wheel, burning rubber as he peeled away.

  The intersection ahead was a typical snarl of traffic, cars and taxis and motorcycles growling like jungle beasts in anticipation of the green light and the chance to cut each other off.

  Draco floored the gas, steered between a truck and a taxi, skidded around a motorcycle, got to the front of the pack just as the light changed and kept going. It won him a chorus of angry-sounding horns. A joke, considering that obeying traffic laws was pretty much against Roman law.

  Too bad one of the drivers didn’t feel like making something of it. That big guy on the black Augusta motorcycle, for example. Hell, if he was looking for trouble …

  Dio.

  Draco was the one looking for trouble, and for what reason? A woman he’d slept with had said something that had angered him. If he had a hundred euros for every female who’d ever said anything that had irritated him …

  But this had gone beyond irritation. Anna’s suggestion, hell, her assumption that he’d figure the night they’d spent had changed the fact that they had a dispute to settle was insulting.

  He had to put it out of his head.

  Draco stepped down harder on the gas. The mood he was in, driving fast was safer than thinking, but how could a man stop thinking?

  His head felt as if it might explode.

  Damn Anna Orsini. Damn himself, too. How could he have forgotten that old saw about never mixing business with pleasure?

  That he had just didn’t make sense.

  Anna was attractive. So what? He knew dozens, scores of attractive women. Why be modest at a moment like this? Attractive women, beautiful women were his for the taking.

  Hadn’t he just left one behind in Hawaii? In
fact, he thought coldly, if you wanted to be blunt about it, Giselle was the better looking of the two.

  Maybe not.

  Maybe she was just more interested in pleasing him than Anna was.

  Giselle was always perfumed, every hair in place, her face carefully made-up even when he knew she’d spent who knew how long making sure she didn’t look made-up. He’d been with her for, what, two months? In all that time he’d never seen her looking disheveled unless it was artfully so.

  Sometimes he suspected she slipped from bed so she could tiptoe into the bathroom to fix her hair and face before he woke and saw her.

  Anna certainly hadn’t bothered to do that.

  By morning her hair had been a wild tangle, her lipstick a memory. She had not looked even remotely perfect.

  Draco’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  She’d looked like a woman who had enjoyed every moment she’d spent in her lover’s arms, but if that were true, would she even have thought of pointing out that their dispute was not settled just because they’d had sex?

  Was there nothing on her mind but that cursed land in Sicily?

  Probably not.

  A woman with so much attitude … Dio, she was impossible. She had an opinion on everything. She was stubborn and defiant, and she argued at the drop of a hat.

  He had to have been out of his mind to have slept with her.

  Not that he preferred his women to be compliant.

  He was not a male chauvinist—he was just a man who understood that men were men and women were women, and a little show of deference to the dominant sex, goddamnit, could be a very nice thing.

  He was still driving too fast, but the traffic had lessened. That was one of the benefits of living off the Via Appia Antica. A handful of villas, lots of parkland, lots of space.

  And space, metaphorically speaking, was what he needed right now.

  Unbelievable that Anna would think of the land first and the hours they’d spent making love a distant second.

  Correction again.

  They hadn’t made love.

  They’d had sex. Anna had been very clear about that, and rightly so. That ability to see sex as a man saw it was definitely one thing he liked about her.