Yes, people stared when she walked in on Max’s arm, but then they went back to their own meals, their private conversations. The staff was right there when needed, invisible when not. And if paparazzi lurked nearby, she never spotted one.
As the meal progressed, she relaxed a little. They talked of things they always used to talk about, before New Year’s. He brought her up to date on his progress with his second nonfiction book, a chronicle of Montedoro’s two hundred years as a Spanish protectorate. They discussed her new contract and her plans to go to New York in a couple of months, as soon as she finished the book she was working on. She would meet with Marie and with her new editor.
Max said he would be speaking at Columbia University in April. He sipped the really excellent Cabernet he’d ordered for them. “Let’s go together, combine business with pleasure.”
The unreality of all of it—the two of them, out for an evening like any two ordinary people might do, casually discussing a trip together—hit her all over again. “Can we get through breakfast Sunday with your family before we start planning for two months out?”
He ate a bite of artichoke heart. “Fair enough,” he replied in a neutral tone.
After that, he seemed a little subdued. Not withdrawn, exactly, but careful. She knew it was her fault, for being snippy and difficult. She knew she should apologize.
But she was feeling just edgy enough that she’d probably only hurt his feelings again. Better for him to be on his guard against her.
The lamb came. It was fabulous. They had soft cheeses with wonderful little bits of crusty bread. And the dessert cart pretty much took her breath away.
She couldn’t decide.
He told the waiter, “We’ll have the chocolate cake and the crème brûlée.”
She saw no reason to argue. “Good choices.”
He shrugged. “Someone had to make a decision.”
She felt defensiveness rise, and reminded herself that she’d already been crabby enough for one evening. So she beamed a big smile at the waiter. “Put the chocolate cake right here in front of me.”
They shared both desserts. She tried to have only a taste or two. But she ended up unable to resist devouring every last bite of the cake. He ate most of the crème brûlée, so she told herself they were even.
There were more stares when they left the restaurant. But really, the curious glances weren’t that hard to ignore. Lani started thinking that being stared at all the time was like anything else. If it happened enough, you got used to it. Maybe eventually, she would be like Max, confident and graceful in just about any situation.
When they stood outside across from the casino and the world-famous Fountain of the Three Sirens, he asked, “Would you like to play the tables for a while?”
She answered truthfully. “I would rather be alone with you.”
He put his hand at the small of her back then, the light touch possessive and also somehow tender. She sucked in a sharp breath and glanced up into his waiting eyes.
“There you are,” he whispered, for her ears alone. “Good to see you again.”
“All right,” she confessed. “I have been nervous.”
“Not so much anymore?”
“It’s getting better all the time.”
The long black car drifted up and stopped at the curb in front of them. They got in. When he pulled her into the circle of his arm, she didn’t even complain about the safety issues of driving around without her seat belt.
She put her head on his shoulder. “Where are we going?”
He touched his lips to her hair. “Around the block. I have a villa on Avenue d’Vancour.”
“Your villa.” Just the two of them. Alone. “Perfect.”
Five minutes later, he still had his arm around her. Her head was comfortably tucked into his shoulder. And they were driving in circles.
She observed, “It’s a very long way around the block.”
He ran his hand down her bare arm, stirring a row of happy goose bumps. “Evasion maneuvers, just throwing off any nosy reporters—here we are.”
“It’s beautiful.” In the classic Mediterranean style, the two-story villa was yellow stucco with white trim. The driver turned the car into the side driveway that curved around to the back.
They got out onto a walkway paved in white stone. Inground lights showed them the way, across a pretty patio to a pair of French doors. Light glowed from within. Max ushered her into a living area that adjoined a large open kitchen.
A middle-aged woman in a plain black dress came toward them. Lani recognized her. She was Max’s personal housekeeper and cook. “Sir,” she said.
“Hello, Marceline.”
Marceline gestured at the ice bucket on the low coffee table. “I’ve opened the champagne and left you a few treats there on the counter, and in the refrigerator.”
Max thanked her. With a quick nod, she went out the way they had come in. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across the sofa. Then he turned to Lani and smiled, and she realized there was nowhere else she’d rather be than right there, with him. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Yes.”
He handed her the two flutes waiting on the coffee table and he took the bucket of ice and champagne. They went through a central hallway to the front foyer and up the curving white stairs.
Halfway down the upper hall, he led her into a large bedroom suite. He set the bucket down on the coffee table, took the flutes from her and poured them each a glass.
There was a terrace that looked out over the sea. “Let’s go out there,” she said.
“It will be chilly.”
“Just for a minute.”
So they went out on the terrace and admired the Mediterranean gleaming under the new moon. When she shivered, he stood behind her and wrapped her in his strong arms.
He brushed a kiss above her ear. “This was my parents’ villa. They bought it when they were newlyweds, a quick and easy getaway from the palace. I was almost born here.”
“Almost?”
“It’s tradition that the heir to the throne should be born at the palace. My mother went into labor here. The story goes that she felt the first twinge at noon and I popped out at a quarter of one. She barely made it to the palace on time.” There was laughter in his deep voice. “All of us were like that, eager to get into the world. My mother had easy pregnancies and quick births.”
“Which would explain why she was willing to go through all that nine times.”
“Eight,” he corrected. “Remember, Alex and Dami are twins.”
“Oh, well. Only eight—and that’s just another way your mother is amazing.”
“Some have remarked that a ruling princess should be more delicate.”
“Jealous much?”
He gathered her closer. “Yes, I believe that they are.”
She sipped her champagne and shivered in the wind off the water, even with his warm arms holding her close.
“Ready to go in?” He rubbed his cheek against her hair.
Another shiver went through her, as much from anticipation as the chill in the air. “Yes.”
Inside he took her hand and they went to the bed. The covers were drawn invitingly back. He set down his flute on the inlaid night table, took hers and set it beside his.
Then he cradled her face between his two strong hands. “Am I rushing you?” He rubbed his nose against hers, breathing in, scenting her.
Her heart thrummed a deep, hungry rhythm under her breastbone. “No.” Breathless. Yearning. “Absolutely not.”
He pressed his cheek to hers. Already, she could feel the slight roughness, the beginnings of his dark beard. He said, “The first time I saw you was outside my parents’ palace apartment. It was in mid-May, not long after you came
here with Sydney. You had Trevor in your arms. You were bringing him to Sydney and Rule, I believe.”
She seemed to recall that. “You smiled at me, didn’t you?”
He kissed her lips, a brushing caress. “You barely remember.”
“Everything was so new, so completely outside of my experience.”
“I was just another Bravo-Calabretti prince among so many, eh?”
“Never.”
He chuckled against her mouth. “Liar. I knew you hardly saw me. But I saw you. I wanted to touch your cheek, to learn the texture of your skin. I wanted to get close enough to know the scent of you.”
She hardly knew how to answer. “Oh, Max...”
He took her shoulders and turned her around. “You have no idea how rare that moment was for me. I find most people interesting. You could say I’m socially adept. It’s part of my position as heir, to be good with people. But to be...swept away at the sight of a woman. No. Usually, there’s a distance I feel, a need to be careful, to proceed slowly. The sense that I will never really know them, be open to them. Not with you. Right away, I knew I wanted you, wanted to be with you.”
His words excited her. They also surprised her. “I had no clue you felt that way.”
He went on. “The second time I saw you was in the garden by the topiary hedges, with Trevor again. I ducked away so you wouldn’t see me. By then, I’d decided that I was too attracted to you and I would be wiser to avoid you.”
“Too attracted? Seriously? How could I not have picked up on that?”
“Yes, well. I didn’t want you to know.”
She leaned back against him. “Ah. Right.”
He linked his arms around her waist. “And then I saw you in the library and I was intrigued. I wanted to know what you were doing there, with your laptop, so serious and intent, those charming black-rimmed glasses you wore then sliding down your nose. I asked Oliver Laurent about you. He said he believed you were writing a novel.”
She could feel him growing hard against the small of her back and she settled in closer, savoring the power in his arms as they tightened around her. “Yes,” she said on a whisper.
“Yes, what?” His voice teased in her ear.
“Yes, I saw you there several times before you ever spoke to me. I knew who you were by then. I remember us sharing nods and polite smiles.”
“I kept waiting for my interest in you to fade. I was absolutely certain it would.” His palms glided up her rib cage. He cradled her breasts. She gasped, a tiny sound. He pressed his lips against her hair and whispered, “It only got stronger. Finally, I gave in to it and spoke to you.”
Even through the fabric of her dress and bra, the feel of his hands on her was so lovely. “I remember that day.” She held back a moan of pleasure and felt all the more aroused as he found her nipples with his thumbs. “We argued about Anastagio the Great.” An early Calabretti lord, the deposed Anastagio had turned to piracy to reclaim what he’d lost. Later, he’d recaptured Montedoro from the Genoese. “I said he was a genius. You said he was a murdering thief willing to do anything to regain the power he’d lost.”
“I’d never met a woman so fascinated by Montedoran history.” He nuzzled her ear and continued to do naughty things to her breasts. “Through the whole of our first conversation, your eyes didn’t glaze over once.”
“It was a fascinating conversation.”
“To you and to me, which is exactly my point.”
She rubbed back against him, shamelessly. “After that first time we talked, you were always kind to me. Friendly. Easy to talk to—about books and history, about your work and mine, about the children. I knew you liked me. But that you wanted me? I swear, I didn’t know, not for months and months. Even when you asked me to dance that first time, I assumed you were only being kind.”
“Denial.” He breathed the word against her temple.
She confessed it. “Yes. I never let myself admit what was happening between us until I had no choice.”
“Until New Year’s Eve.”
“Yes. New Year’s Eve...”
His hands left her breasts. She wanted to grab them back. But then he touched her hair, smoothing it to the side. She understood his intention and reached back to guide the dark strands out of his way. He took the zipper down. “I read you correctly. I knew I would never get near you unless you trusted me first. It took a very long time to gain your trust.” He guided the dress forward, off her shoulders. It dropped to her waist.
“I had no idea what you were up to....” She looked down at the twin swells of her breasts cradled in the black lace of her bra. Her skin felt thin and acutely sensitized.
He made her burn by the simple act of running both palms so lightly up and down her bare arms. “You didn’t want to know what I was up to.”
“Max, I...” She tried to turn around to him.
He caught her shoulders and held her in place facing away. “You’re not an easy woman to get close to. Still, I want you. Why is that?”
“Um, because you’re a glutton for punishment?”
He chuckled then, a rough, low, exciting sound. “There could be some truth in that.” And then he buried his face against her neck. He scraped his teeth across her skin and she moaned. “Take off the dress.” The words seemed to burn themselves into her yearning flesh.
She eagerly obeyed him, pushing the dress down. It fell to the rug. He took her by the waist and lifted her out of it effortlessly, as though she weighed no more than a glass of champagne, setting her down again closer to the head of the bed, but still facing away from him.
He hooked a finger under the strap of her bra next and guided it down so it fell along her arm. The other received the same treatment. And then he undid the clasp. Instinctively, she lifted her hands and caught the cups against her chest.
“Let it go.” A command.
By then, she wanted nothing so much as to obey him. She did. The bra dropped to the side of the bed and slid off to land near the toes of her black high-heeled shoes. She waited, her breath uneven, yearning for him to touch her breasts again.
Instead, he trailed both index fingers slowly along her sides, from just under her arms down into the cove of her waist and outward, following the swells of her hips, pausing at her panties. And then inward, tracing the elastic from each side across her lower belly. Until those clever, knowing fingers met in the middle right below her navel.
Her belly muscles twitched in anticipation.
And he didn’t disappoint her. He dipped both fingers lower. She moaned at that, and moaned again when he cupped her through her panties.
He whispered, “Take these off, too.” And he let go of her.
Trembling, eager, she did what he commanded. Stumbling a little as she lifted one foot and then the other to get them off and away.
He touched her, his hands on her hips again, steadying her. “Lani...” It sounded so good to her, so right, her name from his mouth. She had no idea at that moment why she had ever run from him. Here, with him, was exactly where she wanted to be.
She stood up straight again.
And he guided her hips, turning her at last, until she was facing him.
A kiss. Sweet, wet. Endless. Her breasts brushed the fabric of his beautiful dress shirt, the slight friction increasing her already considerable arousal. And her hands strayed up, her fingers sifting into his hair, clasping his neck.
Images of their one time before, at the first of the year, floated in her mind. He had seemed shier then, somehow. More careful of her, almost reverent.
Not so reverent now.
More forceful. More sure. She found she was wild for both sides of him. Forceful or tender, his caresses excited her. His kisses carried her away, made her forget all her fears and doubts and hesitations, all her past sins,
until there was nothing but the sound of his voice in her ear, the wonder of his hands on her flesh.
He clasped her waist. She gave a soft cry of surprise as he lifted her, setting her down on the side of the bed.
“Don’t move,” he instructed.
So she sat there on the silky sheet, naked in her high-heeled shoes. He undressed swiftly, in a ruthless economy of movement, shucking everything off from his tie to his socks and silk boxers in no time at all.
His body was so beautiful, broad and strong, the muscles sharply defined beneath bronze skin. He worked out several times a week in the training yards of the Sovereign’s Guard, he’d told her. I’m a geek and proud of it. A very fit geek.
She grinned at the memory, and kicked off her shoes.
He bent close so suddenly that she gasped. “What’s funny?”
“You.” She kissed him, quick and hard. “Total geek, really buff.”
He caught her mouth again and kissed her endlessly, wrapping his arms around her as he did it, coming down to the bed with her, rolling until she was on top. She braced on her hands and gazed down at him.
And then he smiled. Slowly. “I have you where I want you now.”
She’d ended up with her knees to each side of his lean waist and he was pressed against her in exactly the right spot. “Or maybe I have you....”
He slid a hand down between them. She hitched in a hungry breath as he touched her. “Wet,” he said softly, appreciatively.
With a low, pleasured sound, she bent close and kissed him again.
And then they were rolling. And he was on top. She looked up into his eyes as he caressed her, making her wetter, hotter, ready for him. He groaned and he bent his head and captured her breast as below he went on caressing her.
She threaded her fingers in his hair, holding him to her as he drew her nipple into the wetness beyond his lips, as he touched her, fingers delving in. It was good. It was so sweet. Without shadows, without fear.
Right now, she was lost in him, joyfully, all her worry and hesitation about where they might go from here banished. Gone.
He rolled her on top again, pulling her down to him, kissing her, deep and slow and endlessly. And then they were on their sides, facing each other. He said her name. She gave his back to him.
The Prince's Cinderella Bride Page 8
