The Princess's Scandalous Affair (Royal House of Leone Book 4)

by Jennifer Lewis

  Lorenzo pulled the car into an empty space on a side street, unbuckled his seat belt and wrapped his arms around her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  His big, warm embrace made her almost believe him.

  After a few moments she could breathe again. “Are you going to follow me everywhere?” she teased.

  “I’d like that very much.” His sexy mouth hitched on one side.

  “Don’t you have work to do?”

  “My schedule is flexible.” He lifted a brow slightly. His gray eyes locked onto hers, warmth dancing in their depths. “Any time you need me, I’ll be there.”

  His voice was deeper than usual and gave his words a tone of gruff honesty that made him sound utterly convincing. Even though she knew it was impossible, something stirred inside her and she felt more cared for than she had since…since her father was taken from her.

  And there was the desire. It surged low in her belly and rose up through her, loosening her muscles. Lorenzo had a powerful effect on her. She heard his breathing deepen. He could feel it too—that gave her a strange sense of reassurance.

  “Tell me the way to the Orangerie.” He pulled back from her with obvious reluctance. “Because I want to get there as fast as possible.”

  Half smiling, she gave him directions. It was less than five minutes away. “I hope they haven’t changed the code,” she said as they pulled up. Her dad refused to ever change lock codes because he couldn’t remember the new ones and hated having to ask the staff. “Pull up to the gate, and I’ll get out and try it.”

  She got out and walked around to the driver’s side and tapped it in. The gate started to creak open. “We put some guests up here for the coronation months ago, but as far as I know it’s been empty since.”

  The gate opened into a cobbled courtyard once used for horses. There were stables on one side the courtyard, on the other two sides was the house—which wasn’t an orangerie at all but might have once had one built next to it. The town had since crept up onto the original eighteenth-century grounds of which her ancestors had granted parcels to local grandees to build their in-town houses.

  Her father had kept this very private house as a retreat from the palace. There were no staff, except someone who cleaned once a week or so. Her brother Rigo had once crudely suggested that he had affairs here, but she chose not to believe it. She’d had the code ever since one afternoon when her dad had asked her to bring him some papers here, and he wouldn’t want her to surprise him if he was cheating, would he?

  She used the same code to unlock the green door. Lorenzo closed it and locked it behind them. “Don’t need anyone following us in,” he said, lifting the black bag with the dress in it.

  “Please, let me see it.” She took the bag with a prickle of anxiety. “I’m nervous. What if it looks terrible?”

  “You’ve already seen it in progress so you know it won’t.”

  She sighed. “Here goes nothing. Why don’t you stay here?” She gestured to a white sofa. The house looked more like a normal house than the other royal residences, with its intimate eighteenth-century proportions and cozy rooms.

  She went into the room next door, another sitting room with a fireplace and a large, framed mirror, and quickly disrobed down to her underwear. She took her bra off so the straps wouldn’t ruin the outline of the neck.

  The silk dress felt cool and magical in her hands. She lifted it up over her head and let it cascade down over her, caressing her body like a lover. She’d designed it to fit and hug without zippers, and she was still surprised by how perfectly it fit.

  She looked up slowly, half afraid to see her reflection in the mirror. Her frown startled her, and she made an effort to wipe it away. Then she looked at the dress. Perfect! She was no model, but it made her almost look like one. She pulled her hair from its tight bun and let it cascade down her back.

  Much better. Now she smiled at herself.

  Better yet. She inhaled a deep breath and watched the fabric tighten against her aroused nipples.

  “Are you ready yet?” Lorenzo’s impatient call from the other room made her chuckle.

  “Yes, come in.”

  She held her breath, afraid half of his reaction to her and half of her reaction to him. She was already aroused from close proximity and the way he’d made her feel safe after her scare.

  He opened the door and stopped to stare. Naturally she expected his eyes to drop to her body and examine the dress, maybe ripping it apart mentally like a critic, or even analyzing the flaws in her body that undermined the design.

  But his gaze rested on her face. He was more interested in her reaction—how she felt—than how the dress looked. “Are you happy with it?”

  She shrugged, suddenly afraid to praise her own work. “What do you think?”

  Now he let his gaze drift lower, roaming over her shoulders, then down to where the bodice gently hugged her breasts, lower to where the silk cascaded over her hips and down to the asymmetrical hemline. “I like it.”

  She laughed. She’d expected some florid adjective like fabulous and been prepared to assume it was phony, so his simple praise caught her by surprise.

  “Me too.” She smiled, feeling shy. “Signora Pazzi did a great job.”

  Lorenzo walked toward her, eyes still appraising the dress. “She did what she does every day. Your design reveals your talent. Are you sure you’ve never studied fashion?”

  Her nipples tightened under the cool silk as she felt his eyes graze over them. “I’ve studied it since I was little by poring over fashion magazines. I’ve just never taken a class in fashion design.”

  “You don’t need to. This dress demonstrates that you know what you’re doing.” His face showed admiration that echoed his words.

  She shrugged, feeling shy and proud at the same time. “It’s exciting to see something that I imagined come to life.” She swallowed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome.” His gaze rested on her, expectant.

  She didn’t know what to say. “I guess the big question is when I should wear it.”

  He cocked his head. “I think the far more important question is can you have the rest of the collection ready for fashion week this spring?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He regarded her steadily, his gaze challenging. “It gives you almost three months to get the drawings done, the samples sewn, the venue booked and the guests invited.”

  She laughed. “I’m not a real designer.”

  His warm gray gaze drifted down her body. “I beg to differ. I think you’ll be the talk of Milan this spring.”

  She blinked. “I can see the headlines already. ‘Spoiled Princess Thinks She’s a Designer.’”

  “No way. You don’t even have to tell people it’s you. You could use a brand name. Then when they’re all oohing and ahhing over your designs you reveal the truth.”

  She inhaled slowly. Could she? She loved the idea of surprising anyone who’d mocked her dream over the years. Not that she’d even brought it up more than five times. Her dad had squashed the idea before it got to the discussion phase.

  But he was gone now.

  Guilt suddenly racked her. “I think it would be disrespectful to my dad.”

  Lorenzo frowned. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see you pursue your dream. He never had any idea how much it meant to you.”

  She bit her lip. “He thought it was foolish. Perhaps because my siblings are geniuses. Callista’s a scientist on the verge of a big breakthrough in genetics, Rigo’s a top lawyer, Sandro developed a new kind of solar panel…”

  “Uh, your brother Darias—who is now the king, I might add—paints pictures of nude women.”

  She laughed. “They’re very well-respected pictures. They sell for hundreds of thousands each. Besides, my dad always hated that Darias painted. He forbade him to do it many times. Darias was just too damn stubborn to quit.”

  Lorenzo grinned. “Then you need t
o take a page out of his book.”

  She stared at him. The dress—her own design that fit her perfectly—suddenly felt like just the armor she’d need for such an undertaking. “My grandmother left me some money. I could use that, and no one would know.”

  “And I bet your grandmother would be pleased to know you put it to good use.”

  Beatriz smiled. “She would. She was always a bit of a maverick—in secret. She became queen when she was quite young so she told me she learned to sneak her fun in without people noticing.”

  Her grandmother had told Beatriz about two torrid affairs she’d managed to engage in—with thoroughly unsuitable men—before settling down to an officially sanctioned marriage.

  “That settles it. Lets get your drawings to Signora Pazzi as soon as possible.”

  “But I need to do new ones! I can’t just bring out a bunch of old drawings and call them a collection. I need to come up with a theme and design everything as part of it.”

  “You’re the expert.” He grinned again. “So just tell me what I need to do to help.”

  She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She loved the way the dress draped over her curves—which weren’t even all that curvy. For once in her life she felt both beautiful and powerful. “You’ve done too much already.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He walked toward her and took her hand. He lifted it to his lips and gently turned it over, and kissed her palm—an echo of how he’d kissed her months ago at the coronation. Her palm sizzled, and awareness reverberated in her belly, her nipples, even down to her toes, which were bare on the stone floor. “I’m just getting started.”

  He took one more step forward, pulled her into his arms and kissed her full and hard on the lips.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lorenzo had been craving the taste of Beatriz for days. Kissing her was a risk. She was wary of men—of him—and rightfully so. He knew that if he moved in too fast he’d scare her off. He’d vowed to take his time and win her trust before doing anything that might send her guard shooting up.

  But he couldn’t resist.

  She looked so breathtaking in the silver-gray dress she’d designed. The way the fabric draped over her body—which was usually hidden behind dark, formless attire—he wanted to run his fingers over those curves and hollows and get between the fabric and her skin.

  And she was kissing him back. Arousal snapped through him as he felt her hands on his back, fingertips digging into his shirt.

  Beatriz Leone was turning out to be full of surprises. He’d expected her to be prim and proper—which she was. He’d known she was tightly bound to her family and the confines of the palace. He’d wondered how he’d get past her reserve and win her over enough to become intimate.

  He hadn’t expected a woman with a rich creative imagination and a secret passion she’d never dared to explore.

  Of course right now the passion was for fashion, not him. He wasn’t kidding himself about that. He wasn’t part of her circle. If anything he was the dangerous rake in those dusty novels she read in the palace library.

  But she’d come out of her shell enough to show him her drawing and to see it come to life in silk. And right now he was running his hands over her creation and feeling the warm, exciting and unexpected woman beneath.

  He deepened the kiss, daring to slip his tongue between her teeth and enjoy the electric thrill of touching hers. He allowed his eager hand to move lower and gently cup her delicious rear, so temptingly displayed in her cleverly cut dress.

  He was just wondering if he dared to slide his other hand up to her breast when he heard a low moan escape his throat.

  Lorenzo cursed the sound, especially since it made Beatriz stiffen and pull back. Now he’d overdone it. He opened his eyes to see her staring at him, blinking with surprise. Then she lifted a hand to her mouth and wiped it.

  He racked his brain for the right thing to say, but for once he came up short. Beatriz wasn’t the kind of easy party girl he could sling a well-worn line at.

  She was aroused too. He could see her nipples tight underneath the fine silk. Her chest rose and fell faster than it should. Even if she hadn’t expected his kiss, she’d enjoyed it.

  “I wasn’t planning to kiss you.” That was the best he could come up with.

  “Oh.” A tiny crease appeared between her dark brows. Was she wondering if he regretted it?

  “I just wanted to see the dress, but I got carried away.”

  “I guess I should take it off.” Suddenly she was awkward and shy.

  “No, not yet.” If she took it off now and disappeared he might never get close to her again. “Let me take some pictures of you in it.”

  “What for?”

  “For you. You could send them to your sister.” She’d mentioned going to fashion week with one of them.

  She bit her lip—which sent heat rocketing to his groin—and he could see he’d caught her attention. “That’s not a bad idea. Let me get my phone.” She turned and walked over to where she’d left her bag and clothes.

  He watched her from behind with a silent sigh. He’d give a fairly large sum of money to slide his arms around her and start up where they’d left off right now.

  Patience, Lorenzo. He’d learned early on that in real estate deals and romance, it didn’t pay to rush things.

  She bent over—be still my beating heart—and retrieved her phone from her bag. “Let me set it up.”

  He loved the way the dress draped over her hips as she walked back. The seams were in just the right places to emphasize the subtle lines of her body. Lines he’d like to explore with his tongue…

  “Here, all you have to do is press the camera icon.” She handed it to him with a nervous frown, then went and stood awkwardly in front of him.

  “Hmm, we need to set it up better. Perhaps you should stand in front of the mirror so I can capture the front and back at the same time.”

  She turned to look and saw both of their reflections in the mirror. “But won’t you be in the picture then?”

  “I suppose I would.”

  “And I don’t really want anyone to know I was here. Why would I be at the Orangerie? It was Dad’s retreat. It would seem strange. Let’s find something neutral for me to stand against.”

  They walked through two medium-sized rooms, one a library and the next a dining room, and settled on a plain white wall in the hallway beyond. He lifted the camera to his eyes and pressed, then checked the image. “Too dark. There isn’t enough light in here. Is there another room with white walls?”

  She pressed a finger to her mouth, thinking. “One of the bedrooms is white.”

  Bedroom? His excitement ratcheted higher. “Okay.” He managed to sound cool and noncommittal.

  She peered in through one door. “Wallpaper, too distinctive.” Then another. “More wallpaper.” When she tried the third door she walked in. “This will work.”

  He followed her into a bright white bedroom with a mahogany sleigh bed against one wall. Portraits of two eighteenth-century ancestors, pretty young girls, adorned the fireplace wall, but another wall was bare and white and had light shining on it from two windows opposite.

  Beatriz positioned herself against it and he took a picture. “Perfect, now move and let me get some different angles.”

  She made as if to turn, then thought better of it. “I feel silly. I’m sure what you have is fine.”

  “No, you need to show your sister how it falls when you move. Lift up your arm. Like this.” He moved forward and picked up her right arm by the wrist and held it above her head. The movement drew him so close to her that her breast almost—almost—brushed his chest. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers stoked his desire to red heat. “Perfect, just hold it like that.”

  “I feel weird.”

  “You look amazing.” He took a picture, then moved back to her and gently turned her to a three-quarter angle, with both hands in front of her, to reveal the lines of the
back of the dress. “Don’t move.”

  He took the picture, then went back to lift her arms over her head. As he raised them past his lips, impulse stopped him and he kissed her hands, then her mouth. Then her neck and her cheek and soon his mouth roamed over her shoulders, then kissed her breasts through the soft gown.

  His brain fogged with desire, he wasn’t thinking, just reacting to her warm response. Her fingers thrust into his hair, her nails raking down his back. She wanted him too, and that aroused him almost to the point of insanity.

  Don’t go too fast. He had a plan here, a vision, and he wanted to win Beatriz over gently.

  But there was nothing gentle about the feelings raging in him right now. Beatriz’s fingers plucked at the buttons of his shirt, and he felt her hands slide underneath it, cool against his hot skin.

  He groaned, but this time she didn’t stop. She kissed him back as hard as he was kissing her. Her chest heaved and bumped against his, driving him deeper into a feverish state of arousal.

  “We need to take the dress off carefully,” he managed. He didn’t want it to get ruined and leave her with a bad feeling about this encounter.

  “Oh.” She looked surprised, like she’d forgotten it. Her dark eyes wide with passion, she fiddled with the zipper cleverly hidden at the waist. He helped her, and together they worked it gently off over her head. He placed it carefully on a chair, out of harm’s way.

  “Now, where was I?” He could hear his own voice gruff with raw need. The sight of Beatriz’s beautiful braless breasts and modest white panties almost unhinged him. She wasn’t the type to wear scanty lace lingerie—she was so different from any woman he’d ever met. Normally so restrained, right now Beatriz was on fire with desire—just like him.

  He licked and sucked her lips and nipples, both pink with arousal. They tore off his clothes until his erection came free and bumped against her. Even then she didn’t hesitate or pull back—it must be true what they said about those quiet librarian types.

  He was kneeling on the floor, mouth roaming closer to the magical area between her legs when a horrible thought occurred to him.