Antonio Tenderly Touched Her Face With A Fingertip. “Do You Remember What You Asked Of Me Before You Fell Asleep, Maria?”
She did. Vividly. Show me what I need to know about love.
And, strangely enough, the only thing that had changed was her confidence that she could handle the lessons she’d requested of him.
“I remember,” she said, watching his expression. “I’d still like you to show me. I’m just not sure how.”
He observed her for a long time before answering. “It’s up to the man to know how. It’s up to you, the woman, only to say yes or no.”
A rush of heat swept through her body. When she tried to speak, the words dried up before crossing her lips. At last she managed the only ones that seemed important. “Then I say yes….”
Dear Reader,
In honor of International Women’s Day, March 8, celebrate romance, love and the accomplishments of women all over the world by reading six passionate, powerful and provocative new titles from Silhouette Desire.
New York Times bestselling author Sharon Sala leads the Desire lineup with Amber by Night (#1495). A shy librarian uses her alter ego to win her lover’s heart in a sizzling love story by this beloved MIRA and Intimate Moments author. Next, a pretend affair turns to true passion when a Barone heroine takes on the competition, in Sleeping with Her Rival (#1496) by Sheri WhiteFeather, the third title of the compelling DYNASTIES: THE BARONES saga.
A single mom shares a heated kiss with a stranger on New Year’s Eve and soon after reencounters him at work, in Renegade Millionaire (1497) by Kristi Gold. Mail-Order Prince in Her Bed (#1498) by Kathryn Jensen features an Italian nobleman who teaches an American ingenue the language of love, while a city girl and a rancher get together with the help of her elderly aunt, in The Cowboy Claims His Lady (#1499) by Meagan McKinney, the latest MATCHED IN MONTANA title. And a contractor searching for his secret son finds love in the arms of the boy’s adoptive mother, in Tangled Sheets, Tangled Lies (#1500) by brand-new author Julie Hogan, debuting in the Desire line.
Delight in all six of these sexy Silhouette Desire titles this month…and every month.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Mail-Order Prince in Her Bed
KATHRYN JENSEN
Books by Kathryn Jensen
Silhouette Desire
I Married a Prince #1115
The Earl Takes a Bride #1282
Mail-Order Cinderella #1318
The Earl’s Secret #1343
The American Earl #1347
The Secret Prince #1428
The Royal & the Runaway Bride #1448
Mail-Order Prince in Her Bed #1498
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Time and Again #685
Angel’s Child #758
The Twelve-Month Marriage #797
KATHRYN JENSEN
has written over forty novels for adults and children, under various names, and lived in many interesting places, including Texas, Connecticut and Italy. She currently resides in Maryland with her husband and two feline writing companions, Miranda and Tempest, who behave precisely as their names indicate—the first, sweetly…the second, mischievously. Their thirty-two-foot sailboat, Purr, promises to carry all four on many new adventures. Aboard her is where Kathryn does much of her summer writing.
For Roger, with all my heart:
Two souls, unaware, felt the Italian sun.
Now sail love’s fair seas on the S. V. Purr.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
One
The situation was far worse than he’d imagined. Antonio Boniface stepped off the elevator at the tenth floor of the Washington, D.C., high-rise and stared at the plaque on the heavy oak door facing him—Klein & Klein Public Relations and Advertising. Quickly, he checked the address on the slip of paper, his eyes narrowing, the muscles across his stomach clenching as if in preparation for an opponent’s punch. Marco had said nothing about the place being a business establishment. He’d assumed he would end up at the woman’s apartment.
Don’t make more of this than necessary, he told himself firmly. A simple explanation to this Maria McPherson, the client Marco had been on his way to see before Antonio and U.S. Immigration had caught up with him. That was all that was required.
“Scusi, signorina—” No! English, he corrected himself, speak in English! “Pardon me, miss. Mr. Serilo is no longer employed by the Royal Escort Service. If you tell me how much you paid for his services, I shall be happy to reimburse you.”
There. What was so difficult about that? For one thing, he hadn’t counted on approaching the woman at her workplace with such delicate news.
But too much was at stake to back down now. He couldn’t let Marco’s use of his family’s illustrious name bring further dishonor. The Bonifaces d’Apulia had once ranked alongside the Medicis in power, had been benefactors to great artists including Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. Their aristocratic roots extended back to the twelfth century, included two popes, illustrious statesmen, men and women of vision and pride. No rogue servant would be allowed to tarnish that name while Antonio lived!
Determined, he turned the knob and pushed through the door, into a gray-and-beige reception area furnished in sterile Scandinavian decor. The receptionist’s desk was vacant. No one seemed to be around. What to do now?
Suddenly, he heard shouts burst out from behind a half-closed door to his right. Antonio swung around, strode toward it with purpose, peered through the crack.
The conference room was jammed with men and women in business attire. On a long mahogany table at the room’s center was a neon-frosted cake, candles ablaze. Poised over the cake, her cheeks puffed out in preparation for extinguishing a blinding array of candles, was a petite young woman with cool gray eyes and long, wavy hair the color of champagne. She delicately blew out each candle then straightened and smiled nervously at the crowd around her.
“There. Now everybody enjoy a piece of cake. I really do have to get back to work,” she said, starting to turn away.
“Whoa! Not so fast, Maria.” A tall woman with blunt-cut black hair laughed, stepping forward to block her path. “Your present hasn’t arrived yet.”
A titter went up around the room, and Antonio guessed that everyone knew what that gift was to be.
Marco.
Clearly, the woman whose birthday they were celebrating did not.
He observed the waiflike creature, feeling sorry for her. Sensing also, in a sudden, too-vague recollection, that he had seen those gentle features before. Somewhere. The sense of familiarity was haunting, gnawed at his mind. But both place and time ultimately eluded him.
Maria shook her head nervously. “Please, Tamara, you shouldn’t go to all this trouble for me.”
“Oh, it’s our pleasure, dear. I think we’ll get as much out of this gift as you will.”
“Not if she’s lucky!” a voice rang out from the crowd, and everyone broke into laughter.
So that was their plan, Antonio thought. These sophisticated, brash PR types had decided to have a little fun at the expense of their bashful co-worker. They had sent for a mail-order prince as offer
ed in the escort service’s vulgar advertisement.
Fortunately, his good friend the Senator had seen it and sent him a copy. The knave had been using Antonio’s name and official title, Il Principe di Carovigno, as his own. At least the service hadn’t been bold enough to use a photograph too!
In a way, it was a lucky thing for Miss McPherson that he’d learned of his former employee’s deception and sent the Casanova packing. The young woman he was watching tentatively nibble a slice of the gaudy cake wouldn’t have to suffer the indignities of Marco’s foolish performance, whatever that might entail. For all Antonio knew it might have involved removing articles of clothing. Or worse!
But would his walking in and announcing that the game was over only delay the young woman’s torment? A new scheme might soon replace the original farce. His heart went out to her. If there was any way of saving her further embarrassment…
The solution came to him in an unexpected flash of inspiration.
Antonio pushed through the door and into the conference room. All talk ceased. He smiled around the room at the women, fixed the male employees with a daunting glare, then turned his darkest, most mysterious gaze on the birthday girl.
“Ah, signorina,” he said, bowing as he approached. He lifted her limp fingertips to his lips. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you, cara mia.” Yes, he was laying the accent on a bit thick, but he suspected that would have been Marco’s style.
A worried smile hovered over Maria’s lips. She blinked up at him, at a loss. “Y-you have?”
“Si. Your friends have arranged for you to share l’avventura with me. I believe you have the rest of the day off?” The raven-haired woman nodded, her eyes wide, appreciative and more than a little envious. “Andiamo, cara. My car waits for us.”
Maria shot a panicky glance around the room, then looked pleadingly at Antonio as she sidled closer to him. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “I know it’s all a joke.”
“But Signorina McPherson, it is my pleasure,” he said aloud, giving her a conspiratorial wink. He placed a hand at the hollow of her slim back and guided her firmly toward the door. She wore a conservative sweaterlike dress of a synthetic fiber—black, a bit scratchy to the touch.
He imagined her in cashmere, perhaps a soft blue to set off her eyes. Much better.
Tamara finally found her feet and rushed to catch up with them. She handed Maria her purse, coat and a card. “Have fun, honey. This will explain the services your date is prepared to offer. Be sure to let us know all the details tomorrow.”
Maria blushed a bright pink, snatched at her things and didn’t look back as she allowed Antonio to escort her out of the office to a chorus of cheers and hoots.
“Would you like my driver to help you carry anything else down?” he asked, allowing the exaggerated accent to fade.
“Ah, no…this is fine,” she said, tightly. “Let’s just get on the elevator and I’ll explain everything to you.”
“Certainly.” He let her step on ahead of him, admiring the view from behind. Yes, cashmere would suit her. She had an elegant figure. She just didn’t know how to dress. Or perhaps she couldn’t afford quality clothing.
As soon as the elevator doors shut, Maria faced him. “Listen, I know this is your job, but you can drop the phony aristocratic act now. They were just trying to embarrass me. You’ve done your job.” Her chin lifted and cool mist-gray eyes darkened as if it took a great deal of courage for her to speak. And now she seemed to be struggling to hold eye contact with him. “I don’t know what else you have been paid to do, but you can forget it. I don’t date strange men. I have no interest in a romantic…adventure,” she finished at last, looking flustered.
“You have other plans for the celebration of your birthday?” Antonio asked. “A party with your family?”
“No.” She laughed as if uncomfortable that he was prolonging the conversation. “No party. I’m going home. I expect I’ll enjoy my afternoon off with a good book and a hot bath.”
He raised a questioning brow. “Alone?”
“Yes, alone!” she gasped, sounding short of breath. “What kind of woman do you take me for?”
“A lovely, intelligent, sensitive one,” he said simply. He wasn’t trying to flatter her; he was being perfectly honest.
After a moment, the young woman apparently realized her mouth was resting open and she brought her lips tightly together. She scowled at him. “Who are you, and how do I turn off the Latin-lover act?”
He refused to be offended. After all, the poor thing must be confused by all that had happened in the past twenty minutes.
“My name is Antonio Boniface, Il Principe di Carovigno,” he explained solemnly. “I only wish to save you further harassment from your friends. And, by the way, I am an Italian citizen, not a Latin lover, as you say, and I—”
“Listen, you,” she interrupted with surprising force, “I know you were hired to do a job. What do you need to prove you’ve done it? A signed receipt? A customer satisfaction form filled out? Just give it to me now, and I’ll sign—oh my!”
They had stepped out from the lobby of the building onto Connecticut Avenue and stood on the sidewalk beside a sleek, ebony limousine. Antonio’s driver had positioned himself beside the rear passenger door. He swung it open, the snappy brim of his uniform cap inclined politely toward Maria.
She swallowed and turned to Antonio, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide and glistening with childlike amazement. “Tell me this isn’t part of the package.”
“It’s part of the package, as you put it,” he said with a shrug. He always engaged a car and driver when he traveled in unfamiliar cities. At home, he preferred to drive himself in the Ferrari. There he knew the twisting coastal roads intimately and enjoyed controlling the powerful vehicle.
“Oh, jeez,” she breathed. “I’ve never ridden in a real limo before.”
He smiled, charmed by her innocence.
“Let me at least transport you home,” he offered gently. “I would like to explain something to you on the way.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know…maybe we should just call it quits now and—”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he murmured, reaching out to take her hand again.
She nearly pulled away, then followed his gaze upward to the windows of the offices above. Rows of faces stared down at them.
“Do you want your friends to know that you’ve…what is the expression? Got chicken feet?”
She laughed, all the tension draining from her face. “You mean, I’ve chickened out…or I’ve gotten cold feet. No, I certainly don’t want to give them that satisfaction.” She shot one final grim look above them, then allowed Antonio to help her into the rear seat. Sliding across the smooth leather to give him room, she called out to the driver, “I live in Bethesda, Maryland, 755 Mullen Street. If you’ll drop me off, I’ll be most grateful.”
He closed the door behind them, then walked around the car.
“Your driver does know where Bethesda is?” Maria asked.
“I’m sure he does. I hope it’s a long ride. I have a lot to explain, Miss McPherson.” Antonio smiled. He watched as her glance followed the motion of his lips.
She sighed then shook her head as if denying herself a particularly fattening dessert. “Oh my, you’re awfully good. Listen, you’re a very nice looking man, handsome really. And you play your role well. But I’m just not interested in your kind of…service.”
She gave an almost imperceptible shiver of pleasure as she slipped the card Tamara had given her, unread, into her coat pocket. Her upper lip had become lightly beaded with perspiration, and her eyes were too bright. He was pretty sure she didn’t even realize the signals her body was giving off.
“Maybe it would be best if we just pulled around the block and you let me off there. I can take the bus home like I usually do.”
“No,” he said bluntly.
“No?” She looked ala
rmed now.
“On second thought,” he said slowly, “I believe you deserve a real celebration. Do you have friends you’d like to invite to come along?” He could explain all about Marco, Immigration and his real identity after she’d calmed down a bit.
“Friends? No, not really. I mean, I have college friends, but they’re back in Connecticut where I grew up. And the people I work with—” She shrugged as if unable to put her thoughts into words.
“They aren’t like you,” he supplied softly.
“No,” she murmured, “they aren’t like me. Take today, for instance. They get a kick out of singling out a person on their birthday and finding the most effective way to embarrass them. Tailored humiliation, I call it. I tried to take the day off, like I did last year when I’d just started working for the company, but my boss insisted she needed me.” She sighed. “It’s all in good fun, I suppose. But I’ve never liked being the center of attention.”
He nodded, intrigued by her lack of ego. So unlike the women he’d known.
“So we shall celebrate quietly, just the two of us. Si?” His flight didn’t leave until the next morning. He rarely allowed himself time away from the groves or the mill and factory. Spending an afternoon with an attractive American woman wouldn’t exactly be a hardship. Besides, after handling the Marco catastrophe, he deserved a little vacanza.
She laughed and rolled her pretty gray eyes dramatically at him. “The two of us? Alone? Oh, I don’t think so.”
Mail-Order Prince In Her Bed (Silhouette Desire) Page 1
