Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife Page 10

  “No, thanks.” Her voice cracked as she turned back to face the window. Just when she’d almost convinced herself he might care for her, he was already plotting to pawn her off on some Brazilian stranger. “I’m happy alone. Chloe can do without a father. I don’t need a loving husband or a houseful of children. Just Chloe and me and our thirty million dollars. Perfect.”

  Telling all these lies, her vision grew blurry.

  She covered her face. “I’ve never been so happy.”

  She heard the soft click as he undid his seat belt. Then she felt his hands unclicking hers. A moment later, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping himself around her. She felt all his warmth and comfort. The hard, jagged lump in her throat—the one she’d felt ever since Alex had dropped her baby’s photo like trash—dissolved, and she began to sob.

  Maximo held her closer, stroking her hair. He murmured soft words in Italian that she couldn’t understand, but for some reason his kindness only made her cry harder.

  “Why are you treating me like this?” she choked out. “I don’t understand. You could have offered me a small financial settlement for my shares. Instead you insisted on giving me thirty million. You could have married me and left me in Chicago. Instead you brought me to your villa and made me a princess. Why?”

  “I told you. I want the old man to die knowing that everything he’s ever cared about is mine.”

  She shook her head. “It’s more than that,” she whispered. “If it weren’t, you would ignore me when we’re alone. Instead, even in private, you treat me like your princess. You try to fulfill my every dream.”

  His jaw clenched as he looked away. “You are giving me too much credit.”

  “No, I’m not.” Tears were streaming unchecked down her face. “We’re practically strangers, but ever since we met you’ve acted like—”

  Like you love me, she almost said, but she didn’t have the nerve. Especially since she knew it wasn’t true. He had said it a hundred times: he would never love her.

  But how was she supposed to believe that, when his actions spoke so differently?

  “Perhaps,” he said, stroking her cheek, “it is all to lure you into my bed.”

  Could it be? She closed her eyes, savoring his touch. She was married to a handsome prince. She was wealthy beyond belief. Her daughter was happy and well cared for. She had everything she’d ever wanted. She was living in a fairy tale.

  So why was she so miserable?

  Because there was one thing she didn’t have. Love. The handsome prince didn’t love her. They would divorce in a matter of months, and he would move on to the next gorgeous woman who took his fancy. Chloe would grow up without a father. And Lucy would live forever in some luxurious villa, a princess in diamonds—alone.

  She pulled away.

  “Please,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands, “just take me back to my daughter.”

  She felt him staring down at her.

  “Basta,” he suddenly muttered. “Enough of this.”

  Enough? She looked up. Just like that, he was done? He was so powerful that he could simply decide not to feel things like love or grief?

  She wished she could do the same.

  Maximo leaned forward to speak in Italian to the chauffeur. When he sat back next to her, he said, “You need heat and sunshine, cara, the kind that will make you warm again. You need the wind against your face, the smell of flowers waving in the fields. You and your baby need light and air. But you also—” he reached over to her, stroking the bare skin of her collarbone “—need to feel young again. To remember that you are young and beautiful.”

  Young and beautiful? She shuddered as his smooth stroke sent waves of pleasure down her breasts. How could she ever feel young ever again?

  “I’m taking you on a vacation,” he said firmly.

  “A vacation?” She hiccuped a giddy laugh. “That’s good. Because I was getting so tired—” she waved her hand around the backseat of the Rolls-Royce limousine “—of putting up with all this.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “Then you will enjoy our trip very much.”

  She licked her lips. “So what are you thinking? Meeting up with your friends at a private Caribbean island? Sailing the Greek islands on your yacht?” She shook her head. “I’m not used to it, Maximo. Being watched by servants. Surrounded by your friends—” by your ex-mistresses “—who can’t understand why you married me.”

  “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to invite any of them on my honeymoon.”

  She stared at him.

  “Honeymoon?” she croaked.

  “Sì.” He looked down at her. His eyes were darkly blue. Sensual. Arrogant. “Did you think I’d forgotten my promise? No, cara. For too long, I have held myself back. Given you time to grieve.” He stroked her cheek with a predatory smile. “But my patience is over.”

  She nearly gasped as he stroked down her neck, resting his hand between her breasts.

  “Tonight, cara, I will show you how good pleasure can feel. I will take you to bed. I will at last make you mine.” He leaned forward, his eyes a challenge as he whispered, “Just try to resist me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THEY arrived at a private airport in southern Sicily shortly before sunset.

  Lucy descended from the plane with Chloe in her arms. It was so warm, she’d left her coat in her suitcase, and now wore only a white cotton blouse, slim dark jeans and wedge sandals. Her dark hair, tied back with a green silk headband, was whipped by a warm breeze as she came down the steps to the tarmac. The wind was fragrant with flowers and the salty tang of the sea. Above their heads, palm trees swayed.

  Ahhhh…Sicily. She took a deep breath, and suddenly, the weight on her shoulders seemed to lighten. Though it was January, she’d at last seen the warm Italy of her dreams.

  But at the bottom of the steps, she stopped. She didn’t see a Rolls-Royce or anything remotely like a limo. In fact, the only car parked anywhere on the pavement of the tiny private airport was a beat-up old truck. Confused, she looked to the right and left. “Where’s our car?”

  Pulling their luggage from the plane himself, he nodded toward the old truck. “Right there.”

  “That? It doesn’t even have a roof!”

  “It’s a convertible. A classic.” He tossed their luggage in the back of the truck. He’d rolled back his sleeves, the first time she’d ever seen him do so, and her eyes unwillingly traced his muscular forearms, lightly dusted with dark hair. “Lucy?”

  She abruptly focused on his face. “Yes?”

  Slowly his lips spread into an arrogant, knowing grin. “Do you like it?”

  Blushing that he’d caught her, she shook her head emphatically and pointed quickly at the truck. “If you like antiques, you should have kept my old Honda.”

  He gave a mock sigh. “A pity we donated that to charity.” He tossed a long, lean leg over the driver’s-side door. She couldn’t help but gawk at his muscular backside. She’d never seen him wear jeans before.

  “Need some help getting Chloe into the back?”

  He’d caught her again!

  “No. I can do it.” Cheeks flaming, she hurried to put her daughter into the baby seat snugly beneath the roll bar in the back. She snapped her five-point buckle, then climbed in next to Maximo.

  He gunned the engine, driving from the airport along a rough gravel road. She could see the blue water of the sea sparkling beneath the cliffs, see palm trees swaying in the warm breeze. Leaning back, she felt the Mediterranean sun on her face. Her hair blew in every direction in the roofless truck, and it felt like spring. Glancing at Maximo, she actually smiled. Before she remembered and her whole body became tense again.

  Tonight.

  He planned to seduce her tonight.

  And she would resist. She had to. She could not give in to her desire. No matter how wonderfully he treated her or how easily his kisses could seduce her. She didn’t care what he said. If she gave hi
m her body, her heart would soon follow. All her defenses would fall like dominoes.

  She’d fall in love with him, just like all the other foolish women.

  In spite of knowing he was a coldhearted, vengeful playboy who planned to divorce her as soon as her grandfather was dead. In spite of the fact that he’d outright told her that if she chose to love him, he would break her heart.

  Had she learned absolutely nothing from her last mistake of loving someone?

  “You’re looking at me again,” he said. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking you should forgive my grandfather. I’m sure whatever he did was an accident, or a misunderstanding. I’m sure he would never hurt anyone.”

  “Always believing the best of people,” he said quietly. “You don’t know him, Lucy.”

  “But—”

  “No.”

  They rode several miles in silence.

  She suddenly looked at him. “You called me Lucy. Not Lucia.”

  He shrugged.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what you prefer.”

  It infuriated her how much that small concession pleased her. Why did she care? It was a meaningless gesture. Part of his seduction.

  Pushing her wildly waving hair out of her eyes, she gave him an attempt at a smile. “I’ve never seen you like this before. Wearing jeans. Driving your own car.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m on my honeymoon.”

  And he’d made his intentions all too clear. She shivered in the warm sun.

  As the last burst of red sun began to fade behind the horizon, he turned down a dusty road past a grove of olive trees. At the end of the road, a little stone cottage sat on the edge of the sea cliff, surrounded by beeches and irrigated roses in bloom. Light shone from every window.

  “This is our hotel?”

  “It’s not a hotel,” he said briefly. “I grew up here.”

  “I thought you grew up in Aquillina.”

  “Only until I was twelve. After my parents and sister died, my aunt gave up her penzione and moved Amelia and me back here, closer to her husband’s family.”

  Lucy straightened in surprise. He’d mentioned before that he had no family, but she hadn’t known…hadn’t realized…

  “Your parents and sister died? I’m so sorry.” She paused, biting her lip. “What happened?” She paused in sudden fear. “My grandfather had nothing to do with it, did he?”

  Stopping the truck, he pulled the parking brake. He got out of the truck, pulling their luggage out of the back and hefting it over his back. “It’s getting late. I want to start cooking dinner before Chloe is too tired to eat.”

  “You!” she gasped. “Cook dinner?”

  “You said you didn’t want any servants. So I’m what you get.” His face was half concealed by shadow. “But I can still have my yacht brought from Antibes if you prefer. We’d have a staff of twenty and a full-time nanny. We could sail to the Costa Smeralda, Tunisia, Cairo. Anywhere you like. Just say the word.”

  She bit her lip.

  Opt for the yacht, the voice of caution whispered.

  Because this snug little rose cottage by the sea was dangerous. It was everything she’d once dreamed of. All it needed was a happy family inside and it would be perfect.

  This cottage tempted her to remember her lost illusions.

  But even knowing this, she couldn’t resist the bright windows drawing her in from the twilight…

  “Who left the lights on?” Lucy asked as she walked through the cottage with Chloe yawning in her arms. Though spare in decoration and very rustic, the house was cozy. A fire blazed in the old stone fireplace. “Who started the fire for us?”

  “My aunt. She lives over the hill.” He put the suitcases down by the bedroom doors. “She wouldn’t leave Sicily, even when I offered her the Villa Uccello. So I bought all the adjoining land here instead and built her a palazzo. She has servants of her own now, but still likes to welcome me back when I come for a visit.” He gave a brief smile. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

  “All your women must love this house,” she said wistfully.

  “My women?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed. “All the women you bring here.”

  “I have never brought a mistress here,” he said, then looked at her. “Just you.”

  She was the first woman he’d ever brought home?

  Don’t be seduced, she pleaded with herself. Don’t be seduced into thinking you’re special to him!

  But it still made her shiver. As he cooked them a simple dinner of pasta and steamed broccoli, with a bottle of milk for Chloe and a bottle of red wine from the nearby D’Aquilla vineyards for Lucy and Maximo, the air seemed to thicken and hum with sexual tension.

  Lucy drank a glass of wine…then another…then another. She drank and ate slowly, trying to prolong the meal as long as possible. By the glint in his eyes, she knew that as soon as dinner was over and the baby was asleep, he intended to make good on his promise of seduction.

  But finally, Chloe was yawning and literally falling asleep in the old wooden high chair, and Lucy had no choice but to put her to bed. She gave Chloe a quick bath, dried her with the thick cotton towel, then dressed her in soft new pajamas. For an instant, she held her close, savoring her clean baby smell.

  As Maximo knelt at the stone fireplace, stoking the fire to stave off the night’s chill, Lucy carried her droopy-eyed child to the small bedroom. Lucy kissed her baby good-night, tucking her into the crib with a warm blanket.

  Then, leaning against the door, she took a deep breath and practiced what she would say.

  Maximo, I can’t let you seduce me.

  I’m not like you. I can’t keep my heart out of it.

  Our three-month marriage must be in name only.

  She clenched her hands into fists, drumming up her strength. She would be firm. She would resist.

  But as soon as she left the room, she saw Maximo standing in front of the fire, his blue eyes dark with need. She’d barely closed Chloe’s bedroom door before he started for her. His powerful body moved toward her like a predator, his handsome face half in shadow.

  She swallowed. “Maximo,” she said, “I won’t—”

  But that was as far as she got before he pulled her against his body. His arms held her tight.

  And he ruthlessly kissed her.

  He pressed her mouth wide, bruising her lips. He tantalized her with his tongue, convincing her with an argument all his own. He held her hips possessively, stroking her backside as her full, aching breasts were crushed against his chest; and her protests turned to a sigh as she was enfolded and utterly consumed by his kiss.

  “Lucy,” he whispered against her skin. “Lucy, ti desidero. Sei bellissima…”

  She felt his hands on her waist beneath her blouse. Slowly his touch moved up her skin, causing a heat to spread up and down her body that had nothing to do with the fire.

  Gently he picked her up and carried her to the sofa in front of the old stone fireplace. She shivered as he stepped back from her, standing in a beam of moonlight. Outside, a fierce January wind rattled the windowpanes.

  In here, they were safe. In here, no one could touch her.

  Except him.

  With his gaze fixed on hers, he pulled off his shirt. She nearly gasped at the hard planes of his muscular chest, revealed in the moonlight and flickering shadows of the fire. Dark hair dusted from his tiny nipples to his flat, taut belly, disappearing beneath his waistband.

  She swallowed, barely able to breathe.

  He lowered himself over her on the sofa. As he kissed her, she could already feel herself surrendering.

  He unbuttoned her shirt, and she made no resistance. His fingertips traced the lace of her bra. Her breasts felt so taut, her nipples so hard, that she held her breath as he undid the clasp. He reached beneath the fabric and cupped her breasts with his hands. Sparks shot down her body. As he lowered his mouth to one nipple, st
roking the other between his fingers, she almost cried out…

  She’d never felt like this before.

  She wanted him. All of him.

  She wanted him to rip off her clothes and bury himself in her. She wanted to scream and sigh and pound and love…

  “No!”

  It took all her force of will to push him away with a hard shove to his chest. Their eyes locked. “I can’t do this,” she panted. “However easy it is for you, it will make me…emotionally involved.”

  “We already are emotionally involved, cara.”

  Her heart stopped. “We are?”

  “Of course.” He gave her a smooth Italian smile. “You are my wife. For the next few months, I will fulfill your every wish. And—” his lips spread in a wicked smile “—I’ll satisfy your every desire…”

  She swallowed. She wanted him—but she couldn’t have him. She already felt close, too close, to tipping over: from merely caring for him to far more…

  “I can’t!” Her frustrated body made emotion spill out of her like tears. “Don’t you understand what this does to me?”

  “Let’s play a game,” he said, running his fingers along her naked belly in the moonlight.

  “A game?”

  “Sì.”

  It sounded innocent enough. Anything had to be better than being lured back into the unimaginable, soul-stealing pleasure of his kiss. “What is the game?”

  His eyes met hers. “I try to make you explode with pleasure. You try to resist.”

  A cloud passed over the moon outside, and for a moment, she could see only the dark silhouette of his face, hear only the furious pounding of her heart.

  She whispered, “And if I resist you?”

  “I will accept your demand for a marriage in name only.” He stroked up her belly beneath her shirt. Taking her hand, he lightly kissed the palm, then placed it against his naked, muscular chest “But if I make you moan and shiver and gasp in my arms, you are completely mine for the next three months.”

  By the look on his face, he did not expect to lose.

  “How long would the game last?” His “game” wasn’t so different from the battle she’d already been fighting since the day they’d met.