Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife Page 4

“You’re not proposing marriage because you think I’m beautiful,” she said evenly. She held up the prenup with a loud rattle of paper. “You had your lawyers working on this for hours. Stop trying to seduce me. I’m not one of those simpering women to melt at your command. Tell me why you want to marry me. Whom will it hurt? And how?”

  “Cara—” He moved toward her, palms up in a gesture of supplication.

  “No!” She moved backward, unwilling to let him touch her. “Don’t you ‘cara’ me. I want cold, hard facts!”

  His expression changed.

  And suddenly, he laughed aloud.

  “Bravo, signorina,” he said with a satisfied clap of his hands. “You are the first woman to resist me since I was fifteen years old. Bravo.” He gave her a nod. “I respect your intelligence.”

  She flushed, feeling unaccountably pleased by his praise.

  “And as you’ve left me no choice…” He took the file from her, opening it on a nearby table. “Here are your cold, hard facts. Our marriage will last approximately three months. I will allow you to spend my fortune as if it were your own. In return, I will have complete control and management of all your current and future assets.” He paused, looking up to search her gaze. “Do you find that unfair?”

  She said with a bitter laugh, “My only asset is a beat-up old Honda that barely runs. If you want to try to manage that, be my guest.”

  “At the end of our marriage, I will be required to pay you full market value for anything I keep.” He quickly turned to another page. “And in addition, I will recompense you with a settlement of ten million dollars for each month of our marriage.”

  She stared at him, unable to comprehend the words.

  “Thirty…million…dollars?” she choked.

  “Sì.”

  Lucy closed her eyes. She would never have to work again. She could spend her days playing with her baby. Chloe would have the best of everything. The best schools. Brand-new toys. Brand-new clothes. Ballet lessons. Italian lessons. Tuba lessons. Anything and everything. They could have the snug, warm little house she’d always dreamed of. She could turn the heat up as high as she wished. They could pick the biggest Christmas tree on the lot. Chloe could have pony rides—no, a whole stable of thoroughbreds. World cruises. Tuition to Harvard. Anything and everything.

  She tried to be calm, but her hands were shaking.

  “Wh-what would you expect me to do for that?”

  “I would expect you to appear to be my devoted wife in every way. To honor and obey.”

  She licked her dry lips. “To do something illegal?”

  “No.”

  “Immoral?”

  “That is in the eye of the beholder. It would be a marriage of convenience. A few moments ago, you found that distasteful. Do you still?”

  She was suddenly willing to reconsider. “Just three months?”

  “That is my guess.” His blue eyes became grim. “I’m waiting for a man to die—a man you don’t know.”

  That brought her up short. “Oh.”

  “He is old and ill. Once he is dead, we will divorce. And you will be wealthier than your wildest dreams.”

  “Still.” She swallowed. “It’s a bit ghoulish, isn’t it—waiting for someone to die?”

  “We all die sometime, cara.”

  “That’s…true.” Biting her lip, she paced the bedroom, then turned with a sudden intake of breath. “You will do nothing to cause his death?”

  His eyes flashed. “You think I’m a murderer?”

  She didn’t know what to think. None of this made sense. “I’m just trying to understand.”

  “Don’t try.” He pushed the prenup toward her. “Just sign.”

  “Wait. Please.” She pressed her fingers against her eyelids. Think, she ordered her brain. But everything he’d said, all his seductive evasions and cryptic demands, just jumbled together in her mind. Why would a wealthy, handsome prince want to marry her?

  “What about me is so special that it’s worth thirty million dollars?” she asked. “And what does Alex have to do with it?”

  He looked away, clenching his jaw. When he turned back to her, his sky-blue gaze was cold.

  “I’ve made you a good offer. If you don’t like it, tell me to go to hell. Go back to your old life.”

  A sudden rush of fear went through her. Go back to her old life? Wake Chloe up from her soft bed upstairs, and drag her back to their freezing, mouse-infested apartment?

  “Or—” he pushed the prenuptial agreement toward her on the table, holding out a pen “—sign this and marry me.”

  “But—”

  “No more discussion. Make your choice.”

  She stared at his outstretched pen.

  She’d be a fool to sign this agreement. Without a lawyer to explain the legal jargon, for all she knew she’d be signing her life away. Marry a man she didn’t know? Run away with this darkly handsome prince to Italy? Be transformed from a desperate single mother to a powerful princess? Be so wealthy that her daughter, her granddaughter and her great-granddaughter would all be able to devote their lives to their own pursuit of happiness?

  Slowly Lucy took the pen.

  She’d be a fool not to sign it.

  Her choice was simple. Either take this risk—or take Chloe back to their old life. One paycheck away from living out of Lucy’s car. And she’d just lost her job!

  Thirty million dollars. A number beyond comprehension. But still, she hesitated.

  “What about your needs?”

  “My needs?”

  “Your—needs,” she said, flushing. “I won’t share your bed.”

  “Ah.” His sensual lips slid into a grin. “We’ll see.”

  “No.” She gripped the pen in her hand. “I’d be a fool to love a man like you.”

  “We’re not talking of love. I’ve taken many women to my bed, and never once experienced a broken heart. Just pleasure.”

  Which was exactly why she had to make sure he never touched her. A playboy prince like Maximo might be able to seduce someone with just his body, but Lucy didn’t think she could keep her heart out of it. She didn’t think she could make love without falling in love.

  And one broken heart had been enough. She had to protect herself for Chloe’s sake. She wanted to be a joyful, loving mother, not a depressed, empty shell of a woman.

  “I don’t care what you seem to think.” Lucy raised her chin. “I won’t be forced into your bed.”

  “Do you really think I would have to force you, cara?” He softly stroked her lips with his fingertip. She felt the masculine roughness of his skin against her tender mouth. Explosions of desire blossomed up and down her body like flowers.

  He smiled down at her.

  “If I choose to seduce you, you will be mine.”

  Yes, she thought, staring up at him in a daze.

  With a sudden, harsh intake of breath, she wrenched her head away.

  “I will not be yours,” she bit out. “Ever.”

  “A challenge. How delicious.” He stroked her cheek. “You are full of surprises.”

  Her whole body ached for him to kiss her. But she had to resist. Resist, she ordered her unresponsive limbs. But she couldn’t move as he lowered his head toward her.

  Then a knock sounded at the bedroom door.

  “This is your last chance.” Maximo looked down at her, cupping her chin. “Sign the agreement. Or go back to your old life. At the stroke of midnight, my offer ends.”

  It was nearly midnight now! Lucy glanced at the clock, then took a deep breath. Gripping the pen in her hand, she did what she knew she had to do.

  She bent over the desk.

  She hesitated.

  Then she signed her name.

  The instant she’d finished her signature, Maximo took the pen from her fingers. His expression was inscrutable. “Bene.”

  She felt dirty—as if she’d just sold her soul to the devil. And for all she knew, she had.

  For you,
my baby, she whispered soundlessly. Whatever happens to me, you’ll be safe.

  Maximo opened the door. Two men entered the bedroom. “This is my lawyer, Stanford Walsh, and Judge Darlington, who will marry us.”

  “Right now?”

  “Sì.” Maximo popped his head out of the door. “Esmé, Arabella—come here, per favore.”

  “Yes, Maximo?” the countess purred.

  “What do you need, your highness?” the blonde cooed.

  Maximo gave them his most charming smile. “Witnesses for my wedding.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE day Lucy had discovered she was pregnant, she’d started planning her dream wedding. A little white church in springtime. Flowers in bloom. A fluffy white dress. A homemade cake with white buttercream frosting. Alex next to her. And in her arms, the honorary flower girl or ring bearer—their baby.

  Lucy had never imagined she would marry a stranger in a hotel, with no church, no cake and no dress. When she’d gotten ready for work that afternoon, wearing jeans, her mother’s old sweatshirt, a ponytail and no makeup—she’d never imagined she was getting dressed for her wedding.

  She had no friends. No family. The only witnesses were Maximo’s thin-faced lawyer and the two gorgeous women glaring bullets into Lucy’s back.

  Strangely Lucy had no difficulty promising to love, honor and obey Maximo. It was almost pathetically easy. She repeated the judge’s words, echoing Maximo’s responses, hypnotized by his gaze. His eyes pinned her, searing her, controlling her will. Burning into her with the intensity of pure blue flame.

  He slipped a gold band on her finger, and just like that, it was over.

  “You’ll file the license?” Maximo said quietly, shaking the judge’s hand.

  “It will all be arranged. As of this moment, you are married.” The judge beamed at her. “Congratulations. Best wishes to you both.”

  “Such a beautiful ceremony.” The blonde sniffled. Lucy turned in surprise to see her dabbing her mascara with a tissue. “So romantic.”

  But Esmé, the brunette, was staring at Lucy in shock.

  “How did you do it?” she whispered. “You’re nothing. Just look at you.” She slowly looked Lucy up and down. “For three years, I’ve been starving myself to be thin. Exercising till I dropped. Spending a fortune on clothes. Following him around the world in hopes of one glance, one kiss.” Her beautifully made-up face was numb. “How did you do it? How did you make him love you?”

  Lucy sucked in her breath. Half an hour ago, she’d despised the countess. Now she felt desperately sorry for her. The woman was in love with a man who didn’t deserve it—a playboy who was incapable of love.

  Lucy wanted to comfort her, to explain, He doesn’t love me. “Countess—”

  But Maximo grabbed her wrist, glowering down at her as if he knew what she’d been about to say.

  “Come with me, my bride.”

  He pulled her out of the bedroom, and into the party being celebrated in his presidential suite. The loud honking of noisemakers reverberated over cheering in Italian and English.

  “The world must believe we are in love,” he ground out in a low voice. “You will tell no one of our arrangement.”

  “But she’s in love with you!”

  The clinking of crystal glasses intensified as everyone rushed to refill their glasses with champagne.

  “You swore to honor and obey. And yet you again attempt to defy me.”

  The party guests crowding the rooms of the lavish suite started a drunken countdown to the brand-new year.

  “Ten…”

  He pulled her close, his intent clear in his smoldering blue eyes. “And now you will pay.”

  “Nine…”

  As if they were the only two people in the room, Maximo held her in his strong arms.

  “Eight…”

  “No,” she gasped, trembling at the sensation of his hard body against her own. “Please—”

  “Seven…”

  Over the raucous noise of the party, he spoke directly into her ear, pressing his rough, scratchy cheek against her own. “You’ve challenged me.”

  “Six…”

  A group of young men started cheering noisily in Italian.

  “Intrigued me.”

  “Five…”

  An elderly couple toasted each other, smiling tenderly.

  Lucy looked up into her husband’s handsome face. “But I don’t—don’t want—”

  “Four…”

  Maximo stroked her cheek, tilting up her head as, with agonizing slowness, he lowered his mouth near hers. “What don’t you want?”

  “Three…”

  Her lips were full, swollen beneath his gaze. Her breasts were taut, her nipples hard and aching for his touch.

  “A kiss,” she whispered.

  “Two…”

  Saying a kiss caused her lips to brush against his. Her mouth sizzled, sending waves of longing from the tip of her tongue to the sudden ache between her legs.

  Desire for him arched her body like an electric current—desire she was fighting with all her might. She couldn’t let him kiss her. She couldn’t let him start their marriage off that way. If she did, who knew where it would end?

  “One! Happy New Year!”

  The whole suite went crazy, embracing each other and tossing party hats in the air. The string quartet burst into a rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.”

  And her dark prince kissed her.

  His lips were featherlight. She tried to push him away, battering at his shoulders, but as his kiss became more passionate, more ardent, she sagged in his arms. He drew her closer. His large hands wrapped around her hips, holding her firmly against his body. There was no space between them as his tongue flicked against her mouth, spreading her lips, entwining her in a sensual caress.

  His kiss shot through her, pulsing a burst of light down her veins, exploding from her fingertips and toes. A blast of desire crashed through her like lightning splitting the sky.

  She forgot the guests around them—the senators and starlets.

  Forgot the thirty million dollars.

  Forgot she’d vowed never to give herself to another man.

  She knew only that this was meant to be. She was meant to be his woman…

  An eternity—or a second—later, he drew away from her. And he looked down into her star-filled eyes.

  “Sì, cara, sì,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “You’ll be mine.”

  His at last.

  As his Gulfstream IV jet began the descent into Milan, Maximo closed his laptop and looked at his new bride. She was sleeping on the white leather sofa across from his, cuddling her slumbering baby in her arms.

  Lucia Ferrazzi. Per miracolo, he’d found her. And with the prenuptial agreement, he’d made sure that she and her daughter would be protected and safe forever. He’d never need to feel guilty again. He’d be free.

  And his revenge on her grandfather was at hand. For the rest of the old man’s life—however short it might be—he would know that he’d lost everything to Maximo. His precious company. His granddaughter. Giuseppe Ferrazzi would believe that Lucia loved her husband. He would see her and she would be completely under Maximo’s control.

  The old man would hear that his granddaughter and great-granddaughter had been found, but he would never be allowed to speak to either of them. Giuseppe Ferrazzi would die penniless. Alone. Just as he deserved.

  Maximo’s lips curved into a smile. He glanced at his bride. But dannazione, the girl was no fool. He’d thought it would be so easy to seduce her. He’d seen the kind of life she led—the constant struggle, the deprivation, the fight for survival. Women always fell to him so easily; he’d never once considered that he could propose marriage to Lucia and she would refuse.

  Her mistake. She’d issued him a challenge. He’d accepted.

  And now that he’d kissed her…

  Maximo looked at Lucia, sleeping on the sofa. Her ponytail was so disheveled that i
t barely clung to her head above the cascading dark tendrils. She’d taken off her glasses, and her fresh-scrubbed skin glowed like porcelain.

  There was something about her. Some quality beneath the dowdy clothes. A steely strength, a soft vulnerability. She was different from any woman he’d known.

  And that kiss.

  He touched his mouth. He could still feel it. The trembling touch of her lips, the way she’d desperately tried to resist before succumbing in his embrace.…

  He took a deep breath, savoring the anticipation. He hadn’t been so excited by the prospect of any seduction in a long time.

  Perhaps he should have pressed her for more kisses, instead of immediately ordering a car to take them to the airport.

  No. He stroked his chin. It was still too soon.

  In seduction, as in business, timing was everything.

  But he wanted her. And so he’d have her. Why not? Why not add one more layer of pleasure to the whole endeavor? After all, he’d never been married before, and he likely never would be again.

  They’d been married with just minutes to spare.

  The fact that she didn’t trust him only proved her intelligence. He’d deliberately had to distract her before she looked too closely at the prenuptial agreement.

  But he’d make sure she lived in luxury and comfort for the rest of her life. Thirty million dollars was nothing. After their divorce, she would receive hundreds more. Too generous of him, perhaps. But he wanted the debt paid in full.

  After everything he’d read in the private investigator’s report, the neglect Lucia had endured in foster care, the terrible, desperate poverty she’d experienced over the last year, he wanted to make sure he never had to think about it again.

  And after their divorce, he would finally be free.

  She’d lose her stake in Ferrazzi SpA—but what did she, or any woman, care about running a company? She would be happy buying jewels and clothes and toys for her daughter, entertaining friends at gorgeous parties, buying homes across the world. Whatever she desired. If she wanted a real husband, he’d even find her one.

  She would be happy. He’d see to it.

  And then he could comfortably forget her, and be able to enjoy his life again. It had been too long since he’d truly enjoyed anything…