One Summer at The Villa: The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal
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In spite of her inexperience, it wasn’t difficult to act the part. At times like this, she disappeared deep within herself, separated her inner being from the shell and watched everything from outside the scene. It was the only way she could cope—by pretending to be someone else. It was a skill she’d honed over years of living with an abusive father.
Cristiano stood his ground as she reached for him, as her fingertips stroked along his freshly shaven jaw, over the fullness of his hard mouth, his chin.
His eyes were impossible to read. And then something kindled in their depths, something that both frightened her and compelled her. Perhaps she was going too far, making a mistake…
“You play with fire, Principessa,” he growled.
She worked hard to ignore the warning bells in her head as she slipped her hand around to the back of his neck, into the soft hair at his nape, bringing herself closer as she did so. Could she really do this?
She could, and she would. Let him see what a Monteverdian was made of. He would not intimidate her. He would not win.
Slowly, she pulled his head down. So slowly. He didn’t try to move away, simply followed her bidding. She didn’t kid herself she was in control. He was interested, like a cat was interested in a mouse.
But, for now, he let her guide him. And that was all she needed.
When he was only inches away, she stroked her fingers down his jaw again. Over that gorgeous mouth because she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t play it too easy, of course, because he would see right through her. But if she got him worked up a bit, made him think about how to storm her defenses, she might buy enough time to get Raúl to commit to Monteverde.
“Know this,” she said softly, her voice as sultry as she could make it. “Know that you have been this close to paradise…” She lifted herself onto her tiptoes, leaned in so close that her lips could have ghosted over his with little effort. “…this close, Cristiano,” she said, using his name for the first time. “And no further.”
Then she took a step back, intending to leave him standing there, puzzling over what had just happened.
A split second later, Cristiano caught her waist in two large hands, yanked her against the full length of his hard body. The wild thought that she should have run while she’d had the chance flashed into her mind. Instead, she’d pushed the thorn deeper into the lion’s paw when she should have given him a wide berth.
Cristiano’s mouth crushed down on hers with devastating precision. The kiss was masterful, dominating, unlike any she’d ever experienced before. Antonella’s head tilted back as he bracketed her face between two broad hands. He slanted his mouth over hers, forced a response. When she opened her lips—to protest? To bite him? To do what?—his tongue slipped inside and tangled with her own.
Heat flooded her like melting wax, dripped into her limbs, made her languid and pliable when she should be anything but. He’d caught her by surprise and she couldn’t seem to separate herself from the act. It wasn’t the first time she’d been kissed—but it was the first time she’d felt on the verge of losing herself in a kiss.
She wanted to dissolve into him, wanted to see where this hot achy feeling would take her if she let it. It was marvelous, extraordinary—
Reality trickled through her as his hands slipped down her back, over her hips, pulled her against his body. His hard, tense body.
Oh, my, was that—?
No. She couldn’t do this. He was the enemy, for God’s sake! She fought against nature, against him, against herself to claw her way back to the surface.
And though it was a cheap thing to do, she bit down on his questing tongue just enough to make him withdraw. It was that or allow him to so completely dominate her senses that she lost the power of her convictions.
He swore. And then he laughed. Actually laughed. “You need a spanking, cara. I’ll be sure to remedy that when we are naked together.”
Antonella managed to jerk free from his grip. She was off-balance, her heart pounding and her blood simmering, and she wanted nothing more than to escape. But she had to stand firm.
She jerked her shawl back into place. “If this is how you usually set about your seductions, it’s a wonder you have any success at all.”
His eyes burned into her. “When I want something, I get it. Always.”
Against her will, a hot little flame smoldered deep inside. She had to get away, far away. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but if you will excuse me, my lover is waiting. Ciao.”
“For now, Principessa,” he said. “But I have a feeling you will take a new lover quite soon.”
She’d made a mistake thinking she could manage him. A huge mistake. And yet she desperately wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. She gave him her best ice princess glare. “Yes, well, that man will not be you.”
“Never make promises you cannot keep. The first lesson of statecraft.”
“This isn’t a negotiation between nations.”
“Isn’t it?”
When she couldn’t think of a rejoinder, she pivoted and hurried to the dining room. Raúl stood on the opposite side of the room, speaking with a short, bald man. He looked up when he saw her, smiled. She smiled back. He was a handsome man, tall and rather good-looking in his custom tuxedo.
But he did not make her blood hum. Not the way Cristiano seemed to do. Angrily, she shoved away thoughts of the prince and crossed to Raúl’s side, letting him kiss her on both cheeks in greeting.
“There you are, Antonella. I was about to send a search party.”
Antonella laughed. Was she the only one who thought the sound brittle, false? Other guests clustered together, talking and sipping cocktails. A few watched her from beneath lowered lids. One man stared openly.
“I’m afraid I must always be fashionably late, darling,” she said.
Raúl swiped a champagne glass from a passing tray and handed it to her. She murmured her thanks before lifting it to her lips. Cristiano di Savaré walked in at the moment she sipped.
Her pulse jumped and she swallowed too much of the bubbly liquid, coughing as it seared a path down her throat.
Raúl failed to notice as he murmured, “Excuse me a moment, my dear,” and strode over to Cristiano.
Oh, God. She had to keep them apart. She had to convince Raúl to invest in Monteverde tonight. There was no time to lose. She wasn’t about to let that arrogant, rude bastard derail her plans.
Just as she got the coughing under control and started toward the two men, someone bumped her elbow.
Antonella held her glass out in time to prevent a spill. An elderly woman in a garish tropical-print muumuu gasped, her hand over her heart as if she were having an attack. “Please excuse me, Your Highness! Oh, how clumsy of me!”
“No, no, it is fine,” Antonella said, her voice a little rough from the coughing. “I didn’t spill a drop.”
But the woman was unconvinced and insisted on a thorough inspection. Then it took several more minutes for Antonella to disentangle from the ensuing conversation. Once the poor lady seemed soothed, Antonella moved away with a murmured apology and went looking for Raúl.
It didn’t take her long to realize the frightening truth, however.
Raúl had left the room. And so had the Crown Prince of Monterosso.
Chapter Two
SHE stood for everything he despised.
Cristiano sat at the polished mahogany table, directly across from Antonella Romanelli, and watched as she directed all her attention on Raúl Vega. Vega basked in her lovely glow like a man showing off a prized possession.
And why not?
She wore an ivory silk gown that clung to her body like a sleeve and displayed her breasts to perfection. With her sooty fall of hair, generous cleavage, and sharp sense of self-awareness, Princess Antonella was the kind of woman who lit up a room simply by entering it. He’d seen photos of her, but nothing had actually prepared him for the impact of her physical beauty. She was, in a word, stunning.
She had a voice that reminded him of a hidden spring, sweet and pure until she poured on the honey, and a sensual way of moving that made a man’s mind turn to more elemental matters. When she’d turned to him outside her cabin door, he’d felt as if a weight had settled on his chest and wouldn’t lift. He’d come prepared for battle, certain he was more than ready for it, and been felled by a lightning strike to his gut.
Dio.
He had to remember that without the Romanellis, peace would have come to Monterosso and Monteverde many years ago. Countless people would have lived instead of dying senseless, bloody deaths.
Paolo Romanelli had been an egomaniacal despot. His son, Dante, was certainly no better. He’d deposed his own father, after all. What kind of son did that? What kind of daughter flitted around the world, taking and discarding lovers, seemingly indifferent to her family’s excesses?
He’d counted on that indifference to help him gain what he wanted. Antonella was a woman of expensive tastes and a dwindling bank account. He had the means to keep her in designer gowns and expensive spa treatments, yet he’d nearly blown the whole game with his visceral reaction to her on deck. He needed her pliable, not bristling with indignation.
Cristiano’s fingers tightened on the stem of the wine glass he held. He had a chance to end it. A chance to crush Monteverde into submission once and for all. Once he gained control of their government and deposed the Romanellis, children from both nations would grow up happy and free instead of living in fear of bombs and bullets.
There was currently a ceasefire, but it was tentative. One random bomb from an extremist group, and even that fragile peace would be in jeopardy.
He intended to make it permanent, no matter the personal cost. No matter who he had to destroy.
Antonella laughed, the sound light and bubbly. So what if she was beautiful, so what if she seemed to possess a hint of vulnerability that intrigued him? Because surely it was an act. A very polished, very accomplished act. He’d known women like her before. Spoiled and shallow, nothing more than beautiful exteriors with empty souls.
Raúl bent toward her. At the last second, she expertly turned her head and his kiss landed on her cheek. Interesting.
Cristiano took a sip of wine. She thought she had Raúl wrapped up and tied with a pretty bow, but she was mistaken. Cristiano had gone to a lot of trouble to sweeten his deal. Though Raúl had yet to commit, he would not refuse Monterosso’s offer. He was far too good a businessman to allow a woman, no matter how enticing, to divert him from his company’s best interests.
For the first time since they’d sat at the table, Antonella’s gaze landed on him. He felt the jolt to his toes, and it irritated him. He refused to look away first. A pale flush crept over her cheeks as their gazes held.
He wouldn’t have thought she had it in her to be embarrassed, but perhaps sitting in the company of her current lover while contemplating another man was a bit much even for one so jaded as she.
Raúl’s hand came down on Antonella’s and she jumped, her head whipping around to look at him. Her flush deepened and Cristiano felt a stab of triumph. She wanted him, no matter what she’d said on the deck. It was a start in the right direction.
She looked guilty as hell as Raúl gazed at her with concern. “Are you feeling well, my dear?” Raúl said. “You look distressed.”
“What? Oh—no, I’m fine. It’s just a little hot. Don’t you find the tropics rather hot?” she asked the gathered diners.
Several people chimed in with opinions and a discussion ensued about the balmy temperatures, the fact it was hurricane season, and whether or not—God help him—a Piña Colada was preferable to a Bahama Mama. Empty chatter that scraped across his raw nerves and made him resent her even more.
When dinner was finally over, the guests adjourned to the deck to watch the fireworks over Canta Paradiso. Antonella, he noticed, clung to Raúl as if she were afraid to let him out of her sight again.
Too late, mia bella.
“Ah, Cristiano,” Raúl said as he guided Antonella over to the railing where Cristiano stood, “are you enjoying yourself in this lovely paradise?”
“Si. The scenery is quite…extraordinary.”
Antonella dropped her gaze as his own slipped over her. Was that another blush?
Raúl failed to notice the exchange. “I still can’t believe it’s been five years since last we met.”
Antonella blinked up at her lover. “You know the Prince?”
“We attended Harvard together,” Raúl replied, breaking into a broad smile as he clapped Cristiano on the back.
“Actually, it’s only been four years since we last met, Raúl.”
“Ah, yes,” Raúl said, clearing his throat. They both knew that Cristiano hadn’t exactly been the best of company in the several months after Julianne’s death. He’d been bitter, angry. And he’d pushed his friends and family away with equal measures of wounded contempt.
“We must not allow so much time to pass again, yes?” Cristiano said.
Raúl gave him a solemn smile. “As you say, mi amigo.”
Antonella’s lush lower lip was fixed between her teeth. A frown drew her sculpted brows together, furrowed her forehead.
An arrow of heat shot to Cristiano’s groin. All his senses had gone on high alert the moment he caught a whiff of her luscious scent. Lavender and vanilla? A hint of lemon? He’d wanted to drown in it when he’d kissed her, wanted to breathe her in for as long as he could.
The thought both angered and intrigued him. How could he react so strongly to this woman? He had not come here with any real intention of seducing her. He’d thought his business could be concluded with a great deal of money, perhaps some flattery. An empty promise or two.
Yet his body was beginning to insist on the idea of a seduction.
It was time to close this deal and move on to the real business at hand before he became any more distracted. “Raúl, if you can spare some time now, I’d like to conclude our discussion. I’m afraid I must return to Monterosso in the morning.”
Raúl nodded. “Yes, of course. If you will excuse us, my dear?” he said to Antonella.
“I must speak with you as well,” she said, her voice rising. “And I’d rather do it now.”
She looked fierce, like an Amazon warrior. Determined.
Raúl seemed puzzled. And perhaps a bit annoyed. Cristiano laughed inwardly. She was making it too easy for him. No man liked petulant demands from his lover, and especially not in front of witnesses. A shrewd woman would have stated her case when they were in bed together later. Her problem, not his.
“Go ahead, Raúl,” Cristiano said. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished.”
He could afford to be generous. She’d just lost the game.
Antonella wanted to scream. It’d been more than an hour since Raúl and Cristiano di Savaré had disappeared for their talk. What was happening? What if Raúl decided to build his mills in Monterosso?
She’d done her best to convince him, but she didn’t have a good feeling about it. What could Monteverde do for Vega Steel? They had vast deposits of raw ore, a necessary ingredient in steel, but they had little else to offer.
Except for a royal title. Yes, she’d put that on the table too when she’d sensed Raúl’s reluctance to commit to her country. Why not? She’d been intended since birth to marry for Monteverde’s best interests. Her father was no longer King, and she’d had two royal alliances fall through before the weddings could happen, but that didn’t mean she didn’t owe it to her people to do her part.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. If her choice was marriage to a man she didn’t love or the annexation of her country, she’d take marriage.
No matter how angry it made her. No matter how helpless she felt, how useless. Madonna mia, couldn’t her father have at least let her attend university instead of finishing school? She could pour tea and work a room with the best hostesses out there. And yet what good were those skills?
Raúl had taken the offer in his stride, but was it enough to convince him? In spite of his humble upbringing and his rise from poverty to great wealth, she had a feeling she’d failed miserably. If any man should have been tempted by a royal title, it should have been Raúl Vega.
If she failed, it would be yet another humiliation to add to her long list. Her first fiancé had driven a car off a cliff and her second had married another woman before the handshake had grown cold on the deal her father had made to wed her to him.
She was doomed in love, it would seem. Not that she’d ever been in love, but she’d like a chance to experience it. Like Lily, the woman her second almost-fiancé had married instead of her. What was it like to have a man look at you the way Nico Cavelli looked at Lily? To have a man sacrifice everything to be with you?
She would never know. It wasn’t her lot in life to find love. Dante had told her she didn’t need to marry for Monteverde now that their father was no longer King, but she’d insisted it was her duty. If it benefited her country, she would do it. No matter how desperate and sad it made her. No matter how much the idea of tying herself to a man terrified her.
Not all men were like her father. Not all men would grow violent when they were angry.
Antonella shook her head to clear it. She didn’t know for certain that she had failed this time. There was still a chance she’d won, that her royal title and her ore would be more enticing than anything Cristiano di Savaré had to offer.
She threw the tail of her shawl over her shoulder and continued her pacing on deck. Most of Raúl’s guests had returned to shore or to their own yachts, with the exception of those who had cabins aboard. In the harbor, yachts, a cruise ship, and fishing boats lay at anchor for the night, though the sounds of laughter and music drifted across the bay.
She chewed on the edge of a fingernail, then jerked her hand away with a curse when she realized what she was doing. She hadn’t chewed her nails since she was twelve and her father made her drink half a bottle of hot sauce to end the habit. It had certainly worked—she’d spent two days so sick she’d thought she would die; afterwards, she could hardly look at her fingernails without retching.
But Cristiano unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite fathom. He was Monterossan, which was a big strike against him. He was the future King of that nation, an even bigger strike. He was tall, incredibly magnetic, and arrogant beyond all imagination.
And yet, a little thrill of excitement insisted on rearing its ugly head whenever she thought about him. Stop. She didn’t like him, and she damn sure didn’t trust him.
A shiver slid over her. What if she’d failed?
“Perhaps you should drink fewer espressos so late at night, cara.”
Antonella whirled to find Cristiano emerging onto the deck. Her heart thumped, though not from fright. Why did he disconcert her so? “What are you talking about?”
He tipped his chin to her. “Pacing. Less caffeine would help.”
Antonella closed her eyes and counted to five. He knew he irritated her. Worse, he seemed to take great pleasure in it. She must not allow him to do so any longer. She could control her reactions. Would control them.
“I had one espresso, grazie. Your concern is touching.”
He came over and leaned against the rail, watching her. His eyes dipped to her chest, back up. Typical. Half the time, men talked exclusively to her breasts. She’d grown quite accustomed to it.
“You are dying to know what we talked about, aren’t you?”
Antonella shrugged. “You are mistaken if you think I care. I’m not here for business.”
He laughed. “So you have said. But what do they call it now, if not the oldest business in the world?”
She would not react. Would not. Had Raúl told him what they’d discussed, that she’d offered herself in exchange for the mills? Or was he simply baiting her?
“Is that what it’s called when you sleep around, Cristiano?” she said very coolly, her heart throbbing with hurt and anger and the urge to deny she’d ever slept with any man. He’d never believe her, of course. Nor did he deserve an explanation.
Why did men have a double standard when it came to sex? He could bed countless women and it only added to his allure.
“Sensitive, cara?”
“Not at all. I simply don’t like you. Or your hypocrisy.”
“I’m hurt.” His teeth flashed in a grin.
She wished he’d jump off the side of the yacht and leave her alone. “Where is Raúl?” she demanded.
“I’m not your social secretary, Principessa. If you want him, go find him.” The words were said mildly, almost mockingly. And with a hint of steel beneath the velvet. “And what makes you think I’m a hypocrite? I quite like that you’ve had lovers. It means you know your way around a man’s body. It means we will not need to waste time once we are naked.”
Perhaps she’d had too much caffeine after all. Her pulse raced like a bullet fired from a gun. “I’m not sleeping with you, Cristiano.”
“Don’t be too sure,” he said, his voice a sensual growl that scraped over her nerve endings and left her shivering.
“I know my own mind, and I know what I don’t want. I don’t want you.”
Cristiano reached for her hand, slipped his fingers between hers and brought them to his mouth. She tried to pull away, but he held her firm. “And do you know your body, Antonella? Often, our mind and our body are at war. Did you not know that?”
Before she could formulate an answer from her scattered thoughts, he touched the tip of his tongue to the center of her palm.
Antonella sucked in a breath as rivers of sensation spilled down her spine, through her limbs, into her feminine core. Why? Why? Men had been trying to get her into bed for as long as she could remember and she’d yet to feel anything remotely as exciting as what she felt when Cristiano touched her.
Too bad he was the wrong man. She needed to pull her hand away forcefully, needed to put distance between them and never allow herself to be alone with him again.
But she couldn’t. She was trapped, as trapped as if he’d bound her to him with iron shackles.
“Stop,” she forced out, her voice little more than a tortured whisper.
“Are you quite certain?” he murmured. “Your body says otherwise.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Si, I do. You are flushed…”
“It’s hot.”
Cristiano laughed low in his throat, kissed her fingers and settled her hand on his shoulder before he tugged her closer. His broad fingers splayed over her hip. “And it’s about to get hotter. Why deny this attraction, hmm? We will be good together.”
“I—”
A shadow passed over them and then a voice said, “I beg your pardon.”
Antonella jerked out of Cristiano’s grip just in time to see Raúl turn around and slip back inside. Oh, God! Furious tears pressed against the back of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She would have to go after him, would have to try and repair the damage. She’d just offered to marry him, for God’s sake. What would he think of her now?
She could repair the damage. Surely she could. She had to. For Monteverde’s future.
But not before she turned and gave the arrogant man who’d caused her so much trouble in such a short time a piece of her mind.
“You did that on purpose!” She should have listened to the voice telling her to get away from him. Because she hadn’t, because she’d been riveted by his handsome face and sizzling touch, she’d risked the future of her entire nation. And for what? A kiss? A kiss from a man she despised?