Bought By The Billionaire Prince

Bought by the Billionaire Prince

Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Sam, Alex and Lucinda

with all my love xxx

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Carol Marinelli for her contribution to THE ROYAL HOUSE OF NIROLI series.

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

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

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘IS HE good-looking?’

Meg felt her teeth literally grind together as her travel companion, Jasmine, repeated the question for the hundredth time. Here they were docking in Niroli, which was undoubtedly the most beautiful island Meg had seen on her travels to date, and all Jasmine wanted to talk about was potential men.

Coming from Australia, where everything was comparatively new, Meg was in awe of the past that drenched each place she had visited on her travels through Europe, reeling at the ancient architecture and glorious tales of times gone by and, for Meg, Niroli had it all! To the South of Sicily, the island of Niroli, according to the travel guide Meg had devoured on the boat trip, was steeped in history, its colourful past filled with rivalries and wars dating back centuries and still playing out today. They’d just passed the tiny island of Mont Avellana, which, as recently as two decades ago, had been ruled by Niroli, and now they were coming into Niroli’s main port. Meg stared in wonder as they approached—sandy beaches rapidly giving way to a lush hillside, which was like a fabulous tapestry, with thick forests, and edged by vineyards that laced neatly around the sprawling town. But a grand castle set on a rocky promontory was for Meg the main focal point, standing tall and proud, looking out towards the ocean, as if somehow guarding it all.

‘That’s the palace,’ Meg pointed out to Jasmine excitedly, checking with the map to get her bearings, ‘and over to the right there’s a Roman amphitheatre….’

‘There’s a casino,’ Jasmine said, peering over Meg’s shoulder, ‘oh, and a luxury spa!’

‘We can’t afford luxury.’ Meg smiled. ‘We’re backpacking!’

‘Then we’ll just have to find someone who can!’ Jasmine countered, her mind flicking back to the inevitable. ‘So what sort of doctor is he?’

‘Who?’ Meg asked, then let out a pained sigh as Jasmine’s momentary interest in her surrounds rapidly waned. ‘Alex is a surgeon,’ Meg admitted, then wished she hadn’t, noting Jasmine’s eyes literally light up at the prospect of dating a rich surgeon—well, she could dream on. Alex was the least money-minded of persons and would see through Jasmine in a flash.

If only she had, Meg inwardly sighed. At first when Jasmine had befriended her, Meg had been only too glad of the company, only lately the very qualities that Meg had admired had started to repel. Jasmine’s impetuous nature, her carefree attitude and her obsession with men were starting to irritate, and Meg was actually looking forward to cooling off the friendship a touch—ready now to complete her journey alone.

Backpacking through Europe had seemed the most unlikely of adventures for Meg to embark on. Routine was the key in Meg’s life—routine was what saw her through. Routine was the only way she could control her life and the emotions that had overwhelmed her as she’d struggled to come to terms with her difficult childhood.

But now here she was, twenty-five years of age and ready to start living; ready to let go of a difficult past and truly embrace a world that had at times been so very cruel. Backpacking through Europe was the final self-imposed step in her recovery. Casual work, casual clothes and casual meals had at first been a huge enigma for Meg, but gradually she was starting to relax—that knot of tension that had been present for as long as she could remember was slowly unravelling and, as she stepped off the boat and took a deep cleansing breath, closed her blue eyes and turned her face up to the warm sun Meg knew there and then that she had been so right to embark on this journey—could hardly wait to tell her brother just how far she’d come.

‘Where is he?’ Jasmine’s hopeful face scanned the crowd for a first glimpse of a suitable good-looking surgeon. ‘Does he look like you?’

‘Not in the least.’ Meg laughed but didn’t elaborate. Alex Hunter was as dark as Meg Donovan was blond, his eyes black where Meg’s were blue. They looked nothing alike and with good reason—both were adopted, Alex when he was a toddler, Meg when she was twelve years old. But despite their differences, despite not sharing one shred of DNA, they were as close as any blood brother and sister.

‘Does he know what boat you’re coming on?’

‘I told him ages ago.’ Meg frowned. ‘Well, I emailed him with the details.’

‘And he got it?’ Jasmine checked.

‘Yes, I’m sure he got it,’ Meg answered, but a trickle of unease slid down her spine. ‘He should be here.’

‘Well, it doesn’t look like he is,’ Jasmine pointed out as the crowd started to disperse. ‘Maybe he’s stuck at the hospital.’

‘Maybe,’ Meg answered, but she wasn’t convinced. It was most unlike Alex to just not turn up; if he couldn’t make it himself then he’d have sent someone. ‘Though I haven’t checked my emails for ages. Maybe he’s been trying to get hold of me.’

‘So what do we do now?’ Jasmine asked, her eyes scanning the notice boards. ‘They said at the youth hostel there were usually loads of signs advertising for seasonal workers, but there doesn’t seem to be any—not that I fancy fruit-picking!’

‘It sounds fun. And you do need the work,’ Meg pointed out. Jasmine wasn’t just down to her last Euro, she was dipping into Meg’s carefully planned budget and, frankly, Meg was tired of hearing Jasmine say she’d pay her back as soon as she got some work.

‘Well, I think fruit-picking sounds awful.’ Jasmine pouted, but soon cheered up, cheekily ripping down a notice and then pocketing it. ‘This is more me. They’re looking for casual staff at the casino and there’s discounted accommodation—ooh, look, there’s even a courtesy bus.’

‘I think that’s for the clientele,’ Meg said as some holidaymakers who certainly weren’t backpackers were escorted into the luxury vehicle.

‘So?’ Jasmine shrugged and pulled on her backpack as she called to the bus driver to wait for her—Meg couldn’t help but smile; Jasmine was like a cat who always landed on her feet. ‘Come on, Meg.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Meg shook her head. ‘A casino is the last place I want to be. All that noise and bustle…’

‘All those rich men!’ Jasmine giggled and even Meg managed a laugh. ‘Come on, Meg, hold off on your search for inner peace for a few days and come and have some fun at the casino. We can share a room.’

‘It’s really not me.’ Raking a hand through her blond hair, Meg felt the salt and grease and almost relented—given Alex wasn’t here, that long soak in a bath she’d been looking forward to wasn’t going to eventuate and accommodation at the casino, even if it was budget accommodation, was surely going to be better than some of the hostels she’d stayed in. ‘I think I’ll head over to the hospital.’ Meg checked out her map. ‘It isn’t very far. Maybe he is just caught up at work. You’d better go or you’re going to miss that courtesy bus.’

‘Well, if it doesn’t work out with your brother, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks.’ Meg grinned, watching as her friend climbed on the bus and waved her off, wishing, wishing she could, even for a little while, be as happy and as carefree as Jasmine—could relax just a little bit, could have just a fraction of her confidence. The universe itself seemed to provide Jasmine with her assured nature.

Meg watched until the tiny bus disappeared from view, filled with something she couldn’t define—a hunger, a need almost for familiarity, to be able to let down her guard a touch, to be with someone who knew how hard this was for her, someone who knew that this so-called trip of a lifetime, this carefree existence, was in fact an agonising journey for her.

Where the hell was Alex?

The last e-mail he’d sent, he’d confirmed her date and time of arrival, had told her he couldn’t wait to catch up, had huge news to share. Surely if his plans had changed he’d have contacted her?

But how?

Meg closed her eyes against a temporary moment of panic. She hadn’t been near a computer for the last couple of weeks—happy the next leg of her tour had been arranged, she’d decided to cut loose for a while—and look where it had got her!

The taxi rank had long since closed, so, consulting her map, Meg set out on foot towards the Free Hospital where Alex had told her he was working. The midday sun combined with her heavy backpack made the relatively short distance seem to take for ever. How she’d have loved to have lingered and wandered through the pretty shops, but a backpack and a pressing lack of accommodation for the night didn’t allow for such luxuries, so instead Meg stopped at one of the pavement cafés and ordered a quick coffee. Watching intrigued as the town seemingly prepared for something—shopkeepers were draping their stores with huge vines, hilarity ensuing as a few vocal locals strung banners and lights across the street, calling to each other in their colourful language as children watched on gleefully.

‘Is there going to be a party?’ Meg asked one of waiters whose English was better than most.

‘A bigger party than you have ever seen!’ Filling her cup he elaborated, ‘The Niroli Feast starts tomorrow—we party for the next few days and celebrate the treasures the rich soil gives us.’

‘Here?’ Meg checked, gesturing to the street they were in, but the waiter just laughed.

‘The whole island celebrates—you must stay for it,’ he insisted as only the Italians could. ‘I ask you—why would anyone not want to stay a while in this wonderful place?’

Why indeed?

Boosted from her shot of coffee, Meg made her way more briskly to the hospital, hoping against hope that Alex would be there and trying to fathom what she’d do if he wasn’t.

‘Dr Alex Hunter!’ Meg tried to keep her voice even, trying not to show her frustration as she said her brother’s name for perhaps the tenth time. On perhaps the eleventh, the receptionist nodded her immaculately groomed head.

‘Sì, Alessandro Fierezza!’ Eagerly, again she nodded, tapping details into her computer. ‘He no here, I have no contact for him. Try palazzo!’

Help!

Meg grabbed her long hair into a tight fist and let out an exasperated breath as the receptionist called on a colleague, who spoke even less English, listening to their vibrant discussion peppered with the names Alex and Alessandro and wondering what on earth she should do.

‘Your brother marry.’

‘But my brother is not married, he’s not even engaged!’ Meg gave a helpless laugh, then shook her head as in broken English the two women attempted to explain the impossible.

‘Matrimonio,’ the receptionist said firmly, nodding as Meg frowned. ‘Your brother, Alessandro—’

‘Alex,’ Meg corrected, then slumped in defeat as the receptionist forced her to admit the truth—even if they had got the names mixed up, the simple fact was if Alex was in Niroli then he’d have met her at the port; her careful plans for the next couple of weeks flying out of the window courtesy of three little words—

‘Your brother gone.’

CHAPTER TWO

JASMINE HAD BEEN RIGHT—there was work at the casino.

Lots of it!

Working her way through mountain after mountain of white china plates, Meg tried to block out the noise of a busy kitchen—the chefs screaming at each other like proud cats fighting over territory, waiters collecting elaborate dishes, swooshing out of the swing doors only to return moments later, laden with half-eaten dishes to add to the pile Meg had been allocated. Not that Meg minded hard work, she’d been more than prepared for the back-breaking work of fruit-picking, but being shut up in a kitchen, her face red from the heat, her blond hair dark with sweat, was a million miles from what she’d envisaged from her time in Niroli.

Almost as soon as she’d found Jasmine and filled in an application form, Meg had been given a list of shifts. Six till ten o’clock each evening, paid in cash at the end of each of shift, which meant Meg had the whole day for exploring Niroli, and it paid well, much better than fruit-picking, which meant, Meg realised, if she was careful and perhaps worked a couple of extra shifts she could treat herself to a day at that luxury spa.

With renewed enthusiasm Meg tackled the mountain of plates—the last hour of her shift made so much easier by fantasising about being smeared in the famous Niroli volcanic mud she’d read about and being thoroughly pampered and spoiled for a day!

‘Faster now!’ Antoinette, her colleague for the night who was rinsing and stacking the plates that Meg was washing, egged her on in her broken English, but kindly. ‘We need empty sink for next staff. Or else they…’ She didn’t finish what she was saying—in fact a ream of sentences and orders around the kitchen remained forever incomplete, broken off midword for a reason Meg couldn’t yet fathom—the swing doors opened and an immediate hush descended on the busy kitchen as a group of dark suits entered.

‘Ah—sir!’ The head chef jumped to nervous attention as he approached the foreboding-looking men that had entered, yet he addressed only the leader.

And even if he hadn’t uttered a single word, even if she had no idea who he was, Meg knew that he was very much in charge. His jet hair was a head above the rest of them, but it wasn’t just his height that set him apart—there was an authoritative air about him that would hush any room, an intimidating and overwhelming presence that had everyone in the kitchen, Meg included, on heightened alert.

‘Who is he?’ Meg whispered to Antoinette as slowly he toured the kitchen, talking with the staff as he did so. There was a slightly depraved look to him, a dangerous glint in those black eyes as he worked the room.

‘That,’ Antoinette said, in broken English, ‘is the boss, Luca Fierezza. He owns the casino. A prince.’

For a simple woman like Antoinette, Meg reasoned, such an enigmatic personality would seem like a prince. Not for a second did it enter her head that nothing had been lost in translation.

He was over at the far end now, talking with some of the kitchen staff, and Meg quickly realised that this was far more than a cursory appearance by the owner, that he was actually listening to what they were saying, taking in every word and relaying them to one of his sidekicks who was faithfully writing down each word.

‘He comes often,’ Antoinette said. ‘He make sure that everything work okay. See, now Mario tell him the trouble we are having with the shrimp—the yield was low this last two days….’

‘Is that his concern?’ When Antoinette frowned Meg attempted to make herself clearer. ‘Isn’t that a problem for the kitchen?’

‘He makes it his concern,’ Antoinette said, an almost proud note to her voice as she did, letting Meg know she had understood her the first time. ‘This casino is the best place to play and to work—Luca makes sure of that. I work here under four different owners and he is the best.

‘Come—’ she nudged Meg ‘—work now. He is coming.’

Meg could feel him making his way over, feel the thick tension in the air as he worked the room, the raucous sound of the earlier kitchen replaced now by the quiet hum of ordered efficiency.

‘Antoinette!’ he greeted the elderly lady by her first name. ‘Come stai?’ How are you?

‘Molto bene, grazie.’ Very well, thank you. Antoinette carried on working as she spoke, kept her head down as she addressed her boss, but, Meg noted, even if his greeting had been personable and friendly, Antoinette was keeping her respectful distance, a clear pecking order on display.

Meg glanced over as he walked past, gave him a brief polite nod as he did the same, and then picked up a plate, swishing the cloth over it, waiting for him to move on—a casual kitchen hand undoubtedly didn’t merit Antoinette’s more familiar greeting—only he didn’t move on! Meg could feel him standing over her shoulder; feel the burn of his eyes on the back of her neck as he questioned Antoinette.

Antoinette introduced Meg and he asked something in Italian, his rich, fluid voice prompting Meg to briefly turn around.

‘She’s a good worker,’ Antoinette responded to his question as Luca ran a dismissive eye over her, and, turning her back on him, Meg plunged her hands back into the soapy water, her skin red—not from heat or exertion, instead embarrassment, humiliation prickling every nerve as they openly discussed her without inclusion.

She was beautiful.

Luca had noticed her the second he’d walked into the kitchen, her blond head amidst the many dark ones immediately drawing his attention, her tall, willowy body forcing his gaze.

She didn’t belong in the kitchen—that tall, delicate frame would wear the finest of gowns with ease; those long, delicate fingers should be wrapped around the silverware on the other side of the door; those full lips should be tasting the delicacies produced here, not clearing the aftermath. Yet she clearly thought otherwise. There was nothing martyred in her stance as she worked on, unlike some of the foreigners who came to the island—he had met one just moments before. Bold as brass, she had deemed herself too good for the manual work behind the scenes.

Only this lady was too good for this.

Too good for here, only she didn’t know it yet—and now she was turning her back on him.

Luca felt the discomfort of his staff around him, registered the appalled look on Antoinette’s face as this Meg broke with protocol as she turned her slender back to him and proceeded to work on, but instead of feeling enraged, instead of demanding that she face him when he spoke, unusually he smiled and took a step closer to her. For the first time he inhaled the scent of her and it was like pulling the stopper on a fragrance bottle, a heady rush of femininity filling his nostrils, his first instinct to touch her shoulder, to turn her around to face him, but he resisted. Instead he clenched his fingers into his palms—there would be time for that later.

There would be a later.

Luca knew that with the certainty of a man who always got his own way. A combination of wealth, power and devilish good looks were a heady cocktail no woman had ever refused—at least not for long. The pleasure of pursuit was a skill Luca never needed for more than the short-term. But chatting up a lowly kitchen hand was far from Luca’s style, so quickly he came up with what he deemed a suitable solution, addressing her for the first time in English.

‘We need blondes out on the casino floor. You come and see me tomorrow and we can discuss something—’

‘No, thank you,’ Meg interrupted, still keeping her back to him, still not looking at him, but at least she was moving now—quickly washing the dishes, anger fuelling her, appalled at the gall of him.

‘I am offering you a promotion.’

‘And I’m declining,’ Meg answered through gritted teeth, her hand reaching for the hose to rinse the plates and sorely tempted to turn it on him, but Luca wasn’t about to be dismissed, his voice authoritative, almost daring her to defy him.

‘You will turn around and face me when I speak with you.’

Oh, she’d face him, all right, Meg decided, swinging her blond head around, more than ready to give him a piece of her mind, more than ready to tell him just what he could do with his blatant chauvinism, but again she hadn’t counted on the effect of Luca up close and personal.

He was savagely good-looking.

Savage, because the effect of him close up was utterly brutal—like staring into the sun. His beauty, his presence was so dazzling, so blinding that, though the sensible thing to do was surely tear her eyes away, to shield herself from his effect, Meg found it impossible. Instead, she took in the impeccable attire, the raven hair without even a fleck of silver, and his exquisitely chiselled face that hadn’t met with a razor for the last couple of days, the dark stubble of regrowth giving him a bandit-like appearance.

Danger!

Her mind was screaming it, playing out the message in stereo in her head, yet for once her body wasn’t listening. Instead it was flaming into a wicked response caused by a mere look from him and now burning with awareness as his eyes leisurely worked her, leaving Meg to beg the perilous question as to how she would respond if he so much as touched her.

‘I’d prefer to work in the kitchen…’ Her voice was a croak, her protest pathetically weak compared to the one she had intended, but Luca wasn’t listening anyway.

‘You work where I tell you to. Nine o’clock tomorrow.’ His thickly accented voice clipped his order and Meg stiffened. ‘You come and see me then, tell the security staff who you are when you arrive and they will show you where to go—oh, and wear something nice.’

‘Lucky you.’ Antoinette beamed as Luca stalked out of the kitchen followed by his entourage, but normal services were definitely not resumed, every member of the kitchen crew staring at her, awaiting her reaction as Antoinette excitedly chatted on. ‘Tomorrow you will be working on the casino floor—’

‘I don’t want to,’ Meg broke in. ‘I’ve already told him that!’ But Antoinette firmly shook her head, her voice more insistent now.

‘You will do as Luca says. You have to go and see him—he has ordered you.’

‘He can order away,’ Meg said grimly, peeling off her drenched apron as Antoinette did the same, the long, exhausting shift over, and even as they took their work cards to the management and were paid for their time, somehow Meg knew that tonight had been her first and final foray as a kitchen hand at the Niroli casino, that when she didn’t turn up tomorrow for promotion, her services would no longer be required.

But it wasn’t a lack of work that was troubling Meg.

It was the effect that look had had on her—the fact that, despite her brave words, despite his appalling rudeness, she was actually thinking of going to see him again tomorrow.

Meg practically ran back to her hotel room, ran as if the devil himself were chasing her, but she couldn’t outrun her feelings, shocking emotions beating her to her door.

With one look, one brief exchange, it was as if he’d somehow reached inside and flicked a switch, aroused feelings that were so deeply buried Meg was barely aware of their existence—till now. It was as if he’d undressed her right there in the kitchen with his black, knowing eyes, as if in the two seconds he’d graced her with, somehow he had peeled away every layer of clothing, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. And if ever it were possible to make love to someone and never even touch them, then that was surely what had just happened.

Tomorrow morning she’d pack her things and head to Mont Avellana, look for work in the vineyards or orange groves. She was tired of Jasmine anyway; it wasn’t running away, Meg countered her own question as her shaking hand put the key in the lock.

It was about staying in control.

CHAPTER THREE

‘COME ON, Meg—loosen up and live a little!’