DEAR READER LETTER
By Sharon Kendrick

Dear Reader,

One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.

There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.

I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”

So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?

I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.

Love,

Sharon Kendrick

The Prince's Love-Child

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

CONTENTS

Cover

Dear Reader

About the Author

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

GUIDO glanced at his watch and a flicker of displeasure briefly spoiled the sensual perfection of his lips.

She was late!

But his irritation gave way to a soft smile as he anticipated the heady delights to come. Lucy could not be blamed for the lateness of her plane—indeed, she did not even know he was going to be there.

Guido found himself wondering what her reaction would be when she discovered that he was, for she was that rare species among women—someone who constantly surprised him.

His eyes flickered to the arrivals board. The plane had landed and soon the flight attendants would be making their way through to the lounge…

Guido was aware of being watched, and his brilliant eyes widened slightly as he saw a woman looking as if she would like to leap on him and devour him. Predictability was so tedious, he decided, turning his head to see the faintest flash of red-brown as a woman with glorious Titian hair sashayed towards the gate. Most of it was hidden beneath a chic little hat, worn at a jaunty angle, but the colour was enough to mark her out, as was the unconscious grace with which she moved.

She was dressed in a sleek navy uniform, her long legs encased in pale silk that he knew would be stockings, not pantyhose. Was it stockings which made a woman walk differently? Guido wondered. Did the feel of cool air on her thighs make her aware of her sexuality? Or was that just something inherent in Lucy’s nature?

No. She was a contrast—a maddening and exciting contrast of looks and attitude. Her hair was lit with fire, but her expression was cool, and she seemed oblivious to the men who stood to let her pass and then just carried on standing there, following the sexy sway of her hips with hungry eyes.

He felt the leaping of desire tensing his body but he didn’t move. She couldn’t yet see him, and he wanted to watch her reaction when she did…

Ahead of her, Lucy could see the jostle of crowds, and the air-conditioning was as cool as ice-water on her skin as she walked through the busy airport. This city held all kinds of associations for her—some good, and some just dangerously good. Hello, New York, she thought.

‘Are you coming straight back to the hotel?’ Kitty asked.

Lucy turned. Her fellow stewardess was applying a coat of lipstick without the use of a mirror, and Lucy made a silent gesture to indicate that she had smudged it. ‘Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Well, I wasn’t sure…’ Kitty gave a mischievous grin as she wiped away the errant trace of pink gloss. ‘Whether or not you’d be seeing your Prince.’

This emphasis on the word was commonplace, and Lucy had grown used to the teasing by now, even though at first she hadn’t quite known how to react. It had been a peculiar situation—not just for the rest of the cabin crew, but for her, too. Ordinary girls didn’t date princes! And yet it seemed that they did. In fact, they—

But her thoughts were frozen and her steps very nearly followed. Some governing sense of instinct kept her moving forward, forward…because for a minute there she had almost thought she’d seen Guido.

‘Isn’t that him?’ asked Kitty curiously, following the direction of Lucy’s stare.

Thank God they were far enough away for him not to be able to see that her face had grown pale. Or at least Lucy was imagining that it had grown pale—for surely there would have to be some physical manifestation of the dizzy sensation she was experiencing. As if all the blood had left her veins, leaving her limbs dry and ready to crumple. Keep walking, she told herself. Just keep walking.

‘It is!’ breathed Kitty. ‘Oh, my God—it’s him! He’s come to meet you! How romantic is that?’

Lucy let her brows slide up beneath the russet curtain of her fringe. ‘I don’t hear you sounding so surprised when other people’s boyfriends come to meet them,’ she observed drily.

‘That’s because other people don’t go out with princes,’ chided Kitty.

Lucy shook her head. ‘He’s just a man,’ she contradicted faintly, but she knew that her words lacked conviction.

Because he wasn’t.

She let her gaze drift over him as she walked towards the brilliant black eyes which had her spotlighted in their sight. Prince or no prince, he was the kind of man most women didn’t happen across—not even once in a lifetime.

There was something about the way he carried himself which drew the eye, something about an air of arrogant assurance coupled with a lazy kind of supremacy. Had royal blood and upbringing given him those qualities which seemed to make him stand head and shoulders above the crowd, or would he have had them anyway?

He was standing beside a pillar, half in the shadows, for she knew that he would have sought shelter from prying eyes. Guido had rejected princely life, but its legacy meant that he could never quite shake it off. People were fascinated by the title, but more usually they were fascinated by him—and who could blame them?

Over and over again Lucy had watched as they fawned over him and hung on his every word—men and women, but especially women. They drank in the dark, imposing looks, and the sexy, accented drawl, and the careless sensuality which came as naturally to him as breathing.

He was a man in a million—and Lucy still wasn’t quite sure what he saw in her. Sometimes she felt as though she was living in a bubble, and that one of these days it was going to burst and she would be left with the dull and rather stark reality of life without Guido.

Don’t make it into more than it is, she reminded herself savagely. A casual love affair—nothing more and nothing less. And if, by nature of who he is, he provides a fairytale aspect to the affair—then just enjoy it and don’t build it up.

Her half-smile staying in place as though it had been painted on, she waved a quick goodbye to Kitty and walked over to where he waited, a dark and brooding image in cool, expensive linen. The ecstatic clamour of her heart was deafening her, but she gave him a look as steady as any she would give to one of her passengers in First Class who was asking for a glass of champagne.

‘Hello, Guido,’ she said, in a low, clear voice. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’

He might have felt admiration if he hadn’t been overwhelmed by frustration. Did nothing affect her bar sex itself? For it was then—and only then—that she let go completely. Looking at the serene smile which seemed to make a mockery of her schoolgirl freckles, he found it hard to imagine her whispering his name, or screaming it, or shuddering with helpless, racking moans against his shoulder.

Guido felt the quickening of his heart, knowing that his instincts were fighting a battle with his reason. Had it not been her ice-coolness which had set her apart and made him determined to possess her? Had he somehow imagined that he would melt it away completely, leaving her in his thrall—like all the others—so that he could happily walk away?

‘Perhaps I would not have bothered if I had known you would give me such a lukewarm welcome,’ he parried silkily.

She saw the glitter from his black eyes—recognising now, as she had recognised from the very start, that here was a man who was used to lavish displays of affection and would be bored by them. So she had not given them. From an early age Lucy had learnt to do what people wanted—some might call it people-pleasing; she would define it as making sure she got on with folks.

‘So, what would you like me to do?’ she murmured. ‘Fling my arms around your neck and scream with delight?’

‘You can save that for later. In bed,’ he returned mockingly, and was rewarded with a faint flush of colour which crept over her pale, freckle-splattered skin.

A blush might be beyond her control, but the flashing light of challenge which sparked from her eyes was not. She lifted her chin and mocked him back. ‘Maybe I’m tired and need my sleep.’

‘And maybe you don’t.’ He lifted his hand to her face and slowly drifted a fingertip down over her flushed face, finishing with a deliberately erotic tracing of her lips, which made them tremble slightly and open. He wanted to bend his head to kiss them, but of course he didn’t.

He could just imagine the headlines. An erotic and public kiss in newspaper-speak meant only one thing—impending wedding bells.

But if he was cool, then Lucy was cooler still—and his eyes glittered as their gazes mingled.

‘Give me your bag,’ he said steadily. ‘I have the car waiting.’

She had played her part. The necessary part. Not thrown herself into his arms. Hardly even a shiver of pleasure when he had touched her—but enough was enough and Lucy wanted him. Badly. She let him take her small case and allowed herself the luxury of a smile.

‘Lovely. Are you driving?’

Lovely? Suddenly he was filled with the need to shatter her icy composure. ‘No,’ he said softly, as they made their way through the hall, oblivious to the curious glances they attracted. ‘I have a chauffeur hidden behind dark glass, so he will be unable to see when I begin to kiss you. The glass is soundproof, too—so that when your breathing begins to quicken as I put my hand up your skirt he will not hear it.’

Her mouth had dried unbearably. ‘Oh, Guido, don’t,’ she whispered.

He felt the exquisite hardness and knew that he must stop this. But not quite yet.

‘Nor will he notice when I slide your panties down and pull you onto my lap…’

‘Guido—’

‘Hard down onto my lap.’

‘G-Guido—’

He moved his lips to her ear, speaking in a silken whisper as he inhaled her fragrance. ‘And I will move you up and down, up and down—filling you completely, until you gasp—’

‘Guido!’ She was gasping now, her head light, her pulse-rate frantic.

He saw the way her steps had begun to falter, and he caught her by the arm just as a black limousine purred to a halt beside them. In French, he bit out some terse instructions to the driver, and then he propelled her onto the back seat, sliding in beside her and slamming the door shut behind them, imprisoning them in a luxurious, dimly-lit world of their own as he imprisoned her in the warm circle of his arms.

She was so hot with wanting that she could barely speak his name as he pushed her down onto the seat and her hat fell from her head. ‘Guido—’

But there was no reply other than the sweet pressure of his mouth as he began to kiss her, transporting her to that place where nothing mattered other than the feel and taste and smell and touch of him. She threaded her fingers luxuriously in the rich ebony satin of his hair and moved her body restlessly against his. And froze in excited horror as she felt his hand on her knee and remembered his words.

Surely he didn’t mean to—?

But he was moving his hand, and she was writhing in response to the direction it was taking, her hips belying the words which she forced herself to say.

‘No, we can’t,’ she protested, her voice slurred with wanting. ‘We mustn’t. Not here.’

‘Why not? The thought of it turned you on. You know it did.’ He touched her above the stocking-top, where the bare flesh was a tantalising contrast of cool silk with warm blood pulsing beneath. ‘I could read it in your eyes.’

‘It may…Oh, God…’ Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the soft leather upholstery as his fingertips skated tantalisingly close to where heat seared at her so frustratingly. ‘It…it may have turned me on. It doesn’t mean it’s right.’

The hand stilled. ‘Shall I stop, then, cara mia?’

Frustration ripped through her. She shook her head helplessly.

He put his lips right up to her ear. He loved her like this. Compliant. His. Her coolness exploding into hot and urgent need. ‘I can’t hear you, Lucy.’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.’

Triumph coursed through him and possessively he pushed aside the panel of her panties to feel the acutely sensitised flesh. But it was over almost before he had started. He could feel her body begin to tense as he pressed his fingertip against her, and she caught him by the neck and dragged his mouth back down on hers, just as her legs splayed and she made soft, moaning noises of pleasure, like a cat.

They stayed like that for a while, their mouths glued together, his finger still touching her intimately while she continued to spasm against him. When it was over, she drew away, her face sweat-sheened, still shuddering as she shook her head.

‘What did you do that for?’ She gulped breath into her lungs like a drowning woman.

He smiled as he tugged her uniform skirt back down. ‘Because you wanted me to.’

‘We should have waited.’

‘But you didn’t want to.’

No, she hadn’t. It had been a long time—too long—and she had missed him. Had he missed her? she wondered. Even a tiny bit? She turned her eyes up to his, but as usual their glittering ebony depths were impenetrable. She wanted to kiss him again, but kissing seemed almost too intimate. How crazy was that after what had just happened?

‘And what about you?’ she questioned huskily, cupping him quite suddenly. She saw him briefly close his eyes and groan, before snatching her hand away to hold it close to his mouth, letting his breathing grow steady before he spoke.

She could feel his warm breath on her fingertips.

‘But I can…wait, cara,’ he said huskily. ‘That is the difference between us.’

He was always so controlled—always—and in demonstrating his own self-discipline he had drawn attention to her own lack of it! But Lucy knew that there was more than his steely resolve at stake here. Physically, she might be able to change his mind, but mentally she didn’t stand a chance.

He might have shrugged off all the trappings which came with being a prince, but he never ignored the responsibility which came with the title. His mind would have raced and overtaken the demands of his body. He would have imagined all the worst-case scenarios—them being disturbed by the driver, or police, or photographers, and one of the Princes of Mardivino being discovered with an air-hostess bent busily over his lap.

Lucy flushed and moved away, suddenly feeling cheap as she imagined how it would look to an outsider. Woman gets off plane and lets man ravish her in car. A man, moreover, who had never made any promises of commitment to her and never would. Was she valuing herself too low—and, if so, for just how long was she going to let it continue?

‘Cara?’

His voice was soft, and in anyone else you might almost be fooled into thinking that it was tender—but tenderness was an alien concept to Guido.

He saw the way that her eyes clouded and some stubborn inner resistance suddenly melted away. He leaned forward so that their foreheads were touching and began to stroke her hair.

‘Forgive me, Lucy,’ he said softly.

Lucy closed her eyes. For what? For taking her to heaven in an indecently short space of time? Or for drumming home the fact that where sex was concerned he was very definitely the master and she the puppet?

She opened her eyes again. ‘You make me feel helpless,’ she admitted.

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes a woman should be helpless.’

‘But not a man?’ she questioned provocatively.

‘Of course not.’ His eyes sparked back in answering challenge. ‘It is why we were born the stronger sex—did you not know that? We’re conditioned to fight wars and to hunt—not to roll over on our backs like tame little pussycats.’

‘Like I’ve just done, you mean?’

He brushed his lips against hers. ‘Mmm. You were quite perfect. I like to see you like that.’

‘Oh, you’re just a power-freak,’ she said, half crossly.

A smile curved his mouth. ‘But you like that, too.’

‘Sometimes.’ Not always. Sometimes she would give a hundred erotic highs just to see him show even the briefest flicker of vulnerability—but that would be like wishing for the sky to suddenly start raining diamonds instead of hailstones. ‘Sometimes I wish you’d just relax a bit more.’

‘I’ll relax later,’ he promised silkily, and pulled her into the cradle of his arms. ‘I promise you.’

‘I don’t just mean in bed,’ said Lucy primly. ‘It may be an alien concept to you, Guido, but you are allowed to let your hair down at other times.’

‘Shh. Enough. That is enough, cara.’

Lucy rested her head against his shoulder and lapsed into a silence that was just the wrong side of contentment as she registered his unspoken reprimand. Was she nagging him? She stared out of the window just as the expensive car purred its way up Park Avenue and came to a halt in front of a rather beautiful old building.

She turned back to find his eyes watching her intently. ‘Why are we stopping here?’

‘Because we’ve arrived.’

Behind the Titian swing of her fringe, Lucy knitted her eyebrows together. ‘This doesn’t look like a hotel!’

‘That’s because it isn’t.’ He smiled, as if nothing was at stake. But something was, and they both knew it. ‘I thought you might like to see my apartment.’

CHAPTER TWO

LUCY could read nothing in the ebony glitter of Guido’s eyes, and somehow she kept her own expression casual—even though, deep down, she felt slightly shell-shocked. Guido wanted to take her home! Well, to one of his homes, that would be more accurate. At last. Now, why would that be?

‘Your apartment?’ she questioned slowly.

Not the kind of rapturous excitement he might have expected—which just went to show that in life you should expect nothing. ‘Wouldn’t you like to see it?’

She smiled at him. ‘Of course I would.’

Up until now they’d always stayed in hotels—a city-central room was one of the perks of her flying job and, as a fabulously successful property developer, Guido rented luxury suites all over the world. In New York and in Paris he did actually own an apartment, but Lucy had seen neither.

To be allowed to set foot inside her boyfriend’s home shouldn’t have felt like a major achievement, but somehow it did. Was that what happened when you went out with a man like Guido? she wondered. You began to normalise abnormal behaviour?

He bent to retrieve her hat from the floor of the limousine. ‘Want me to put it on for you?’

She felt her cheeks growing pink as she shook her head. ‘I hate that hat,’ she said, more fervently than her opinion on a hat really warranted, but she could read the expression in his eyes perfectly well. He was remembering how she had come to lose the hat, and what had happened subsequently, and despite her reservations already she could feel the renewed rush of desire.

‘It looks tre`s chic on you,’ he whispered. And then, because he wanted her very badly, he took her hand and kissed it. ‘Come. Let us go inside. The driver will bring your bags.’

‘Are you quite sure about this?’ she murmured, as they rode up in the elevator towards the penthouse.

Actually, Guido had suffered a couple of reservations—until he’d told himself that he was in danger of becoming some fabled recluse. And he knew instinctively that he could trust Lucy not to gossip about his home.

Idly, he stroked his finger along the indentation of her waist. ‘I want someone to sample my cooking.’

This time Lucy couldn’t hide her surprise as she tried and failed spectacularly to imagine him in the kitchen. ‘You mean you cook?’

‘Actually, no, I don’t.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘Do you?’

Lucy nodded solemnly. ‘Oh, yes. I adore cooking. In fact, I adore waiting on men in general. So I do hope you’ll let me run round after you just as soon as we get there. You will, won’t you, Guido?’

It took about three seconds for him to register the sarcastic note in her voice, and he pulled her into his arms. ‘You are a wicked witch of a woman, Lucy Maguire,’ he growled, and began to trail his lips over her cheek.

She closed her eyes, the raw and lemony feral scent of him invading her senses like a potent drug. The teasing comment pleased her, for in his voice she had heard the faintest note of puzzlement.

He couldn’t work her out; she knew that—and she had actively encouraged it—but it was much more than a game to her. He closed himself off from her, so why should it fall on her shoulders to provide a one-way emotional show?

At the moment she had an air of mystery which he found alluring. If she allowed him to twitch that curtain of mystery aside, to let daylight come flooding in, then who knew what would happen?

She turned her head so that her lips brushed warm and soft and provocatively against his, and his eyes widened, surprising her with their hectic glitter.

‘I want you,’ he ground out.

‘I should hope so, too,’ she answered demurely.

‘I want you so badly I could do it—’

‘Here?’ she pre-empted, brazenly cupping him once more. Only this time he didn’t push her away. This time he groaned. She continued to trickle her fingers against his rock-hard shaft, pressing her lips close to his ear, as he had done to her at the airport. ‘Do you want me to unzip you, Guido?’ she questioned softly. ‘To free you and then to slowly take you into my mouth? To lick my tongue up and down until you can hold back no longer and—’

He gave a roar like an angry lion as the lift pinged to a halt, buckling back the doors as if they were the enemy and unlocking his apartment, thanking God that he had had the foresight to dismiss all his staff for the rest of the day.

He slammed the door shut behind them, and Lucy—for all her carefully suppressed curiosity—didn’t get a chance to notice any princely artefacts, for Guido was taking her by the hand in a way which broached no argument. But there again, who wanted to argue? Certainly not her.

He stopped short of actually kicking the bedroom door open, but his punch to it was so forceful that he might as well have done. Only when it was shut behind them did they stand facing one another, like two protagonists squaring up for a fight.

His breathing was laboured, and Lucy’s heart was beating so rapidly that she felt faint. She was blind to the beauty of the New York skyline captured outside the enormous window—blind to anything other than the beauty of his face. She drank in the stark hunger which momentarily made his features look almost cruel, and the knowledge that she had him on a knife-edge of desire filled her with a sense of daring.

He had awoken in her a sense of passion and experimentation which not one of her other—laughably few—lovers had come even close to.

Or was it, mocked a small voice in her head, simply because he was such an accomplished and experienced lover that she felt she had to keep pushing back the boundaries in order to match him?

She put her hands on her hips and surveyed him from between slitted eyelids, her provocative pose at odds with the starchy, almost prim appearance of her navy blue uniform.

‘Would you like me to strip for you…sir?’ she questioned, in a tone of husky subservience.

Guido groaned. Could he bear to wait? And yet could he bear not to? For a man whose hunger had become jaded over years of having exactly what he wanted, this new and acutely keen appetite was something he wanted to savour.

For did not the sensation of hunger make you feel more alive than when you satisfied it? Had the blood ever sung in his veins quite as much as it was doing at the moment? Or the hard ache in his groin threatened to make him fall to the ground in front of her in complete surrender?

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment as he walked towards the giant bed and lay back against the pillows.

‘Yes, strip,’ he ordered curtly. ‘Strip for me now.’

Lucy let out a sigh as her thumb and finger rubbed at the lapel of her jacket, caressing the material as sensuously as if it was skin. In a way, it was almost a relief to be able to play this game—for the game detracted from reality, and the reality was that Lucy suspected she was falling in love. Dangerous. Oh, so dangerous.

At least while she was acting the sultry siren she was able to stop herself from running over to him and cupping his hard, handsome face between her hands with a sense of wonder, then smothering it with tiny heartfelt kisses, telling him over and over that he made her heart sing and her senses come to vibrant and stinging life.

But that was not what he wanted from her. A man didn’t have to spell it out for you that he was happy with just a casual affair, and Lucy was perceptive enough to have worked it out for herself in any case. And because she wanted to stay in the game she followed the rules that he had set. Did that make her weak? Or simply responsive?

Guido saw her hesitation and groaned, fighting back the urge to have her join him on the bed.

‘Strip.’ His voice rang out, the word a single, clipped command.

His voice was hard, she thought, but his eyes were as she had never seen them before—on fire with need and desire, and she had to steel herself against that look, to stop herself from melting. She slipped the jacket from her shoulders and hung it neatly over the back of a chair.

‘Oh, Lucy,’ he murmured.

She surveyed him steadily. ‘Am I going too slowly for you, Guido?’

He heard the challenge in her voice. Say yes and she would take even longer! He shook his head, not daring—not able—to speak.

She began to undo the buttons of her crisp white shirt and saw him run his tongue over his lips as the garment joined her jacket. Slowly she unzipped the slim navy skirt and let it fall to the ground, so that it pooled by her feet. She stepped out of it. She heard his sharp inrush of breath as she stood before him, wearing just her bra and panties, stockings, suspender-belt and high navy shoes.

She undid the lace brassie`re and as it fell to the floor she began to touch her breasts, capturing his eyes with hers.

‘Come here,’ he whispered.

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. Take your shirt off.’

His throat was dry as he peeled off the layer of ice-blue silk and threw it at her feet.

‘Now your trousers,’ she instructed softly. ‘Take them off.’

His heart was crashing against his ribcage. ‘Why don’t you do it?’ he murmured.

‘Because I want you to.’

‘Oh, do you?’ he drawled.

He was aware that she was treating him as no woman had ever treated him before—and, rather more disturbingly, that he was allowing her to. But the sexual tension which was escalating second by frantic second was just too good and too powerful to resist.

In his highly aroused state he carefully slid off his trousers and briefs, watching with a certain mocking triumph as her eyes widened, her lips forming a pouting and moist little circle when she saw just how turned on he was.

‘Oh, Guido,’ she whispered, on a thready note of wonder.

Her fingertips moved from where they had been circling over her nipple to press between the juncture of her legs and her head fell back. She closed her eyes, and for a moment Guido wondered if she was just going to pleasure herself in front of him. And—in spite of his aching desire for her—wouldn’t that be unbearably erotic to watch?

Driven on by an overwhelming need, he stroked his hand over himself as greedily as a schoolboy, and looked up to find her staring at him. Their eyes met in a moment of complete and silent understanding.

‘Okay, Lucy,’ he said unsteadily. ‘You’ve played your little stripper game. That’s enough. I want you here. Right now.’

His command was raw enough to make her forget the harsh note in his voice as he had said stripper. Her hands were trembling as she pulled her panties down and tossed them aside, and half-ran across the room towards him. And then she straddled him, easing herself down onto his hardness, squealing with delight as he filled her.

She thrust forward with her hips, as if she was riding bareback. But he rolled her straight over onto her back, assuming the position of mastery.

‘Now,’ he groaned, as he drove into her, over and over, each sweet, savage thrust sending her careering close to the edge. ‘Now!’

He bent his head to kiss her. The touch of his lips seemed to set fire to the touch-paper embedded deep in her heart and unstoppable flames began to flicker through her veins. She gave a broken little cry, but she bit down on it. She wanted to tell him that only he could make her feel this way. But for Guido this was simply good sex, and everyone knew that men could get good sex from any number of women.

And then the release washed over her—great powerful waves of it which rocked her to the very core, obliterating everything except the sheer wonder of the moment. Lucy clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder as he began to tense inside her, and to feel him beginning to orgasm only magnified her own pleasure.

For Guido it went on and on, and even when it was over he lay back, gazing dazedly at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember sex as good as that. Never. He yawned, aware that his defences were down, irrevocably slipping into the dark, cushioned tunnel of sleep.

Lucy lay quite still until she heard Guido’s breathing steady, then slow and deepen, and only when she was certain that he was asleep did she risk turning onto her side to look at him.

In sleep he was beautiful and curiously accessible in a way he never was while awake—making it impossible not to weave hopeless fantasies about him. Only in sleep did his hard and handsome face relax. The cruel, sensual mouth softened and the piercing brilliance of the ebony eyes was shielded by the feathery arcs of his lashes, which curved with such childlike innocence against his cheek.

His dark head was pillowed against a recumbent hand, and the long, lean limbs were sprawled over the giant-sized bed.

Lucy wriggled up the bed a bit, resting against a bank of drift-soft pillows, and looked properly around the room for the first time.

So this was the Prince’s bedroom!

There was little to mark it out as a Royal residence—it just looked like home to a very wealthy man. The bed was bigger than any she had ever seen, and the view from the window was utterly spectacular. No cost had been spared in the restrained but elegant furnishings. It was minimalist and unashamedly masculine, without in any way being hard or cold.

Only a silver-framed photo beside the bed gave any indication of his identity, and unless you knew it could have been any snapshot of any rich and privileged family.

But it was not.

It was a picture of Guido, taken with his mother, his elder brother Gianferro, and their father the King. Guido, with his black hair and black eyes, looked to be about four or five. Lucy bit her lip, moving her eyes over the figure of the beautiful young Queen. There was no outward sign of her pregnancy with Nicolo—the youngest—and certainly no sign that within a year of that photo being taken she would be dead. Thank God humans could not see into the future, she thought, with a sudden stab of pain.

She stared at the young Guido. In the face of the child it was possible to see the man. His face was sweetly handsome, his expression almost grave, as if he was determined to be a grown-up boy for the mother whose hand he gripped so tightly.

But Lucy had only learnt all this subsequently. It was easy to find out things about someone when you were interested—and when they were in the public eye. Not that she had known that he was a prince when she’d met him. At least, not at first.

To Lucy, he had been just a heart-stoppingly gorgeous man who had struck up a conversation with her at a party.

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD been one of those parties that Lucy hadn’t particularly wanted to go to—she had been on a stopover on her way back to London and desperate for some sleep—but the flight crew had overridden her objections. Apparently, parties didn’t get much better or more highly connected than this one. One of the other stewardesses had said that a prince was going to be there, but quite honestly Lucy hadn’t believed them.

Well, who would have?

When they had walked into the expensive Bohemian TriBeCa townhouse, Lucy had looked around her with interest. It had been like stepping into some lavishly appointed Bedouin tent—with embroidered cushions and rich brocade wall-hangings, and the heady scent of incense. The hypnotic drift of what had sounded like snake-charmer’s music had only added to the illusion of being on a film set.

‘When do the belly-dancers arrive?’ she asked drily.

‘Shh!’ someone hissed. ‘You know people tend to misunderstand your sense of humour!’

So Lucy decided to observe, rather than to participate, and went to stand in a darkened corner which nonetheless gave her a great view. She took a glass of punch with her and sipped it, then shuddered, hastily putting the glass down on a small inlaid table.

‘Disgusting, isn’t it?’ came a rich, accented voice from a few feet away.

Lucy was just about to protest that he had startled her when her words somehow died on her lips. ‘It’s…a little heavy on the spices,’ she agreed, blinking slightly, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

‘And the alcohol, of course.’

‘Well, there is that, of course,’ she echoed, and he smiled.

They stood looking at one another in the way that two people did at parties when there was a strong sexual chemistry between them.

Lucy was wearing a simple green velvet tunic dress—quite short, so that it came to mid-thigh and made her legs look endlessly long. But her baggy suede boots gave the outfit a quirky appearance. Her hair was loose, flooding down over her shoulders in a heavy Titian fall.

Guido thought that she looked like a very sexy bandit. Her face was pale and freckled—he liked the freckles—and her wide honey-coloured eyes were slightly wary—he liked that, too.

Lucy thought, quite honestly, that he was the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. But then, she had never seen a man who looked quite like this.

He was tall, and his body was both lean and powerful. His hair was as black as the night, and his eyes only a shade lighter, and he had an almost aristocratic bearing. She wondered if he was Italian, or maybe Spanish. He was certainly European.

And he almost certainly has a girlfriend, she told herself. If not one, then a legion of them.

Guido waited, but she said nothing, and he liked that even more. So, did she know? he wondered. And was she pretending not to? ‘You’re not from round here?’ he questioned slowly. ‘No.’ ‘You’re on holiday?’ he persisted. ‘Not really. I work for Pervolo Airlines.’ ‘As a pilot?’ ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

His eyes glittered. ‘One of us has to.’

Hers glittered back. ‘I’m a flight attendant, actually—but thank you for not making the assumption.’

‘Assumptions are such a bore, don’t you think?’ he questioned carelessly.

It was something about the way he spoke—some unknown quality underlying the velvet accent of his voice—which Lucy had difficulty recognising at first, because she had never heard it before. And then he gave her a silent clue in the proud way he was holding his head—in the dismissive little curve of his sensual mouth as a woman wearing so little that she might have been one of those belly-dancers started ogling him from the other side of the room.

It was privilege, Lucy realised. A sense of self-worth bordering on arrogance which radiated from him in a way which was almost tangible. Haughty, but with a devilish glitter to his eyes, he managed to be both gloriously touchable and yet impossibly remote at the same time.

‘You’re the Prince,’ said Lucy slowly, and she felt the slightest pang of disappointment. Just her luck to find someone who could have whisked her off her feet and then discover he was out of bounds! ‘Aren’t you?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You knew?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘No. I’ve just guessed. Someone said there was going to be a prince here, but I didn’t believe them.’ Her eyes were candid. ‘What a bore for you—that everyone knows about you in advance.’

‘The perfect catch for the ambitious society hostess,’ he observed drily.

‘Yes, quite.’ So, was that arrogant? Or merely honest? Lucy expelled a sigh and gave him a small, regretful smile. She certainly wasn’t going to fill the stereotypical role of hanging around and being starstruck. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you—’

‘But we haven’t, have we?’ he said suddenly. ‘Met, that is. Perhaps we should remedy that?’ His smile was irresistible, and so was his voice, and he took her hand in his without warning. ‘I’m Guido.’

‘Lucy,’ she said breathlessly. His touch was sending her senses haywire. ‘Lucy Maguire—but you’d better let me go—I don’t want to monopolise you.’

‘Liar,’ he taunted softly, his fingers continuing to curl possessively around her narrow wrist. ‘You know we both want to monopolise each other.’

‘How outrageous!’ she murmured, but she didn’t move from the spot.

They talked all night. She was simultaneously lulled and stimulated by his quicksilver mind and sexy accent. He came from the Principality of Mardivino, but he had long ago rejected princely privilege. ‘Perhaps you find that disappointing?’ he mocked.

‘I thought you weren’t into making assumptions,’ she returned crisply. ‘Because that was an extremely arrogant one.’

‘You sound like a prim schoolteacher,’ he observed sultrily. ‘Even if you do not look like one.’

Lucy raised her eyebrows but said nothing—certainly not anything that was going to lead into the tantalising land of sexual fantasy.

‘So, what do princes do?’ she questioned. ‘When they’re not being princes?’

‘Oh, they wheel and deal,’ he murmured, drifting his gaze over her freckle-spattered face. ‘Just like other mortals.’

She didn’t think so. Other mortals did not have the faces of dark fallen angels. ‘A-anything in particular?’ she stammered—because when he was looking at her like that it was difficult to breathe, let alone to speak.

‘Property,’ he said succinctly.

He offered to give her a lift back to her hotel, but Lucy refused—though she let him flag her down a cab. She wasn’t sure she trusted his unique brand of sexy charisma enough to be alone in a car with him—or maybe it was that she didn’t trust herself not to respond to it.

He leaned into the cab and handed her his card.

‘Why don’t you ring me when you’re next in town?’ he suggested softly.

Lucy smiled politely and took the card, but the smile was edged in a frost he appeared not to notice. She got the distinct impression that he felt he was bestowing an enormous favour on her by giving her a contact number. Bloody cheek!

She didn’t bother ringing. His arrogance had disappointed her, yes—but it was more than that. He was a prince, for heaven’s sake—and thus completely out of her reach. Only someone with a streak of masochism would willingly subject themselves to such inevitable rejection.

But Guido, of course, had never before been ignored by a woman.

At first he simply couldn’t believe that she wasn’t going to bother to ring. But after several weeks he had no choice but to do so.

Why, he couldn’t even remember her surname!

But that, of course, did not pose any real problem. Guido had left his life as a working prince behind a long time ago, but very occasionally he used his title. He still had to exist with all the drawbacks of having it, he reasoned—so why not enjoy some of the benefits?

And Pervolo Airlines seemed only too happy to release a few facts about one of their stewardesses to a prince!

He found out when she was next flying and settled back in his seat in First Class, anticipating her reaction with a certain degree of relish, feeling himself grow deliciously hard as he saw a pair of long, long legs slinking down the cabin towards him.

Lucy had noticed him, of course—it would have been difficult not to, even if they hadn’t already been briefed by the Purser that there was a Royal prince on board.

But she had no intention of reacting to the look of appreciation which had softened the ebony eyes. She had no desire to be just another notch on a handsome, privileged man’s bedpost, and she was perceptive enough to know that this man could be a real heartbreaker.

She reached him, her face set in an unflappable, official smile. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Can I get you a drink before take-off?’

He had been expecting…what? That she would blush and stumble over her words? Look regretful or uncomfortable? Suddenly he laughed, and his pulse began to race.

‘No, you can have dinner with me tonight instead,’ he murmured, and some of his arrogance dissolved as he stared up at her. ‘Please.’

Lucy would have defied anyone to resist that look, or the one-word plea she guessed he hadn’t had to make very often in his life. So she went for dinner with him, and then—after not much of a fight—to bed. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, and to hold him off any longer would have been hypocritical and self-defeating.

But, despite the passion of the night which followed, an instinctive feeling of self-protection made her noncommittal towards him the next morning. She was determined not to seem pushy, or to act as if it would be the end of the world if he didn’t ask to see her again, and her very coolness seemed to fascinate him.

She guessed he’d never encountered it before, and to a man with an appetite jaded by exposure it was fresh and exciting fare. Soon it would no longer be fresh, nor exciting, and it would pale, but she was prepared for that—or at least that was what she told herself over and over again.

Apart from a minor blip at the very beginning, they now met up once every couple of months and it was perfect—for what it was. They had dinner, sometimes saw a film, and once or twice he had taken her to the theatre. But she had never met any of his friends, nor he hers. It was a complex game they played, with its own set of unspoken rules. As if she had been given her own separate compartment in his life—the one marked ‘mistress’—and as long as she accepted that, then she was okay. The moment she started wanting more, then it would be over.

So why had he brought her to his apartment today? Why not the usual anonymity of a hotel?

She stared down at his sleeping face just as the dark lashes fluttered open and ebony eyes blazed sleepily up at her.

‘Ciao,’ he murmured, and reached for her breast. ‘Come back here.’

‘In a minute.’ She let him stroke idly at her breast as warmth began to flood over her. If he had broken a rule of a lifetime, then why shouldn’t she? Lucy trickled her fingertip down through the thick whorls of hair at his chest to dip it into his belly, and he groaned with pleasure. ‘How flattering that you have allowed me onto your territory, Guido,’ she commented softly.

‘Why not?’ His eyes were watchful black shards. ‘Though you’ve never shown any particular desire to see where I live.’

‘Ah.’ She raised her eyebrows. And presumably if she had then his apartment would have been off-limits! ‘Interesting.’

How her self-containment enthralled and exasperated him! Why, any other woman would have used his post-coital sleep as an opportunity to poke around the apartment! Yet here she was, naked and beautiful beside him, as though she visited his home every day of the week!

He narrowed his eyes as he felt the heavy throb of desire beating its way through his veins. As a lover, he could not have asked for better. She was responsive and beautiful and she made no demands on him. How unlike most women!

His mouth hardened as he thought about commitment and expectation. And, in particular, about the lavish christening of his nephew, soon to take place on Mardivino, and all that it would entail. He stared at the naked woman beside him and an idea began to form in his mind. Maybe her cool indifference could work to his advantage…

‘Would you like to go away with me for the weekend, cara mia?’ he suggested casually.

Lucy didn’t answer immediately—it was never a good idea to appear too eager; every woman knew that! ‘Did you have anywhere particular in mind?’

‘But of course.’ His eyes glittered as he wondered what her reaction would be. For if she read too much into it then it simply would not work. ‘I thought that perhaps you might care to accompany me to Mardivino.’

There was silence as, for a minute, Lucy thought she was hearing things. ‘To Mardivino?’ she repeated blankly.

‘Do try to contain your excitement,’ he commented drily.

Oh, if only he knew! Lucy’s heart was banging against her ribcage and she felt quite faint. He was taking her home—to meet his family!

A slow smile curved her lips. ‘And to what do I owe this honour?’

Guido concentrated on whispering his fingertips over her tightening nipple. ‘Maybe I’d like to show you the land of my birth,’ he murmured.

Lucy closed her eyes, partly because the way he was touching her meant that she could barely think straight, but partly to hide her eyes. To conceal from him the breathless excitement she was feeling.

Don’t frighten him away with emotion, she told herself, sinking into his arms. Let’s just take it one step at a time.

‘Okay,’ she said lightly, as if it didn’t matter. As if it didn’t matter! ‘Why not?’

He smiled with satisfaction at her response. It was better than he could have anticipated! ‘And maybe I would like a beautiful woman to accompany me to the christening of my nephew.’

There was a long pause as Lucy stared up at him. ‘Say that again.’

‘My brother’s child is being baptised. Would you like to come?’

She blinked her eyes very quickly. A baptism was a private and very sacred thing, and he was asking her…her…‘Are you…are you sure?’

‘I wouldn’t ask you unless I was.’ He ran a fingertip reflectively down over the bare silk of her shoulder. ‘You will need something to wear, of course. We shall go shopping later, yes?’

It was as if someone had given her a gorgeous present and then snatched it away again, and Lucy froze. ‘You’re saying that you don’t think I have anything suitable?’

There was not a flicker of reaction on his face. ‘Cara, you always look meravigliosa.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘There is no problem.’ He chose his words carefully. ‘But it will be—of necessity—a very lavish affair,’ he said slowly. ‘And I would like to buy you an outfit.’

‘You think I’m going to turn up in jeans and a sweatshirt?’ she demanded.

‘Of course I don’t!’

‘Well, then—I can buy my own outfits,’ she said stubbornly.

‘Yes, I know you can.’ He moved his head away to look down at her, his black eyes like jet as he chose his words in a way calculated not to offend her sweet but misplaced pride. ‘Let me put it another way,’ he said softly. ‘You are my lover, Lucy, and tradition dictates that as my lover I am allowed to spoil you. I want to spoil you,’ he added huskily.

And this, too, was all part of the game, she realised. If she accompanied him then it was imperative that she look the part. It didn’t matter if she dressed with style and panache—her budget was far too limited to allow her to be able to compete with other women at a Royal gathering.

And she wanted to go. Badly. If she allowed stubborn pride to rear its head then he might refuse to take her. And if she held out to wear one of her own outfits—then wasn’t there a chance she might let him down?

Besides—if she was being one hundred per cent honest—then wasn’t there a wistful Cinderella side to every woman—that wanted someone to wave a magic wand and transform them from an ordinary woman into a princess? Well, that was just what Guido was offering to do, and as long as she didn’t expect the Cinderella ending then why not just go with the flow and enjoy it? What else was she going to do? Tell him no and have the relationship peter out?

The thought of that hurt far more than she wanted or had expected, and she shrugged her shoulders, as if the unwelcome stab of reality wasn’t poking brittle fingers at her heart. ‘Very well, Guido,’ she said slowly. ‘I accept.’

‘You test me, I think, cara,’ he observed evenly.

‘Oh?’

‘A man does not offer a gift to have it treated as though it is some kind of punishment to be endured.’

‘A gift should be offered without ties or expectations,’ she returned sweetly. ‘Didn’t you know that?’

‘Do you always have a smart answer for everything, Lucy?’

‘I certainly hope so.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘If it is submissive gratitude you desire, Guido, then there must be any number of women who would be only too glad to provide it.’

And she was right, maledizione! He enjoyed much more than just her lovemaking because she challenged and intrigued him—he could not now dispense with those qualities when it suited him.

He put his hand between her thighs and heard her gasp. ‘I am going to make love to you again,’ he said, on a note of husky intent. ‘And then I am going to take you out and dress you from head to foot.’

Lucy let him whisk her around Manhattan, unable to shake the slightly surreal sensation of feeling as though she was appearing in a film as Guido took her from shop to exclusive shop. Stuff like this didn’t happen in real life, she told herself dazedly.

But it seemed that it did.

First came the lingerie—stuff like she had never seen before: drifts and drifts of delicate silk, trimmed with lace so fine that it seemed to have been spun from gossamer. A brisk, efficient Frenchwoman measured her, and it transpired that Lucy had been buying the wrong bra size off the peg for years!

‘We’ll take them both,’ drawled Guido carelessly as she vascillated between a matching set in electric blue trimmed with cerise satin and a more conventional pure white outfit—which was, she thought with a fleeting wistfulness, exactly the kind of thing a bride might covet for her trousseau. ‘And the black.’

‘Guido, no!’ protested Lucy as the saleswoman tactfully withdrew from the room.

‘Guido, yes,’ he argued, with a smile of satisfaction.

‘I won’t be wearing more than two sets of underwear in a weekend!’

‘But after the weekend you will, and I want to see you in it all. And out of it,’ he said, his voice dipping into a note of erotic promise.

Of course she couldn’t possibly argue after that—because his words implied that their affair was going to run and run when they got back from Mardivino.

She silenced the cruel little voice in her head which asked her just how long she was prepared to dedicate her life to a relationship which was doomed to go nowhere.

In a succession of luxurious shops he bought her an outfit for the christening, plus the most gorgeous hat she had ever seen, two evening gowns, daywear, negligees, and a cashmere wrap.

‘Sometimes the evening breeze which comes down from the mountains can chill the skin,’ he murmured. ‘Especially skin as fine and as fair as yours, Lucy.’

He ran his fingers lightly over her bare arm and Lucy began to tremble. Tersely he asked for the garments to be wrapped and delivered and then took her back to his apartment and made love to her all over again. He was wild for it, and so was she, and the sound of her ecstatic cries rang round his vast bedroom as she lay shuddering in his arms afterwards.

But once the storms of passion had abated Lucy felt different. Something had changed, or at least in her imagination it had, and she wondered if she had given away something of herself in her shamefully easy acceptance of his gifts. Her independence, maybe?

She snuggled into the crook of his arm, for he was sleeping, and her own eyelids began to drift down.

I will only wear the clothes on Mardivino, she vowed.

And after that I’ll go back to being me.

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