Читать книгу: «One Summer at The Villa: The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal», страница 2
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?
He wasn’t insane; she was.
“What makes you think so, Principessa?” he asked coolly, his expression both smug and devilish at once.
Antonella’s hands clenched into impotent fists as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She was a fool, a hopeless fool, still looking for some spark of feeling with a man. And he was the enemy, plain and simple. He hadn’t forgotten it for one moment, even if she had.
“Because you’re selfish, that’s why. You don’t care who you hurt or what you have to destroy to get your way.”
One corner of his mouth curled, but it could hardly be called a smile. “It seems as if we are kindred spirits, then.”
“No. I care about people’s feelings. And now I’m going to apologize to Raúl.”
“There is no need.”
“Of course there is.”
“Afraid not, Antonella. You were part of the deal.”
“Deal?” She thought her heart would stop as she waited for his answer. How could they make deals that included her? It was impossible. She’d offered herself in marriage, but it had been her choice. Neither of these men owned her, neither could make decisions for her.
“Vega Steel will be building in Monterosso. And Monteverde will supply the ore.”
“Never,” she bit out. It was unthinkable! To sell their ore to Monterosso? So the King could build more tanks and guns in his factories? So the di Savarés could slowly strangle the life from her country? It was the money Monteverde desperately needed, yes, but at what cost?
“You may wish to rethink your position.” He sounded mildly friendly, though she knew he was anything but.
Antonella thrust her chin out in answer. “I can’t see why we need to.”
“One word,” he said, his eyes now empty, flat. So cold she hugged herself to ward off a chill. “One very important word: existence.”
Chapter Three
“THERE is a storm, Your Highness.”
Antonella blinked at the steward as he placed a breakfast tray on a table in her room. She pulled the covers up to her shoulders as she propped herself on an elbow, still groggy after too much worry and too little sleep. “A storm?”
He carefully repositioned the flowers in the small vase on the tray. “Yes, a hurricane. It has swung off track and is coming straight for Canta Paradiso. We are putting to sea very shortly. You may stay aboard if you wish, or you may transfer to the island for a flight out.”
“Where is Signor Vega?”
The steward stood at military-like attention. “He was called back to São Paulo on business. He left before day-break.”
Her heart sank. She’d known it was futile, and yet she’d hoped to speak with Raúl once more, hoped to convince him to give Monteverde a chance. Too late now.
No. She would not allow Cristiano di Savaré to defeat her so easily. There was still a very little time left before the loans came due, and she’d spent the night thinking about what Monteverde’s next move would be if Raúl would not change his mind. She’d come up with only one solution.
What if Dante went to Montebianco and asked for a loan to get them through this crisis? Their father had nearly started another war when he’d arrested the Crown Princess of that nation, but that was months ago. Would Montebianco help them now? Could she convince her brother to try? She knew he wouldn’t want to do it, but it was their last chance.
And if Dante wouldn’t approach the King, Antonella would go to Lily and beg her to ask her husband, the Crown Prince, for help. Either way, there was still a chance for them—if she acted quickly.
“Thank you,” she said to the steward. “I will go to the airport.”
He gave her a formal bow before slipping out of her cabin and closing the door. Antonella bolted from the bed and grabbed her mobile phone. She had to reach Dante. She’d tried last night, but the call wouldn’t go through. Perhaps the wind had knocked out a tower.
Or, more likely, something was wrong with Monteverde’s communications. They often had trouble with the utility companies as the infrastructure crumbled and there was no money left to repair the aging equipment.
An automated voice informed her that her call could not be completed as dialed and suggested she check the number. She snapped her phone shut and hurried to get dressed. The sooner she was on a plane home, the better.
Antonella emerged onto the top deck of the yacht, in search of someone who could arrange for a launch. She nearly stumbled when she caught sight of the man conversing with the yacht’s captain.
Cristiano di Savaré in a tuxedo had been magnificent. But Cristiano in Bermuda shorts, a crisp polo shirt, flip-flops, and Ray-Bans was downright sinful. He looked nothing like a prince and everything like some erotic fantasy of a muscled cabana boy who lived to serve the woman lucky enough to hire him.
He turned at her approach, no doubt because the captain ceased paying attention to him and watched her progress. She could see the captain’s eyes moving over her appreciatively, but it was Cristiano’s gaze she felt most keenly. Though he wore mirrored sunglasses, she was aware of the burning scrutiny behind them.
She’d dressed in a cotton wrap dress and sported a pair of sandals with a sensible heel. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she’d gone minimal with her make-up. She wasn’t trying to attract attention, and yet it never seemed to matter. Attention was what she got.
“You have heard about the storm?” Cristiano said, skipping the preliminaries.
Antonella pushed away a tendril of hair that had escaped her ponytail and blew across her lips. “Yes. When is the launch?” she asked, turning to the captain.
“There is a slight delay,” Cristiano said before the captain could reply. “Many in the harbor are requesting transportation.”
“I see.”
“Have you made flight arrangements yet?”
“No. I had hoped to go straight to the airport and take care of it.”
“Bene. You may fly with me.”
Antonella’s pulse beat like the wings of a thousand hummingbirds. The man was unbelievable. “Thank you, but no. I will get a flight when I reach the airport.”
Cristiano shoved his shades onto his head. The sunlight had disappeared as clouds rolled into the harbor. His eyes, she realized, weren’t blue or gray. They were deep, dark brown.
No, green.
Hazel, that was what it was called. Brown ringed the pupil, but most of the iris was green.
Striking.
How had she missed this at dinner last night? She’d sat across from him, but she’d barely looked directly at him with Raúl sitting beside her. The one time she had, she’d been far more mesmerized by the look on his face than the color of his eyes.
“Antonella,” he said sharply.
She jerked. “What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“You were talking about your jet.”
“Yes. It’s ready, and I have room for you. All commercial flights off the island are booked.”
“But you just asked me if I’d made arrangements!”
“I meant last night, before the hurricane changed direction.”
She shook her head emphatically. “I’ll take my chances at the airport.”
Was she crazy? She might despise him, but was it worth putting herself in danger to have the satisfaction of refusing him? Wasn’t the most important thing to get back to Monteverde and speak to her brother? If only Dante had been the one to come to Canta Paradiso! He’d have gotten Vega Steel and this would all be moot.
Except he had to stay to hold the country together. And his wife was about to give birth. Antonella had been the only choice, and she’d failed. She wanted to climb back into bed and pull the covers over her head until it all went away.
But she couldn’t. Cowardice was not an option.
“Don’t be childish,” Cristiano snapped.
She forced herself to take a long, slow breath before speaking. “It’s not childish to avoid the company of people you despise.”
“No, but it is childish to put yourself in danger because of it.”
It was disconcerting to hear her thoughts echoed in his words.
Antonella stared at the mountains rising around the harbor. The airport was on the other side of those mountains. It could take hours to reach at this rate. Dark clouds billowed over the green peaks like a thick blanket unrolling. The wind had already picked up speed in the few hours between the time she’d gone to bed and now.
How she got home didn’t matter, so long as she did. “I will fly with you if there is no other option. Though when we reach the airport, I will check to see if I can book a flight first.”
“As you wish, Principessa.”
“But I cannot fly into Monterosso.” How would that look? And how would she get home to Monteverde? There were no direct flights, and the border was cut off. A Monteverdian princess could not be ferried across the border by Monterossan soldiers. It was unthinkable.
His expression hardened. “Of course not. We will land in Paris first. You can arrange transport from there.”
A dark thought occurred to her. “How do I know you will keep your word? That you won’t take me to Monterosso and demand a ransom for my return?”
His voice stroked over her like silk. “If I were to kidnap you, mia bella, I could think of far more interesting things to do than demand a ransom.”
By the time they were ferried to shore and found a taxi, three hours had passed. Everyone was rushing around the town, trying to batten down the hatches or get off the island. Canta Paradiso was a private resort island, but there was a town and many residents who lived there full-time. In spite of that, the traffic to the small airport was unbelievable.
Cristiano tucked his cell phone away with a growl. Since the rain had begun, the cell towers had ceased carrying calls for very long. Now, they were dropping altogether. Antonella looked at her signal indicator. No bars.
Cristiano raked a dark-fingered hand through his inky hair. The taxi was small, and his leg lay intimately against hers where they were crowded together in the back seat. At first, she’d tried to move away, but huddling against the door was uncomfortable. She’d struggled for the last hour to pretend that his skin didn’t burn into her where they touched.
“Will we make it?” she asked.
He was so close. Close enough that if she simply leaned over a few centimeters, their lips could touch.
And why would she want to do that?
“We should. It’s just rain thus far. We can still fly out.”
“Are you certain?” She watched the rain falling harder outside the steamy window beside him, bit her lip.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I am a pilot, cara. Rain provides good lift. The wind isn’t bad yet, and it also provides lift. There are many hours left before the storm is too dangerous to fly.”
“That’s good, then.”
He leaned back, stretched an arm behind her on the seat. She couldn’t escape the contact unless she sat forward. To do so would give him power, so she endured the press of his arm against her shoulders and neck.
The trilling of his phone several minutes later startled her from her reverie. The taxi was warm, and she was so tired that she’d nearly fallen asleep on him. Mortified, she pushed herself as far into her corner of the back seat as she could.
Cristiano answered quickly, before the call dropped again. The swearing that issued from him a few moments later wasn’t a good sign.
“What’s wrong?” she asked when he finished.
He looked grim. “We’re stuck.”
“What do you mean, stuck?” she asked, trying to tame the note of panic in her voice.
He swore again. “The plane has a hydraulic leak in the brakes. We can’t fly without a new cowling, and there isn’t one on the island.”
Antonella bit back a hysterical laugh. “Is there a chance we can get on a commercial plane?”
“The last flight left twenty minutes ago. There are no more flights in or out today.”
“You said it was safe to fly for many hours yet.”
“It is. But commercial airlines have different schedules, Antonella. And they’ve chosen to cancel flights that were coming in later today. Those planes would have been the flights out again.”
Antonella stared at him, swallowed the giant lump in her throat. “Now what?”
“We must find a place to stay.”
Unbelievable. Could her luck get any worse? “And where do you suggest we look? Do we simply drive up to every hotel on the island and see if they have a vacancy?”
He tapped his phone against his leg. “No, that would take too much time and there are no guarantees. I have another idea.”
“And what would that be?”
