Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: December Books 5 - 8 - Дженнифер Хейворд, Julia James - Страница 19

CHAPTER NINE

FABRIZIO WAS BEAUTIFUL and quaint, with winding cobbled streets, and tree-filled parks at every turn. People waved and cheered when they saw the royal car, and Luca lowered the window when Callie was dressed again, so he could wave back. His timing, as always, was impeccable. She had caught her first sight of his fabulous palace when they were a few miles away. Surrounded by ancient city walls, the royal palace of Fabrizio sat atop a hill from where the defenders of old could see their enemies coming for miles around. It was the most beautiful building she had ever seen with a grandeur that even his palazzo in Amalfi couldn’t match. Where that had been wedding-cake pretty, this was royal splendour cast in stone, wrought iron and stained glass. When the royal limousine drew up in front of a wide sweep of stone steps, Luca helped her out of the car and then left her in the care of his housekeeper and a maid, while he hurried off into the building.

Having crossed an exquisite hall, full of shields and swords and ancient portraits, Callie was taken up a sweeping staircase to the first level where she was shown into the most beautiful light and airy apartment. Knowing it would be hers for the duration of her stay was just incredible. The delicately decorated French furniture, the Aubusson rugs yielding softly underfoot, the twinkling glass and antique ornaments, the gilded mirrors—what was she doing here?

She thanked the stiffly formal housekeeper and the maid tasked with looking after her. Waiting until the door closed behind them, she headed for the unbelievably beautiful bathroom to take a shower in an enclosure big enough to house an entire rugby team. There was every conceivable type of potion, cream and bath foam, not in their original containers, but in the most exquisite cut glass jars and jugs. Lifting the fragile lid on one of these, she inhaled deeply. And sneezed. She was a little bit allergic to scent. But not to Luca’s scent, Callie reflected wryly as she turned full circle to admire the pink-veined marble walls. What was he doing now? she wondered as she glanced at the internal telephone. She didn’t want him to think her desperate. Let him call her, she decided. Please.

There was no such thing as the hot water running out at the palace. She basked in the luxury of heat and fragrant scent until she felt thoroughly clean, cosy, and fresh again. Then she donned a fluffy robe and wondered what to do about clothes. Pushing her feet into slippers she found ready in the bathroom, that matched the robe, she returned to the bedroom with its panelling and paintings, and floating silk voile, drifting romantically in front of the open window. She suddenly felt incredibly homesick and reached for her phone. What she needed was someone down to earth to confide in, someone she could trust to act as an honest sounding board. Ma Brown answered on the first ring.

‘Ma...’

‘Yes, dear?’

Ma Brown’s concerned tone both bolstered Callie and provided a much-needed wake-up call. She had never been a moaner, and she wasn’t about to start now that she was about to become a mother. ‘I don’t want you worrying about me,’ she stressed, ‘so I’m giving you an update.’

‘Ooh, lovely,’ Ma Brown enthused.

Callie could just picture her dear friend, pausing mid baking, or ironing, or dusting, or stirring a pot of something delicious on the stove, to hear what Callie knew she had to make into a Christmas fairy tale so that Ma Brown would smile and share it with the family, rather than fret about Callie over Christmas. ‘I’m in Fabrizio,’ she began.

‘I knew it!’ Ma Brown exclaimed. ‘You’re with the Prince.’

‘Yes. But there’s something else—’

‘You’re pregnant!’ Ma Brown shrieked before Callie had chance to say a word.

‘I had intended to break it to you gently—’

Ma Brown wasn’t listening. ‘Has he proposed yet?’

‘No,’ Callie admitted.

‘Why ever not?’ Ma Brown demanded good-humouredly. ‘Do you need me to come out there and prompt him? I will, if you like. I can easily catch a flight.’

‘No,’ Callie said again, this time laughing. Ma Brown’s voice had soared at least an octave. She probably didn’t need a phone to be heard in Fabrizio. ‘I promise I can deal with it.’

‘Tell me about his country, then,’ Ma Brown compromised, snatching a noisy breath as she attempted to calm down.

To a casual listener, their conversation might have seemed a little blasé under the circumstances, but Ma Brown could always imply more by her tone than she said in words. The simple phrase, tell me about Fabrizio, for instance, promised that the subject of Callie’s pregnancy had not been forgotten, but merely put on the back burner for now. One thing was certain. Ma Brown would always be on Callie’s side. Missing out the fact that she should have been planning her future, rather than scrambling over Luca, having sex in his jet and then in his car, Callie cut straight to the particulars. ‘Everything in Fabrizio looks as if it has been polished to a flawless sheen. Think Monte Carlo with a touch of Dubai—’

‘Oo-er,’ Ma Brown exclaimed, breathless with excitement. ‘Go on,’ she prompted.

‘Luca’s palace looks like something out of a fairy tale. It’s like Cinderella’s castle with turrets and crenellations. There’s even a drawbridge over the moat.’

‘Imagine the staff needed to look after that,’ Ma Brown breathed in awe.

‘And everyone wears uniform,’ Callie confirmed to add to the picture. ‘Sentries stand guard wearing black velvet tunics braided with gold—’

‘Goodness,’ Ma Brown cut in. ‘Isn’t that all a bit intimidating?’

You have no idea, Callie thought, but what she actually said was, ‘Poof! Not for you and me, Ma.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Ma Brown exulted. ‘I’ve read about the palace and how fabulous it is. The countryside around it is supposed to be equally beautiful. Tell me about that now.’

Hmm. Difficult topic, Callie thought as the silence extended. ‘I was so excited on the drive from the airport to the palace I didn’t take much notice,’ she admitted truthfully. ‘I’ll make sure to check it out next time and let you know.’

Ma Brown hummed thoughtfully. ‘I’ve taken quite an interest in your Prince since he rode to your rescue.’

‘He’s not my Prince, Ma.’

Ignoring this, Ma Brown continued, ‘The late Prince has ancestry stretching back to the mists of time.’

Unlike Luca’s, which stretched back to the gutters of Rome. Or her own, Callie reflected, which extended to a row of small, back-to-back houses in the same neighbourly terrace as the Browns, which she wouldn’t exchange for the world. She couldn’t imagine how she’d have got on when she was younger without the wonderful support of the family next door.

‘When are you coming home, our Callie?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Callie admitted.

‘If I were you, I’d stay there as long as you can,’ Ma Brown cheerfully recommended. ‘There’s a grand ball soon in Fabrizio to celebrate Prince Luca’s enthronement. You can’t miss that. I want to hear all about it.’

‘I doubt I’ll be invited,’ Callie confessed. Luca hadn’t mentioned a ball. She couldn’t imagine he’d want her there. Thank goodness. Her stomach flipped at the thought of attending such a grand occasion, and then flipped at the thought of Luca attending the ball with an eager princess on his arm. He was better off with someone like that, she told herself, someone who was used to public occasions. Callie would probably say the wrong thing, or trip over her own feet.

‘Don’t let me down,’ Ma Brown warned. ‘When you said you were going on an adventure, a ball at the Prince’s palace was exactly the sort of thing I had in mind.’

‘I’m not Cinderella,’ Callie reminded her good friend ruefully, ‘and I don’t have a fairy godmother.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ Ma Brown insisted. ‘And I want an invitation to the wedding.’

Before Callie had chance to respond, Ma Brown had bustled off the line, no doubt to attend to more motherly duties.

A diet of romance, Ma Brown’s favourite reading matter, had obviously distanced her from reality, Callie concluded, but she was both thrilled and relieved at the way her good friend had taken the news of the pregnancy. Ma Brown was right. Pregnancy was normal. Attending a royal ball was not. But she’d have a go, if she were invited. She owed it to Ma Brown to attend the ball if she got the chance.

Ten minutes later she changed her mind again. I don’t belong here. Burying her head in her arms, Callie took a deep, steadying breath, and then lifted her chin to stare at herself in the ornately gilded dressing-table mirror. Her reflection appeared in what was surely a priceless antique like everything else in her elegant suite of rooms. How on earth had she ended up here?

‘I’ll tell you how,’ Callie’s snarky inner critic butted in. ‘From good girl to a hussy in no time flat, that’s you, Callie Smith!’

Fair play, Callie agreed. The fairy tale wasn’t quite as she’d described it to Ma Brown. She never knew where she stood with Luca, and the worst of it was, a few months ago, she’d known exactly where she was heading. Her short adventure in Italy would be a harmless interlude to look back on with pleasure. She’d go home after a couple of weeks, pick up her studies, go to college, and get a better job. Pregnancy had changed all that. Her priorities had completely switched around. The baby came first. It always would. Every decision Callie made from now on would be in the best interests of her child.

Luca’s child also.

Closing her eyes, she reviewed what she’d seen of Luca’s life to date. From the vast, echoing hallway, with it frescoes on the lofty ceiling, to the foot of a wide sweep of crimson-carpeted stairs, her head hadn’t stop whirring as she gazed around. Did she need more proof that she didn’t belong here? It hardly seemed possible that just a few hours ago she had been planning to make do and mend to raise a child she already loved. In the palace she was surrounded by so much...everything. The five-star hotel she’d thought so lavish was a mere potting shed compared to this. She had to stop short of pinching herself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. When a knock came at the door and it opened without Callie saying a word, she sprang up guiltily.

‘Oh, sorry, madam, I—’

‘No—please, come in. And please call me Callie...’

Callie paled as the maid stood back against the wall to allow a team of footmen to wheel several gown rails into the room. These were laden with a sparkling array of full-length ball gowns. Cinderella had nothing on this, Callie concluded, frowning. ‘There must be some mistake,’ she said.

‘No mistake, madam,’ the maid assured her. ‘As it’s rather short notice, His Serene Highness apologises for not sending you an invitation to the ball, but he wants you to know that you are free to choose any of these dresses to wear.’

‘His Serene Highness expects me to attend the ball?’

‘He does, madam.’

Then, His Serene High and Mightiness could have the courtesy to come and tell her that himself, Callie thought, but she thanked the maid, who was the innocent messenger. ‘I hope this hasn’t put you to too much trouble?’

‘None at all, madam. As soon as you’ve made your choice, if you ring this bell...’ the maid indicated a silken tassel hanging on the wall ‘...I’ll return immediately to help you dress.’

‘The ball’s tonight?’ Callie exclaimed in panic.

‘Oh, no, madam. This is just to give you chance to choose your gown and try it on. The Prince has instructed me to tell you that he will be with you by seven o’clock this evening to discuss your choice of gown.’

Hmm, Callie thought. And take it off, if she knew Luca. She couldn’t imagine he cared less what she wore. He was far more interested in removing her clothes.

As soon as the maid had gone, she walked over to the rail to check out the selection of dresses. She’d never seen so many fabulous outfits before. There were gowns in every colour in the rainbow. Some were beaded, some had frills, and some had gauzy ribbon. Nearly all of them had low necks, and/or big slits up the side and plunging backs. She guessed she was ungrateful for thinking all of them a bit over the top. She was frightened to touch them in case she soiled them, but she had to choose one. Picking out an aquamarine gown, her favourite colour, she held it up against her, but it was so heavily beaded it weighed a ton. She had to admit that the scent of fine silk, and the sight of such expert tailoring, did take her breath. There was boning inside the bodice, so no need to wear a bra, and the skirt was such a slender column, she’d have to hop, Callie reflected wryly as she returned it to the rail.

One after the other she discarded the dresses. She couldn’t see herself wearing any of them. They were far too fancy, and didn’t look at all comfortable to wear. Crossing the room, she rang the bell.

‘Yes, madam?’ the maid enquired politely.

‘We’re around the same size. Could you lend me a pair of jeans and a top so I can go shopping?’ There must be a high street in Fabrizio, she reasoned.

‘Go shopping, madam?’ the maid repeated as if Callie had suggested dancing naked in the street. ‘I’ll have a selection of outfits delivered to you within the hour.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course.’

‘Okay, but be sure to give me the—’ Before she had chance to say, ‘receipt, so I can pay the bill,’ the maid had left the room and closed the door.

Callie heaved a sigh. What was she supposed to do now? She tried to ring Luca, but that was like trying to get hold of the Queen of England. She went through half a dozen people and none of them would put her through to him. It was already nine o’clock in the evening. He’d left her alone to stew. Talking of which, she was hungry. Picking up the internal phone, she rang the kitchen to order a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea. Hmm. So much for the high life! And so much for the discussions they were supposed to be having. Could matters of State be so much more important than their child?

She drank the tea, ate the sandwiches, then walked around the apartment until she knew every inch of it by heart. It was a gilded cage for the Prince’s pet bird, Callie concluded. It was impersonal. The drawers were empty. There wasn’t even a book to be found. There certainly wasn’t anything as crass as a TV. Opening the glass doors onto her private veranda, she sat down at the wrought-iron table. Listening to the night sounds soothed her. It was a beautiful evening, but where was Luca? She should have known by now that sex meant nothing to him, and he could just walk away, forget it, forget her.

She went back into the room when it began to get chilly. She’d forgotten that the maid had promised to have more clothes delivered, and the room was full of them. She couldn’t deny that rooting through the boxes and carrier bags was fun. Choosing a pair of jeans and a loose sports top, she exchanged her fluffy robe for a casual look that would take her through to bedtime.

More tea?

More tea.

She was just concluding, with a return of good humour, that wading through such a vast selection of clothes was exhausting, when the door opened and Luca walked in.

‘Tea, madam?’

She almost jumped out of her skin. Even with a tray of tea in his hands, he was everything she could desire in a man. Dark, tall, and powerfully built. She would never get used to the breath-stealing sight of him. He’d changed into jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Those arms! His jeans were cinched with a heavy-duty belt that drew attention to his washboard waist. His shoulders were epic and his powerful forearms were tanned and shaded with just the right amount of dark hair.

Those arms belonged around her, she concluded, forgetting her good intentions as he strode across the room. She was supposed to be having a serious discussion with him, not falling victim to his dazzling charm. Be objective, she told herself firmly.

‘Ah, the dresses have arrived,’ he commented as his stare swept over the gown rail. ‘Now for the fashion show.’ Throwing himself down on a finely upholstered chaise longue, he made a gesture she could only presume was supposed to goad her into action.

‘Are you going to model them for me, then?’ she asked. ‘You mentioned a fashion show?’ she prompted when Luca raised a brow.

For a moment he looked bemused and then he laughed. ‘You never change, do you?’

‘I hope not. Hooking up in a car does not a future make, Prince Luca. You and I have some serious talking to do.’

‘Soon,’ he promised. ‘But first a toast,’ he insisted, standing up.

‘In tea?’ she queried.

‘I can send for champagne—’

‘I can’t—’

‘Of course you can’t.’ With a grimace, he reached for her, and, jerking her close, he linked their fingers in a way she found very hard to resist. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered, slanting a grin. ‘I had forgotten why we’re here for the moment.’

‘Don’t,’ she warned with a straight look into his eyes.

‘I was about to propose a toast to the heir to the principality of Fabrizio,’ he explained.

She hummed. ‘In that case, I’ll forgive you.’

When Luca smiled his wicked smile, if it hadn’t been for the sexual tension between them they were close enough in that moment to be just two friends enjoying a moment of trust between themselves.

‘Have you chosen your ball gown yet?’ he asked, turning to glance at the packed gown rail.

‘I want you to feel comfortable. I know you’ll look beautiful. It’s going to be a special night for both of us, because this is my chance to introduce you to my guests.’

‘As what?’ she asked.

Luca appeared to ponder this. ‘My personal assistant? No.’ His lips pressed down as he shook his head. ‘What about Keeper of the Crown Jewels? More accurate?’

‘This is serious,’ Callie warned. ‘Please stop teasing me. If I’m going to attend my first ball with you, I need to know where I stand. That’s the only way I’m going to feel comfortable.’

‘Comfortable was the wrong word. I can see that now,’ Luca admitted. ‘I want you to feel sensational. As the ball is tomorrow evening you’d better choose one of these gowns to make sure you do.’

But that wasn’t what she was here for. She had come to Fabrizio to talk about their baby.

What about the promise she’d made to Ma Brown to send a full report on the ball? Callie glanced at the glamorous gowns twinkling on the rail. She wouldn’t be able to get into any of them in a few months’ time, not that she’d have any use for a ball gown when she went home. ‘I’ll look ridiculous,’ she fretted as she rifled through the rail.

‘You’ll look beautiful,’ Luca argued, making himself comfortable. ‘Let’s make a start.’

‘I’ll change in the dressing room,’ she said, picking out the aquamarine gown that had first caught her eye. ‘And I’m not coming out if I look a freak.’

Safe behind the door to her dressing room, Callie stared at herself in the mirror and grimaced. The gown that had looked so pretty on the rail did fit well, but, apart from being so heavy, it was too tight. It pushed her breasts up and her confidence down. But that wasn’t what really worried her. When she emerged from the dressing room, Luca agreed. ‘You look like a mermaid,’ he said as she wiggled her way across the room.

‘Thank goodness that’s a no.’

‘Unless you plan to hop into position at my side?’ he suggested.

‘I could drift towards you in this,’ she suggested when she had changed into the next dress, a coral number with long chiffon floats flying from each shoulder.

‘Nah. You’ll only get caught in the door.’

‘You know me too well.’

‘I’m getting there,’ Luca admitted dryly as Callie chose another dress.

‘This one?’ she asked uncertainly, blowing fronds of fern-like decoration away from her face.

‘You look like a market garden,’ Luca dismissed as she performed a twirl.

True enough, the big floral pattern wasn’t her best look.

‘What about this one?’ he suggested, selecting a plain, intricately beaded flesh-coloured gown.

‘Yes. That’s nice,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll try it on.’

With the dressing-room door closed between them again, Callie stared at her reflection in amazement. She actually looked quite good. Smoothing the delicate fabric over her frame, she had to admit that the gown Luca had chosen was both elegant and sexy. She might have known he’d have exquisite taste. The shade of the fabric matched her skin tone so exactly it was almost possible to imagine she was naked. Naked and shimmering with a slit up the side of the dress that almost reached her waist. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Luca said nothing at all. His face was completely expressionless. This was Luca at his most dangerous, she thought. ‘No,’ she warned when he stood up and prowled towards her.

‘Why not?’ he husked. ‘It’s not as if I can make you pregnant.’

‘Luca!’

He swallowed her protests in a kiss, and it wasn’t just a kiss but a whole-body experience that made her hunger for him eclipse everything. His hands were warm on her body. He knew every slope and curve. The gown was so sheer, so delicate, that his touch transmitted effortlessly through it as if they were both naked. Memories bombarded her, memories of pleasure, memories of trust.

‘I want you,’ he growled. ‘Right here. Right now. I can’t wait.’

‘Neither can I,’ she assured him fiercely.

Luca had already found the slit at the side of the dress. She only had to move slightly for his fingers to brush dangerously close to where she needed him. Her breath caught as he handled her with the skill that promised so much more. She was wearing nothing beneath the gown but a flimsy thong. Held together with not much more than a hope and a prayer, the thong stood no chance against Luca’s assault. Ripping it off, he cast it aside and rammed her up against the wall. Breath shot out of her as his hand found her. With teasing strokes, he tested her readiness. That didn’t take long. Freeing himself, he nudged his thigh between her legs and, dipping at the knees, he took her in one long, firm thrust. From there it was a wild, noisy ride to their goal, but even when she shrieked as she lost control he kept on plunging until her throat was hoarse, and her body was alight with pleasure.

‘I can’t feel you,’ she complained when she was able to talk again.

‘What?’ Luca demanded, frowning into her eyes.

‘Not that—’ She groaned with pleasure as he flexed inside her. ‘I mean your naked body,’ she explained. Tugging at his shirt, she made her meaning clear. ‘I want to feel all of you hot and hard against me.’ They ripped his clothes off between them and tossed them aside. ‘Better!’ she approved as his heat rasped against her body.

‘Still not enough for you,’ he guessed. Taking hold of her hands, he pinned them above her head, and with his other hand locked around the front of her dress, he ripped it from her body.

The beautiful gown was shredded, ruined. Disaster. But she didn’t care. All that mattered was this. Rubbing her breasts against him tormented her nipples until they were taut little buds, composed entirely of sensation. They had a direct link to her core, and her hips worked involuntarily in her desperation for more contact. She couldn’t remain still. She couldn’t remain quiet. She was noisy and demanding. Scrambling up him, she locked her legs around his waist.

‘More?’ he suggested in the deep, gravelly voice with its flavour of Italy that could always make her tingle.

‘Are you purposely withholding pleasure from me?’ she demanded.

Luca laughed softly. ‘As if I’d dare.’

‘Don’t make me wait,’ she warned.

His answer was to nuzzle her neck with his sharp black stubble until she was a seething mass of lust. ‘I just asked, did you want more?’ he reminded her.

He surely didn’t expect an answer to that question.