Читать книгу The Prince's Royal Concubine - Lynn Harris Raye - Страница 7

PRINCE CRISTIANO DI SAVARÉ slipped the last stud into his tuxedo shirt and straightened the points of his collar as he gazed at his reflection. The yacht rocked gently beneath his feet, but that was the only indication he was on board a ship and not in a luxury hotel room. He’d flown over two thousand miles to be here tonight and, though he wasn’t tired, the expression on his face was grim. So grim that lines bracketed his mouth, furrowed his forehead, and made him look older than his thirty-one years.

He would have to work on that before he hunted his quarry. Though his task tonight gave him no joy, it had to be done. He forced a smile, studied it. Yes, that would work.

Women always melted when he turned on the charm.

He shrugged into his jacket and whisked a spot of lint away with a flick of his fingers. What would Julianne think if she saw him now? He’d give anything for another glimpse of her, for the little pout on her face whenever she concentrated—as she surely would while she straightened his tie and implored him not to look so serious.

Cristiano turned away from the mirror, unwilling to see the expression he now wore at the thought of his dead wife. He’d been married for so short a time—and so long ago now that he sometimes couldn’t remember the exact shade of Julianne’s hair or the way her laugh sounded. Was that normal?

He knew it was, and yet it both angered and saddened him. She’d paid the ultimate price for marrying him. He would never forgive himself for allowing her to die when he could have prevented it. Should have prevented it.

It was four and a half years since he’d let her climb onto a helicopter destined for the volatile border between Monterosso and Monteverde. In spite of the unease churning in his gut, he’d let her go without him.

Julianne had been a medical student, and she’d insisted on accompanying him on an aid mission. When he had to cancel at the last moment, he should have ordered her to stay behind with him.

But she’d convinced him that the new Crown Princess should work toward peace with Monteverde. As an American, she’d felt safe enough visiting both countries. She’d been certain she could make a difference.

And he’d let her certainty convince him.

Cristiano closed his eyes. The news that a Monteverdian bomb had ended Julianne’s life, and the lives of three aid workers with her, triggered the kind of rage and despair he’d never experienced before or since.

It was his fault. She would have lived if he’d refused to let her go. Would have lived if he’d never married her. Why had he done so? He’d asked himself that question many times since.

He didn’t believe in lightning bolts and love at first sight, but he’d been drawn to her. The attraction between them had been strong, and he’d been certain marrying her was the right decision.

Except that it hadn’t been. Not for her.

The truth was that he’d done it for selfish reasons. He’d needed to marry, and he’d refused to allow his father to dictate who his bride would be. Instead, he’d chosen a bold, beautiful girl he barely knew simply because the sex was great and he liked her very much. He’d swept her off her feet, promised her the world.

And she’d believed him. Far better if she hadn’t.

Basta!

He dropped a mental shield into place, slicing off his thoughts. He would be unfit for mingling with Raúl Vega’s guests if he did not do so. Those dark days were over. He’d found a purpose in their aftermath, and he would not rest until it was done.

Monteverde.

The princess. The reason he was here.

“It is a beautiful night, is it not?”

Princess Antonella Romanelli spun from her cabin door to find a man leaning against the railing, watching her. Faintly, the ocean lapped the yacht’s sides, someone laughed on another ship anchored not too far away, and the smell of jasmine hung in the air.

But her gaze was locked on the dark form of the man. His tuxedo blended into the night, making him nothing more than a silhouette against the backdrop of Canta Paradiso’s city lights. Then he stepped forward and the light from the deck illuminated his face.

She recognized him instantly, though they’d never met. That handsome countenance—the jet-dark hair, the sharp cheekbones, the sensual lips—belonged to only one man in the whole world. The absolute last man she should be talking to at this moment.

Or ever.

Antonella drew in a sharp breath, fighting for that famous detachment for which she was renowned. Dear God, why was he here? What did he want? Did he know how desperate she was?

Of course not—don’t be silly!

“Cat got your tongue, I see.”

Antonella swallowed, willed her thrumming heart to beat normally. He was more beautiful in person than in the photos she’d seen. And more dangerous. Tension rolled from him, enveloping her in his dark presence. His unexpected presence. Warning bells clanged in her mind. “Not at all. You merely surprised me.”

His gaze raked over her slowly, leaving her skin prickling in its wake. “We have not been introduced,” he said smoothly, his voice as rich and alluring as dark chocolate. “I am Cristiano di Savaré.”

“I know who you are,” Antonella said—and then cursed herself for saying it so quickly. As if words were weapons and she could use them to push him away.

“Yes, I imagine you do.”

He made it sound like an insult. Antonella drew herself up with all the dignity and hauteur a princess could manage. “And why wouldn’t I recognize the name of the Crown Prince of Monterosso?”

Her country’s bitterest rival. Though the history between the three sister-nations—Monteverde, Montebianco, and Monterosso—was tangled, it was only Monteverde and Monterosso that remained at war to this day. Antonella thought of the Monteverdian soldiers stationed on the volatile border tonight, of the razor wire fences, the landmines and tanks, and a pang of dark emotion ricocheted through her.

They were there for her, for everyone in Monteverde. They kept her nation safe from invasion. She could not fail them—or the rest of her people—in her mission here. Would not. Her nation would not disappear off the face of this earth simply because her father was a tyrannical brute who’d bankrupted his country and driven it to the very edge of oblivion.

“I would not expect it otherwise, Principessa,” he said with cool certainty.

Arrogant man. She lifted her chin. Never let them see your fear, Ella, her brother always said. “What are you doing here?”

His grin was not what she expected, a flash of impossibly white teeth in the gloom. And about as friendly as a lion’s feral growl. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

“The same as you, I imagine. Raúl Vega is a very wealthy man, si? He could bring many jobs to a country fortunate enough to win his business.”

Antonella’s blood froze. She needed Raúl Vega, not this…this arrogant, too-handsome man who already had all the advantages of his power and position. Monterosso was wealthy beyond compare; Monteverde needed Vega Steel to survive. It was life or death for her people. Since her father had been deposed, her brother had been holding the country together through sheer force of will. But it wouldn’t last much longer. They needed foreign investment, needed someone with the clout of Vega to come in and show other investors through example that the country was still a good bet.

The astronomical loans her father had taken out were coming due, and they had no money to pay them. Extensions were out of the question. Though Dante and the government had acted in the nation’s best interest when they’d deposed her father, creditor nations had viewed the events with trepidation and suspicion. To them, requests for loan extensions would mean Monteverde was seeking ways to have the loans declared void.

A commitment from Vega Steel would change that.

If Cristiano di Savaré knew how close they were to the brink of collapse—

No. He couldn’t know. No one could. Not yet, though her country couldn’t hide it for much longer. Soon the world would know. And Monteverde would cease to exist. The thought dripped courage into her veins, each dose stronger than the last until she was brimming with it.

“I am surprised Monterosso cares about Vega Steel,” she said coolly. “And my interest in Signor Vega has nothing to do with business.”

Cristiano smirked, but it was too late to take back the words. She’d meant to deflect him, but she’d opened herself up to ridicule instead. Careless.

“Ah, yes, I have heard about this. About you.”

Antonella pulled her silk shawl closer over the pale cream designer gown she wore. He made her feel cheap—small and dirty and insignificant—without saying one word of what he truly meant. He didn’t need to; the implication was clear.

“If you are finished, Your Highness?” she said frostily. “I believe I am expected at dinner.”

He moved closer, so nearly into her personal space that it must be intentional. He was tall and broad, and it took everything she had not to shrink from him. She’d spent years cowering before her father when he was in a rage; when he’d been arrested six months ago, she’d promised herself she would not cower before a man ever again.

She stood rigid, waiting. Trembling, and hating herself for the weakness.

“Allow me to escort you, Principessa, for I am headed in the same direction.”

He was so close, so real. So intimidating. “I can find my own way.”

“Of course.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Beneath his studied demeanor, she sensed hostility. Darkness. Emptiness.

He continued, “But if you refuse, I might think you afraid of me.”

Antonella swallowed, forced her throat to work. Too close to the mark. “Why on earth would I be afraid of you?”

“Precisely.” He held out his arm, daring her to accept.

She hesitated. But there was no way out and she would not run like a frightened child. It was a betrayal of Monteverde to be seen with him—and yet this was the Caribbean; Monteverde was thousands of miles away. No one would ever know.

“Very well.” She laid her hand on his arm—and nearly jerked away at the sizzle skimming through her. Touching Cristiano was like touching lightning. She thought he flinched, but she couldn’t be sure.

Was that brimstone she smelled? It wouldn’t surprise her—he was the devil incarnate so far as she was concerned.

The enemy.

But, no, it was simply her imagination. He smelled like a sea-swept night, fresh and clean with a hint of spice. When his hand settled over hers, she had to force down a sense of panic. She felt trapped, and yet his grip was light. Impersonal perhaps. It was the touch of a man schooled in protocol, a man escorting a woman to an event.

It was nothing.

And yet—

Yet her heart tripped as if it were on a downhill plunge. There was something about him, something dark and dangerous and altogether different from the type of men she usually met.

“You have been in the Caribbean long?” he asked as they strolled along the outer deck.

“A few days,” she replied absently, wondering how to make him pick up the pace. At this rate, it would take several minutes to reach the grand ballroom. Several minutes in which she would be alone in his company. “But I haven’t seen much of the island yet.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would.”

Antonella ground to a halt at his tone. Smug, superior. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He turned toward her, his eyes slipping down her body, back up again. Evaluating her. Judging her. Oddly enough, she found herself wanting to know what color they were. Blue? Grey like her own? She couldn’t tell in the yellowish light from the deck lamps. But they left her shivering and achy all at once.

“It means, Principessa, that when you spend much of your time on your back, you can hardly expect to do much sightseeing.”

She couldn’t stifle a gasp. “How dare you pretend to know me—”

“Who does not know you, Antonella Romanelli? In the past six months, you have certainly made yourself known. You parade around Europe dressed in the latest fashions, attending all the best parties, and sleeping with whoever catches your fancy at the moment. Like Vega.”

If he’d notched an arrow and aimed it straight at her heart, it could have hurt no worse.

What could she possibly say to defend herself? Why did she even want to?

Antonella spun away, but Cristiano caught her wrist and prevented her from escaping. His grip was harder than any she’d imagined. Her heart raced so hard she was afraid she’d grow light-headed. Her father was a strong man. A man with a hair-trigger temper and a quick fist when angered. She’d borne the brunt of that fist more times than she cared to remember.

“Let me go,” she bit out, her skin prickling with icy fear.

“Your brother should control you better,” he said—but his grip loosened and she jerked free, rubbing her wrist though he had not hurt her.

Anger slid into place, crowded out the fear. “Who do you think you are? Just because you’re the heir to the Monterossan throne does not make you special to me. And my life is none of your business.” Her laugh was bitter. “I know what you think of me, of my people. But know this—you have not beaten us in over one thousand years and you will not do so now.”

“Bravo,” he said, eyes glittering dangerously. “Very passionate. One wonders how passionate you might be in other circumstances.”

“You will have to continue to wonder, Your Highness. Because I would throw myself over the side of this yacht before ever entertaining a man such as you in my bed.”

Not that she’d ever entertained any man in her bed—but he didn’t know that. Regardless that she’d never found a man she trusted enough to give herself to, that she was still a virgin, all it took were a few parties, a few rumors, and a few photos to turn the truth into a lie. Most men believed her sophisticated and worldly, and the one she’d actually been brave enough to date once she’d been free of her father’s iron grasp had told the lie he’d slept with her after she’d rebuffed him. Others had taken up the rallying cry until it was impossible to separate truth from rumor.

God, men made her sick. And this one was no different.

They could not see beneath the surface, which was why she primped and pampered and wore the careful exterior of a worldly princess. Her beauty was her only asset since she’d never been allowed to pursue any kind of profession.

It was also her shield. When she focused the attention on her physical appearance, she didn’t need to share her secrets or fears with anyone. She could hide beneath her exterior, secure in the knowledge that no one could hurt her that way.

The sound of Cristiano’s mocking laughter startled her back to the moment. She realized too late that she’d just done the unthinkable. She’d challenged a man with a legendary reputation for bedding women. A man about whom women spoke in tones of rapture and awe. She might not have anything to do with the Monterossans, but she’d heard the gossip about their Crown Prince.

He’d been married once, but his wife was dead. Since then, no woman had held his attention for longer than a few weeks, a couple of months at most. He was a serial dater and a heartbreaker. A smooth operator, as her friend Lily, the Crown Princess of Montebianco, would have said.

“Perhaps nothing so desperate as that,” he said, closing the distance between them. Antonella took a step backward, coming into contact with the solid wall of the yacht. Cristiano put a hand on either side of her head, trapping her. He leaned closer without touching her. “Should we test this vow of yours with a kiss?”

“You can’t be serious,” she gasped.

He loomed over her. Dark. Intense. “Why not?”

“You’re Monterossan!”

He laughed again, but there was no humor in it. It confused her—or maybe it was simply his overwhelming nearness bewildering her senses.

His head dipped toward her. “Indeed. But you are a woman, and I’m a man. The night is warm, lush, perfect for passion…”

For a moment, she was paralyzed. Any second his mouth would claim hers, any second she would feel the hot press of his lips, any second her soul would be in danger—because something about him sent her pulse skyrocketing. Her nipples tightened, her skin itched, and the deep, secret recesses of her body felt as if they were softening, melting—

At the last possible moment, when his lips were a hair’s breadth away, when his hot breath mingled with hers, she found her strength and ducked beneath an imprisoning arm. He caught himself, shoving away from the side of the yacht.

Swore.

“Very good, Antonella. But then you are quite practiced at this game, aren’t you?”

Antonella held herself rigid. Why did her name sound so exotic when he said it? “You’re despicable. You seek to take what is not yours, and you resort to force to get it. Exactly what I would expect from a Monterossan.”

If she thought to anger him, she was disappointed. He merely smiled that wolfish smile of his. The ice in it made her shudder.

“Excuses, excuses, Principessa. That is what your country is good at, si? Because you are not as successful or as wealthy as us, you blame us for your ills. And you take innocent lives to justify your hostility.”

“I’m not listening to this,” she said, turning away from him. She had no time to engage in an argument with him. Nor would it do any good. She would simply be upset, and she couldn’t afford the distraction right now.

“Yes, run away to your steel magnate. But let us see what he values most—his mistress or his bank account.”

Antonella whirled. He’d dropped all pretense of friendliness; his voice dripped menace. “What do you mean by that?”

Cristiano stalked closer and once again she found herself trapped. Not physically this time, but it felt the same as if he’d grabbed her and refused to let her move. Her feet may as well have been glued to the teak decking.

“It means, bellissima Principessa, that I too have a proposition for Vega.” His gaze slid over her, and again she felt as if she’d stood too close to a lightning strike. “I am betting that my money trumps your…shall we say…obvious charms.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe you have said this already, yes? It grows tiring.”

Antonella trembled with fury. The man was impossible, aggravating—and having the most incredible effect on her senses. Surely it was anger that made her flush hot and cold, that made her skin tingle. He was threatening to ruin all her hard work, to turn Vega away before she’d managed to hook him. She had to get those steel mills for Monteverde. Had to.

And in order to do it, she needed to focus. Needed to will her heightened senses to calm. Needed to cloak herself in her ice princess mantle. No matter how this man made her feel, no matter how hot and achy and angry she was, she had to play this right.

Antonella dug down deep, found what she was searching for. By degrees, she felt her body loosening from its rigid stance. Felt confidence and calm wash over her. She would not let him intimidate her.

“Perhaps we have started on the wrong foot,” she purred. She needed to misdirect him, befuddle him. To do that, she would play the part he’d given her, make him believe there was indeed a chance of sex. It would buy her a little bit of time, at least. She could hold out the promise of a night together, keep him guessing while she worked hard to reel in Vega Steel before he could snatch victory from her.

In spite of her inexperience, it wasn’t difficult to act the part. At times like this, she disappeared deep within herself, separated her inner being from the shell and watched everything from outside the scene. It was the only way she could cope—by pretending to be someone else. It was a skill she’d honed over years of living with an abusive father.

Cristiano stood his ground as she reached for him, as her fingertips stroked along his freshly shaven jaw, over the fullness of his hard mouth, his chin.

His eyes were impossible to read. And then something kindled in their depths, something that both frightened her and compelled her. Perhaps she was going too far, making a mistake…

“You play with fire, Principessa,” he growled.

She worked hard to ignore the warning bells in her head as she slipped her hand around to the back of his neck, into the soft hair at his nape, bringing herself closer as she did so. Could she really do this?

She could, and she would. Let him see what a Monteverdian was made of. He would not intimidate her. He would not win.

Slowly, she pulled his head down. So slowly. He didn’t try to move away, simply followed her bidding. She didn’t kid herself she was in control. He was interested, like a cat was interested in a mouse.

But, for now, he let her guide him. And that was all she needed.

When he was only inches away, she stroked her fingers down his jaw again. Over that gorgeous mouth because she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t play it too easy, of course, because he would see right through her. But if she got him worked up a bit, made him think about how to storm her defenses, she might buy enough time to get Raúl to commit to Monteverde.

“Know this,” she said softly, her voice as sultry as she could make it. “Know that you have been this close to paradise…” She lifted herself onto her tiptoes, leaned in so close that her lips could have ghosted over his with little effort. “…this close, Cristiano,” she said, using his name for the first time. “And no further.”

Then she took a step back, intending to leave him standing there, puzzling over what had just happened.

A split second later, Cristiano caught her waist in two large hands, yanked her against the full length of his hard body. The wild thought that she should have run while she’d had the chance flashed into her mind. Instead, she’d pushed the thorn deeper into the lion’s paw when she should have given him a wide berth.

Cristiano’s mouth crushed down on hers with devastating precision. The kiss was masterful, dominating, unlike any she’d ever experienced before. Antonella’s head tilted back as he bracketed her face between two broad hands. He slanted his mouth over hers, forced a response. When she opened her lips—to protest? To bite him? To do what?—his tongue slipped inside and tangled with her own.

Heat flooded her like melting wax, dripped into her limbs, made her languid and pliable when she should be anything but. He’d caught her by surprise and she couldn’t seem to separate herself from the act. It wasn’t the first time she’d been kissed—but it was the first time she’d felt on the verge of losing herself in a kiss.

She wanted to dissolve into him, wanted to see where this hot achy feeling would take her if she let it. It was marvelous, extraordinary—

Reality trickled through her as his hands slipped down her back, over her hips, pulled her against his body. His hard, tense body.

Oh, my, was that—?

No. She couldn’t do this. He was the enemy, for God’s sake! She fought against nature, against him, against herself to claw her way back to the surface.

And though it was a cheap thing to do, she bit down on his questing tongue just enough to make him withdraw. It was that or allow him to so completely dominate her senses that she lost the power of her convictions.

He swore. And then he laughed. Actually laughed. “You need a spanking, cara. I’ll be sure to remedy that when we are naked together.”

Antonella managed to jerk free from his grip. She was off-balance, her heart pounding and her blood simmering, and she wanted nothing more than to escape. But she had to stand firm.

She jerked her shawl back into place. “If this is how you usually set about your seductions, it’s a wonder you have any success at all.”

His eyes burned into her. “When I want something, I get it. Always.”

Against her will, a hot little flame smoldered deep inside. She had to get away, far away. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but if you will excuse me, my lover is waiting. Ciao.”

“For now, Principessa,” he said. “But I have a feeling you will take a new lover quite soon.”

She’d made a mistake thinking she could manage him. A huge mistake. And yet she desperately wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. She gave him her best ice princess glare. “Yes, well, that man will not be you.”

“Never make promises you cannot keep. The first lesson of statecraft.”

“This isn’t a negotiation between nations.”

“Isn’t it?”

When she couldn’t think of a rejoinder, she pivoted and hurried to the dining room. Raúl stood on the opposite side of the room, speaking with a short, bald man. He looked up when he saw her, smiled. She smiled back. He was a handsome man, tall and rather good-looking in his custom tuxedo.

But he did not make her blood hum. Not the way Cristiano seemed to do. Angrily, she shoved away thoughts of the prince and crossed to Raúl’s side, letting him kiss her on both cheeks in greeting.

“There you are, Antonella. I was about to send a search party.”

Antonella laughed. Was she the only one who thought the sound brittle, false? Other guests clustered together, talking and sipping cocktails. A few watched her from beneath lowered lids. One man stared openly.

“I’m afraid I must always be fashionably late, darling,” she said.

Raúl swiped a champagne glass from a passing tray and handed it to her. She murmured her thanks before lifting it to her lips. Cristiano di Savaré walked in at the moment she sipped.

Her pulse jumped and she swallowed too much of the bubbly liquid, coughing as it seared a path down her throat.

Raúl failed to notice as he murmured, “Excuse me a moment, my dear,” and strode over to Cristiano.

Oh, God. She had to keep them apart. She had to convince Raúl to invest in Monteverde tonight. There was no time to lose. She wasn’t about to let that arrogant, rude bastard derail her plans.

Just as she got the coughing under control and started toward the two men, someone bumped her elbow.

Antonella held her glass out in time to prevent a spill. An elderly woman in a garish tropical-print muumuu gasped, her hand over her heart as if she were having an attack. “Please excuse me, Your Highness! Oh, how clumsy of me!”

“No, no, it is fine,” Antonella said, her voice a little rough from the coughing. “I didn’t spill a drop.”

But the woman was unconvinced and insisted on a thorough inspection. Then it took several more minutes for Antonella to disentangle from the ensuing conversation. Once the poor lady seemed soothed, Antonella moved away with a murmured apology and went looking for Raúl.

It didn’t take her long to realize the frightening truth, however.

Raúl had left the room. And so had the Crown Prince of Monterosso.