Читать книгу Royally Romanced - Marie Donovan - Страница 10

GIORGIO HATED THE ART—if he even thought of it as art. Renata wasn’t convinced from the sideways glance out of the corner of her eye. Scary how well she could read him after only meeting him this morning. He had sent his beefy driver back to their hotel.

“And this signifies …” He gestured elegantly at the smelly mess of vegetation on the floor.

She peered at the information tag. “The broken cornstalks and soybean plants tell the plight of the family farmer in the ever-growing domination of industrial agriculture.”

He blinked. “Ah.” Giorgio was a good sport, though, examining what looked like his nonna’s compost heap.

“Let’s see the next.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow to tug him to another dubious installation. Lovely. A tangle of rusty barbed wire. Her heel caught on the rough concrete floor and he steadied her.

“Careful, Renata. I do not want to take you for a tetanus shot.” He smiled down at her and she forgot for a second that he was an honest-to-God prince of someplace in Italy and his suit cost more than she made in a year. No, when he smiled at her, he was just Mr. Hot Guy who made her want to shred that expensive suit off him with her teeth. Her breathing sped up, pressing her breasts into the nice bodice of her black blouse.

He noticed, his fingers tightening on hers. Not so cool on the inside, then. “And this represents the tangle of modern life?”

“No, the plight of refugees.”

Giorgio nodded. “Stefania is patroness of a charity for women and children that often works with refugee and displaced families.”

“At her age?” Stefania wasn’t much younger than Renata.

“Since she was thirteen.” His tone was full of love and admiration. “She testified in front of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees when she was nineteen. Stefania has become a better strategist since then. Perhaps I should have discouraged her from studying political science, but when a twelve-year-old reads Machiavelli’s The Prince so she can pass political tips on to her older brother, what else would I expect?”

Renata let him guide her along to the next exhibit. It was a video installation with a variety of blurry faces grimacing in turn as loud static played in the background. Giorgio regarded it with the same pleasant expression he’d pasted on his face as soon as they’d walked in. He really was a polished man.

Renata went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “This is just awful. Do you mind if we leave now?”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself.” His eyes twinkled.

“You’ll know when I’m enjoying myself,” she assured him.

“Indeed?” He turned his head slowly so their faces were almost touching. Renata swallowed hard. She thought he was going to kiss her but he clenched his jaw instead. Perhaps public displays of affection were against the Vinciguerran Royal Book of Etiquette. “I will call Paolo to pick us up.”

“No, don’t.” She didn’t want anyone intruding in what was turning out to be a very intriguing afternoon. “It’s a nice day—let’s walk.”

“Where?”

“A surprise.” She tugged him out of the gallery and onto the sidewalk, tipping her face up. “Ah, sun. Makes up for a long and gloomy winter.”

“An Italian girl like you should always get plenty of sun.”

She patted her jaw. “Bad for the complexion. The rest of my family has the typical dark hair and olive skin like you, but I only burn.”

“No wonder you have such lovely skin. You must be careful when you travel to Italy the next time. You know our sun can be very strong.”

“The next time? I’ve never been to Italy before.”

He stopped and stared down at her. “Your name is Renata Pavoni and you’ve never visited Italy? How can that be?”

She laughed and led him along the busy street. “My parents have five of us. You’ve never priced out airfare to Europe for seven, but my mother did once. We heard her scream of shock down the street.”

Giorgio looked momentarily startled—budget concerns didn’t cross his radar. He nodded thoughtfully. “What part of Italy did your family come from?”

“After the war, my grandparents on my mom’s side came from a little village on the Italian Riviera called Corniglia. My nonna says the town is perched on a huge rock surrounded by grapevines. They make this special kind of wine found nowhere else in the world.”

“Scciachetrà.”

“Yeah, that’s right. We crack open a bottle every New Year’s Eve to toast the old country.” Renata shivered in remembrance. “Boy, is that stuff strong. Made of raisins, so the sugar is very concentrated.”

“I’ve never tried it, although we have something similar in Vinciguerra, called Bocca di Leone—The Lion’s Mouth. We serve it in thimble-size glasses and no one can drink more than a few without falling over.” He sighed. “I’ll have to make sure we have enough for Stefania’s wedding. It’s the traditional toast for weddings, especially royal weddings.”

“And you are the di Leone family, after all.”

“Our ancestors invented it.” He grinned down at her. “I may need a couple stiff drinks before I walk Stefania down the aisle.”

“Buck up, Giorgio.” She patted his arm. “Everyone gets a bit misty-eyed when they give the bride away. Which sword and medals will you be wearing?”

Giorgio gave her a sidelong look. “Sometimes I cannot tell if you are joking with me or not.”

“That’s because you are much too serious.” She gestured. “Look at the beautiful day! Here we are in the most fabulous city in the world, we have lovely Central Park over there, the sun is shining, your sister has her wedding dress and you didn’t have a nervous breakdown trying to shop for one. Do you know how rare it is to keep good mental health shopping for a bridal gown?”

“Um, no.”

“When I worked at a regular bridal salon, fits of hysteria, therapeutic slapping and tranquilizers of dubious legality were an everyday occurrence.”

“It seems I’ve dodged the bullet.”

“You sure have. Hey, let’s cut through the park.”

HE TOOK A DEEP BREATH of the spring-scented air, the pale green leaves on the trees unfolding from their winter’s rest. The tension started to leave his muscles, although they were still mighty buff.

“See? All you needed was a nice little nature walk. I bet it’s been a long time since you got outdoors for some fresh air. A guy like you isn’t meant to be cooped up indoors pushing paperwork all day. Maybe you should get yourself a yacht—I mean if you don’t already have one—”

“We have my father’s yacht. We loan it out to people for field trips and marine science expeditions.”

“Weddings, proms and bar mitzvahs.”

He grinned. “Probably, if anybody requested it.”

“Don’t you or your sister ever use it?”

“Stefania does for her charity fundraisers.” They passed near a tree and he held a branch back that might have scratched her face.

“Not for that, but for your personal use.”

He shook his head. “Not since she started at the university and I took over more duties from my grandmother.”

“All work and no play makes Giorgio a dull boy,” she quoted the old saying. Imagine owning a yacht and being too busy to use it. Running even a small country must take an enormous amount of time.

“Then I should stop being so dull.”

He pulled her to the side of the path underneath a big oak tree. “Is that red lipstick smudge-proof?”

“Yeah, pretty much. It actually has a sealant clear gloss that—”

“Good,” he cut her off. Wow, for a prince he needed some work on conversational manners.

He kissed her.

And he did not need some work on his kissing. Renata’s mouth fell open in shock and he took advantage, slipping his tongue between her hopefully smudge-proof lips. She clutched his broad shoulders as he caressed her mouth with his, gently nibbling and sucking at her lips.

Renata had never been kissed like this, with passion and lust but tenderness, too. Her previous boyfriends had been younger than Giorgio, in their early or mid-twenties, and had either been tentative in their kisses or overly aggressive, mashing her lips as if to prove their desire. Now Giorgio was planting kisses across her jaw and holy crap—he licked her neck’s equivalent of a G-spot and she nearly screamed with pleasure.

His hot breath quickened against her skin and she knew he was as on fire as she was. “Mmm, Renata.” He lifted his head.

Renata’s eyes fluttered open when she realized he wasn’t kissing her anymore. “Wow.”

He wore a dazed look on his face, as well. At least she wasn’t the only one. She probably would have socked him if he’d been gloating. “I am sorry, Renata.”

“Sorry for kissing me?” She shoved him away and plopped her hands on her hips.

“Never. Sorry for pushing you against a tree and kissing you in public.” His lips were plump from kisses but her lipstick had lived up to its promise.

She wanted to taste his mouth again—hell, taste him all over. “You’d rather kiss me in private?” She traced her finger up his golden silk tie.

Giorgio caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the palm. “I would like nothing more.”

A handful of female runners clattered along the path next to them, all of them ogling Giorgio. He turned away, not wanting to be recognized.

He rubbed his face. “Much as I’d like to invite you to my suite at the Plaza—”

“You have a suite at the Plaza?” she interrupted. “Is it as fancy as in the movies? I’ve only been in the lobby once.”

“I don’t know about the movies, my rooms are very nice. But …”

“Too fast, isn’t it?” she asked ruefully. Despite her brassy attitude, Renata didn’t want to hop into bed with a guy an hour after she met him. Well, she did, but she wouldn’t.

He nodded solemnly. “Paolo hasn’t had time to do a background check on you.”

She squawked in indignation and socked him in the arm.

“Ow!” He clutched his arm and laughed. “Renata, I’m just kidding. It’s too fast because I want to get to know you better.”

“Good answer.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. And although she wanted Giorgio pretty badly, he came with miles and miles of strings attached—business, money and the fact that he had his own country. Maybe it would be best to leave it at a quick kiss. A hot, wet, tongue-tangling kiss on a romantic spring afternoon in the most romantic park in New York City.

Renata mentally slapped herself before she dragged Giorgio back behind that tree and did something to the man that started with public and ended with indecency. “What’s next?” It was a bigger question than it seemed.

He took her hand again. “What would a beautiful New Yorker like to do on an unexpected afternoon away from work?”

Renata spotted a white gleam from beyond the leafy green trees. “How about the real art museum?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

That wasn’t an option. She dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief. “How’s my lipstick?”

“Lovely.” He smiled down at her. “But I could make it smudge if I had enough time.”

“I bet you could,” she breathed. Darn it, he wasn’t making this easy for her. “Come on, let’s go.”

RENATA LED GIORGIO UP the marble steps to the main entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He gazed up at the impressive multi-story facade along Fifth Avenue. “Stefania and I came here at least once a month while she was growing up. I haven’t been since the cleaning and restoration several years ago. It’s quite a dramatic change.”

“The gray stone actually turned out to be white after all.” The tall marble columns with elaborately carved tops and arched high windows looked like a Greek temple—a temple of art. “Are you sure you don’t mind coming along for the historical costume exhibit? Most men aren’t terribly interested in women’s clothing—just how to undo them.” She felt a flush rise in her cheeks.

He laughed at her bluntness and held out his elbow for her to take. She accepted and they started to climb the steep stairs. “But I am terribly interested in women’s clothing. Didn’t I prove that by flying all the way to New York to look at wedding dresses?”

“It was very sweet of you to come.” She impulsively squeezed his upper arm. No give at all. His expensive Italian suit was covering an equally nice body.

“I try to do what Stefania tells me.” Giorgio smiled at her. “The children’s book where the brother and sister run away to live in this museum was her favorite as a girl. I was quite terrified she might try the same thing, so I brought her here whenever she asked me. If I couldn’t, then my friends Jack and Frank did.”

He held the door for Renata and they went to the ticket counter. “Two tickets for the museum and the costume exhibit,” she told the museum employee, reaching into her purse for the money.

Giorgio put his hand over hers. “My treat, I insist.” He reached for his slim wallet tucked into his jacket pocket.

“No, no, you’re my guest.” She went for her purse again.

“No.” He gave a credit card to the employee who hastily swiped it through the reader before they could cause any more delay in her line.

Renata clamped her lips together and accepted her ticket. They went into the museum foyer and she pulled him aside. “Look, just because you are a prince and all doesn’t mean I can’t afford to pay for museum tickets.”

He gave her a considering look. “You think I paid because I have much more money than you?”

“Yes.”

“No.” He took her hand. “I would pay for your ticket with the last money I owned because I’m a man and you’re a beautiful woman who makes me laugh and enjoy myself. Unfortunately, that is a rare occurence for me.”

“Oh, please.” She made a dismissive gesture with her free hand.

“No, thank you.” He caught her other hand. “I know I’ve had many advantages in my life, but free time isn’t one of them.”

“Same here.” She squeezed his hands. He had said she was beautiful, so she’d cut him some slack. Well, a lot of slack.

“Let’s not waste any of our precious time. Shall we go to the costume exhibit?”

“Absolutely. Then we can see whatever you’d like,” she offered.

He offered her his arm again, and they followed the signs to the gallery. “I’ve already seen most of the regular collection, so your special exhibit sounds just fine.”

“How about the arms and armor collection? Men always like that.”

He sniffed disdainfully. “We have a much better collection at home.”

“What? Better than the museum?”

“I’m just kidding.” He nudged her playfully and she snorted.

“But you do have some arms and armor at your house.”

“At the local museum,” he clarified. “But the armor used to be at my house.”

“You got tired of peasants wandering through looking at it?”

“If all peasants were as lovely as you, I would have no problem with that.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m only joking, Renata. I’m priviledged to serve my people, not the other way around.”

“All right, then.” She let him off the hook. For a prince, he wasn’t very arrogant. Not that she knew very many. Or any.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pointed to the gallery entrance. “Here we are.”

Renata gave a gasp as she and Giorgio entered the darkened, dramatically lit hall. “Now this is what I call a real art exhibit.” Strategically placed spotlights illuminated mannequins in elegant 1890’s ballgowns.

“Very elegant,” Giorgio agreed. “And little danger of tetanus.”

Renata went as close to the mannequins as she could without getting tossed out of the museum and peered at the fine details of the gowns. They were satin, velvet and silk. The silhouette was a tight bodice flowing out to a small bustle and then fabric draping down to the floor in a small train. The embroidery was elaborately done with crystals, pearls and jet accents. Butterflies and flowers, swirls and loops. “Maybe I haven’t been taking enough advantage of Aunt Barbara’s skills. She could do this in her sleep.”

“The lady who is going to embroider Stefania and Dieter’s initials on her, um, underskirt?”

Renata laughed. Typical brother. “That’s her. She’ll be disappointed she missed you.” The overwhelming understatement of the century. A real live prince and princess came to out-of-the-way Peacock Designs and Aunt Barbara was sitting in the gastroenterologist’s waiting room. She’d at least get to meet Stefania when she came for her fittings.

The next rooms had sports clothing, a revolutionary idea in the late nineteenth century. Although playing tennis in a floor-length dress or riding a bicycle in a wool skirt and suitjacket didn’t appeal to Renata, she saw the historical importance of the broadening of women’s activities.

Ah, more ball gowns, but this time they were a flowing, turn-of-the-century style with Asian-influenced fasteners and draping tunic silhouettes. Another set of new ideas for her.

“Art Nouveau, one of my favourite eras.” Giorgio gazed at the Tiffany stained-glass windows and classic Italian opera posters.

“Oh, my God, me, too! I just love Gustav Klimt’s painting with the man and woman embracing surrounded by all that gold and jewel tones.”

“The Kiss.” His gaze dropped to her lips.

She licked her mouth, suddenly dry. “Yes, it’s called The Kiss.”

“Have you been to Vienna to see it?” he asked.

She laughed and the spell was broken—at least temporarily. “No, I haven’t made it to Vienna yet.” Or anywhere east of the Atlantic Ocean.

“You should go.”

With what money? She caught his hand and pulled him along. He was a sweet guy, but there was a world of difference—and money—between them. “Maybe someday. Oh, look at the suffragettes’ uniforms. Very masculine.”

Giorgio stood patiently next to her, not fidgeting a bit or checking his phone as she examined the clothing in the remaining rooms. She wished she could take photos, but the light was too low to get any of the details. They exited into a gift shop with several reproduction jewelry items and books on art and fashion of the time period covered.

Giorgio picked up the hardcover, full-color photo book that accompanied the exhibit. “Would you allow me to buy you a small gift, a souvenir of our afternoon together?”

“That book’s not exactly small.” But she was dying to get her hands on it, especially to look at the beading and embroidery in close detail.

“I’ll carry it for you if it’s too heavy.” His green eyes twinkled.

She paused for a second and then decided her self-reliance could take a backseat to graciousness for once. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

Giorgio seemed surprised, as if he’d expected her to tussle with him over it. “You’re welcome.” He hastened to the cash register to pay for it before she changed her mind, probably.

Renata busied herself by examining the jewelry. It was a bit elaborate for her tastes, with filigree and crystals and jet beads galore. Aunt Barbara would love it.

“Do you see anything you like here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I was just thinking my aunt would like some of this. She likes more … elaborate things than I do.”

He eyed her up and down. “A woman who looks like a forties’ movie star doesn’t think that counts as elaborate?”

“I suppose silk stockings with seams up the back can’t be considered plain.”

“Not at all.” His voice sounded husky for a second. “But authentic, right?”

“Absolutely.” Renata had to clear her own throat. “Maybe I’ll bring Aunt Barbara to see the exhibit. I’ve encouraged her to branch out a bit with some designs of her own.”

“With you as her mentor, I’m sure it would be a success.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Giorgio shrugged. “Only the truth. You’re a self-made woman, whereas I’m the royal caretaker, making sure everything stays intact for the next generation.” He sounded a bit dejected.

“But that’s important, too. You have thousands of families depending on you to make sure everything runs smoothly, that parents can give their children the opportunities to succeed that they might not have had themselves.”

He grinned. “You’ve very smart, you know that?”

“Of course. And now, if you’ll call for that slick car of yours we can tour around for a bit before you meet your sister for dinner.”

He immediately texted his driver who showed up in an impossibly short period of time. Giorgio helped her into the limo. “Drive downtown, Paolo.”

Paolo nodded and they slid away from the curb. Renata settled back into the luxurious seats. She didn’t know where the royal ride was going, but she was sure it would be memorable.

“THANK YOU FOR DINNER, Renata.” Giorgio relaxed back into the limo seat. “I have to admit I am not used to ladies paying for me.”

“Don’t be silly, it was just a chili dog,” she chided him. She hadn’t been in a limo since one of her brothers’ weddings, and this was much nicer than being stuffed into the back with several giddy bridesmaids in poufy dresses. “I’ll add it onto the alterations bill for your sister’s dress if you insist.”

He leaned toward her. “I do.”

Stefania had called to cancel dinner since she had a term paper due soon and her fiancé was fogged in at Heathrow airport anyway.

Giorgio had called his driver to come get them and they had cruised the city as best as they could with a giant limo. But it was getting late, and Renata had reluctantly told Giorgio to head for Brooklyn.

“Tell me when you are free again.” Giorgio twined his fingers between hers.

“Free for what?”

“Free to see me again. I’ll take you to the Plaza for dinner.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Only if they serve chili dogs.”

“I’ll make sure they do.” He ran the back of his hand along her cheek. “I want to see you again.”

Oh, so did she. “Would you like to see my neighborhood?”

“What?” He looked out the window at the identical row houses stretching as far as they could see.

“Tell your driver to cruise around in this area for a little while. I’ll give you a private tour.” She was practically crawling out of her skin with lust and finally gave in.

He pressed an intercom button and gave instructions in Italian. “There. He will drive around until I tell him to stop. He cannot see or hear anything in the back so you can feel free to say whatever you want.” He pressed a button that turned on hidden dim lighting. “I want to see you while we talk. You are the sexiest woman I have ever met.”

She snorted.

“What?” He furrowed his black brows. “You do not think you are sexy?”

“Oh, I know I am.” And that had been hard-won self-knowledge. “But I’m no six-foot, one-hundred-pound supermodel.”

“Thank God,” he said fervently. “I’m not a man who likes women with more muscle than me.” He caressed her cheek. “A real man wants a real woman, soft and smooth.” He trailed his hand down her neck to her shoulder. “Round and ripe, like a juicy peach plucked from the tree.”

Renata was ready to be plucked, backseat of the car or not. Her nipples were as hard as peach pits inches from where his fingers stroked the base of her neck and her “fruit juices” were definitely ready for sampling. “And you are a real man, Giorgio,” she purred.

“You know I am, Renata.”

“Tell me what you think of me—all real, by the way.” She sat back and slowly unbuttoned her blouse, her eyes never leaving his. He swallowed hard as her black lace bra appeared.

“Bella, che bella.” Still he hesitated, so she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders.

“All for you, Giorgio.” She unfastened her French twist and shook her red hair loose like a pinup girl. “I’ve been waiting all day for your touch. Don’t make me wait anymore. You don’t want to get a reputation for a tease, do you?”

He groaned, his cock stretching his Italian wool pants in a way the designers never intended. She crawled over to him and cupped his erection. His green eyes practically rolled back into his head. He was huge even through the cloth, his plump head firm and round under her fingers. The thought of all that Italian goodness inside her made her shiver. She started to unzip him.

The next second she was flat on her back on the seat, her bra gone and her breasts bare. His mouth was firmly fastened to one nipple, his fingers playing with the other. He sucked on her as if he were starving for her, and she was starving for him. She arched her back, pushing her breast up for his easier access.

He switched to the other breast, leaving her nipple moist and swollen in the cool air. She shivered and hardened even further.

So did he, his cock pressing against her inner thigh. She wiggled under him and he lifted his glossy black head. “You make me crazy.”

“Then go crazy with me.”

“Not yet.” He slid his hand up her thigh and stopped. “Ah, Dio mio, you are wearing giarretterre—I do not know the word in English.”

“Garters,” she supplied. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them,” he said hoarsely. He caressed the slice of thigh between her panties and stockings and cupped her bare ass. “A thong? You are going to set me off like a rocket and I have not even seen you yet.”

He shimmied her skirt up around her waist and stared down at her in rapture. “Look at you. So beautiful.”

Renata looked down at herself. Her lower half could be described charitably as curvy and fat by several skinny bitches she’d run into over the years.

He kissed her soft belly and she jumped at the ticklish sensation. He grinned up at her. “You give up another secret to me, Renata. You are ticklish.”

“You just startled me,” she informed him loftily and jumped a second time when he darted his tongue into her navel.

“And again?” He made circular tracks with his tongue, widening out from her belly button and down to the tiny black ribbon at the top of her thong.

“Well, yes.”

As he nuzzled the ribbon, his breath was hot on her belly. He hooked the front panel of her thong and pulled it free. “Are you ticklish here?” He slid his finger between her folds and zoomed in on her clit.

Her back bowed as he lazily circled that greedy bit of flesh and all she could do was groan.

“If you don’t like it, I can stop.”

Renata smiled at his blather and her eyes rolled back in her head as he lowered his mouth to her thong. With his tongue he caressed her clit, soft and wet at first and then harder as he pressed her with its tip. Her legs fell apart and she gave herself up to his tongue. His big hands had gone right where he wanted, cupping and molding her ass with fervor and appreciation.

Then her mind shut off and her body took over. Or Giorgio took over her body. His five o’clock shadow rasped her inner thighs but his lips were gentle as he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked.

Her fingernails left marks in the soft leather upholstery. Anticipation raced up her belly into her breasts, tightening her nipples even further. She rolled them between her fingers, earning a groan of approval from Giorgio as he raised his head to watch her.

Her brazenness inspired him and he dived back down—this time slipping a finger inside her as he licked her. She immediately clamped down around him. He slid in and out, adding a second finger and flicking her clit hard with his tongue.

Renata propped herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Giorgio. Seeing him even added to her arousal. She was dying, panting, sweating—and loved it. Spread open wide in the backseat of a limo with a man she’d met less than twelve hours earlier going to town on her, his face slick with her juices and his Egyptian cotton shirt damp with sweat.

He pulled his fingers out and stuck his tongue inside her. She collapsed back on the seat, her insides pulsing around his tongue in some dimly remembered but familiar feeling. “Oh, yes, Giorgio. Oh, just like that …” She slapped her hand over her mouth as her moans increased in volume.

He held her tight despite her body’s frantic movements, knowing she was very close. He moved his mouth back to her clit and that was enough for her. Pleasure from his mouth shot all through her body, her head whipping back and forth as she fought back a scream of pure delight.

On and on the sweet torture went until she was too limp to do anything but finally put a hand on his head. He lifted his face and gave a satisfied smirk. “What, no more?”

“I am all done, and you know it.” Renata was glad the limo driver didn’t hit any potholes because she would have slid bonelessly off the seat. On the other hand, she was so floppy she wouldn’t be injured. She struggled to her elbows. “My God, Giorgio, where did you learn to do that?”

He moved to sit back on the seat, sighing in relief as he stretched out his back and shoulders. He pulled her to his lap and she noticed he was just as aroused as before. “A trip through the fleshpots of Europe, of course,” he enunciated with a perfect upper-crust British accent.

She cracked up. He sounded like the leading man of a Masterpiece Theatre miniseries but was probably telling her the truth. “Sounds like a fun trip to me.”