Читать книгу A Bride For The Playboy Prince: The perfect royal romance to celebrate Harry and Meghan’s wedding - Сандра Мартон - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

THE NAME LOOMED up in front of him and on the back seat of the limousine, Luc’s powerful body tensed. He knew what he ought to do. Ignore it. Drive on without a backward glance. Forget the past and accept the future which was waiting for him. But the dark voice of his conscience was forgotten as he leaned forward to speak to his driver, because sometimes curiosity was just too damned strong to resist.

‘Stop the car,’ he ordered harshly.

The car slid to a halt in the quiet street of London’s Belgravia, a street full of unusual restaurants and tasteful shops. But only one of these caught his eye—which was surprising, since Luciano wasn’t the kind of man who had ever featured shopping as a hobby. He didn’t need to. Even the expensive baubles discreetly bought as compensatory keepsakes for departing lovers were purchased on his behalf by one of his many staff.

But there had been no purchase of baubles for quite a while now and no heartbroken lovers to pacify. He had recently undertaken two long years of celibacy—not exactly happily, but because he’d recognised it was something he needed to do. And he had risen to the challenge. His mouth hardened at the unintended pun. He had channelled his considerable energies into his work. He had worn out his hard body with exercise. His mind had been clear, strong and focussed—yet he wondered where that focus was now as he read the two words scrolled in fancy letters above the shop across the street.

Lisa Bailey.

He could feel the sudden throbbing of his groin as her name whispered into his memory just as her soft voice had once whispered urgent little entreaties into his ear as he drove deep inside her. Lisa Bailey. The hottest lover he’d ever known. The talented designer with the unblinking gaze. The tumble-haired temptress with the delicious curves.

And the only woman to kick him out of her bed.

Luc shifted in his seat, locked in an uncharacteristic moment of indecision because ex-lovers had the potential to be complicated—and complications he didn’t need right now. He should tap on the glass and tell his chauffeur to drive on. Continue the journey to his embassy and deal with any last-minute queries before he returned to his island home after the wedding. He thought about what awaited him in Mardovia, and a sudden stillness settled over him. He had a duty to fulfil, or a burden to carry. It all depended which way you looked at it, and if he preferred to look for the positive rather than the negative—who could blame him?

His gaze returned to the shop front, and it was then that he saw her walking across the showroom and the pounding in his heart increased as he glimpsed the tumble of her curls. She turned slightly—showcasing the swell of her magnificent breasts. Lust arrowed sharply down into his groin, and stayed there.

Lisa Bailey.

His eyes narrowed. It was strange to see her here in this expensive part of town—far away from the edgier area of London where their paths had first crossed, in the tiny studio where she had designed her dresses.

He told himself it didn’t matter why she was here because he didn’t care. Yet he was the one who had directed his driver to take this route, wasn’t he? And all because he’d heard some woman mention her name and had discovered that Lisa Bailey had come up in the world. His tongue snaked out over suddenly dry lips. What harm could it do to drop in and say hello, for old times’ sake? Wasn’t that what ex-lovers did? And wouldn’t it convince him—as if he needed any convincing—that he was over her?

‘Wait down the road a little,’ he told the driver, opening the door himself and stepping onto the pavement. A few discreet yards away, a second car containing his bodyguards had also stopped, but Luc gave an almost imperceptible signal to tell them to keep their distance.

The August sun was hot on his head and there wasn’t a whisper of wind in the leaves of the trees in the nearby square, despite the fact that it was getting on for five o’clock. The city had been caught up in a heatwave so fierce that news bulletins had been featuring clips of people frying eggs on the pavement and lying sprawled in the city’s parks in various states of undress. Luc was looking forward to getting back to the air-conditioned cool of his palace in Mardovia. There white doves cooed in the famous gardens and the scent of the roses was far sweeter than the clogging traffic fumes which surrounded him here in the city. If it hadn’t been for Conall Devlin’s wedding party this weekend then he might have taken an earlier flight. Back to begin the process of embracing his new future—which he intended to do with whole-hearted dedication.

He pushed open the shop door and there she was, crouched down beside a rail of dresses with a needle in her hand and a tape measure around her neck—worn in the same way as a doctor might wear a stethoscope.

‘Hello, Lisa,’ he said, his tongue curling around the words as once it had curled around the soft swell of her breasts.

* * *

Lisa glanced up and narrowed her eyes against the light and at first she didn’t recognise him. Maybe because he was the last person she was expecting to see, or maybe because she was tired and it was the end of a long day. A hot day at the end of August, with most people away on holiday and the city overrun by tourists who weren’t really interested in buying the kind of clothes she was selling.

She felt the clench of rising hope as the doorbell gave its silvery little tinkle and a tall figure momentarily blotted out the blaze of the summer sun as the man stepped inside. She was due to close soon—but what did that matter? If this was a customer then he could stay until midnight for all she cared! She would switch on her best smile and persuade him to buy an armful of silk dresses for his wife. As he moved towards her she got an overwhelming impression of power and sensuality, and she tried to keep the cynicism from her smile as it crossed her mind that a man like this was more likely to be buying for his mistress than his wife.

But then he said her name and she stiffened because nobody else had an accent quite like his. She could feel the painful squeeze of her heart and the sudden rush of heat to her breasts. The needle she was holding fell to the carpet and vaguely she found herself thinking that she never dropped a needle. But then the thought was gone and the only one left dominating her mind was the fact that Luc was standing in her shop. His full name was Prince Luciano Gabriel Leonidas—head of the ancient royal House of Sorrenzo and ruler of the island principality of Mardovia.

But Lisa hadn’t cared that he’d been a prince. She had known him simply as Luc. The man who had—unbelievably—become her lover. Who had introduced her to physical bliss and shown her that it had no limits. He’d made her feel things she’d never believed herself capable of feeling. Things she hadn’t wanted to feel if the truth was known—because with desire came fear. Fear of being hurt. Fear of being let down and betrayed as women so often were—and that had scared the life out of her. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for love or commitment and that had suited her just fine until she’d started to care for him.

She’d done her best to hide her growing feelings and had succeeded, until the day she’d realised she was fighting a losing battle with her heart. And that was when common sense had intervened and she had shrunk away from him—like someone picking up a pan to discover that the handle was burning hot. Telling him it was over hadn’t been easy—and neither had the sleepless nights which followed. But it was easier than getting her heart broken and she hadn’t once regretted her decision. Because men like Luc were dangerous—it was written into their DNA.

Her gaze flickered over him and immediately she became aware of the powerful sex appeal which surrounded him like an aura. His black hair was shorter than she remembered, but his eyes were just as blue. That brilliant sapphire blue—as inviting as a swimming pool on a hot day. Eyes you just wanted to dive straight into.

As always he looked immaculate. His handmade Italian suit was creaseless and his silk shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, revealing a tantalising triangle of silken skin. Lisa wished she didn’t feel so warm and uncomfortable. That she’d had a chance to brush her wayward curls or slick a little lipstick over lips which suddenly felt like parchment.

‘Luc,’ she said, and the name sounded so right—even though it was two years since she’d spoken it. Two long years since she’d gasped it out in delight as he’d filled her and her body had splintered into yet another helpless orgasm around his powerful thrust. ‘You’re...’ She swallowed. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see.’

He closed the shop door behind him and Lisa glanced over his shoulder, wondering where his bodyguards were. Lurking out of sight, probably. Trying to blend in to the upmarket location by peering into windows, or melting into the dark shadows of a shop doorway as they controlled access to their royal boss. And then she saw two low black cars with tinted windows parked further down the road and she was reminded of all the protocol which surrounded this charismatic man.

‘Am I?’ he questioned softly.

His voice was velvet and steel and Lisa felt a rush of desire which made her feel momentarily breathless. Against her lace brassiere her nipples hardened and her skin grew tight. She could feel the instant rush of heat to her sex. And it wasn’t fair. How did he manage to provoke that kind of reaction with just one look?

So stay calm. Act like he’s a customer. Maybe he was a customer—eager to commission one of her trademark silk dresses for one of his countless girlfriends. After all, wasn’t that how she’d met him, when he’d walked into her workroom near Borough Market and she hadn’t had a clue who he was? Her designs had just been taking off—mainly through word of mouth and thanks to a model who had worn one of her dresses to a film premiere. All sorts of people had started coming to see her, so it hadn’t been that surprising to see the imposing, raven-haired man with a beautiful blonde model on his arm.

She remembered the blonde trying to draw his attention to one of the embroidered cream gowns Lisa had been making at the time and which women sometimes wore as wedding dresses. And Lisa remembered looking up and witnessing the faint grimace on Luc’s face. Somehow she had understood that he was no stranger to the matrimonial intentions of women, and their eyes had met in a shared moment of unwilling complicity until she had looked away, feeling awkward and slightly flustered.

But something had happened in that split second of silent communication. Something she could never entirely understand. He had dumped the blonde soon afterwards and laid siege to Lisa—in a whirlwind of extravagant gestures and sheer determination to get her into his bed. He had turned all that blazing power on her and at first she’d thought she had been dreaming—especially when she’d discovered that he was a prince. But she hadn’t been dreaming. The amazing flowers which had started arriving daily at her workshop had borne testament to his wealth and his intentions. Lisa had tried to resist him—knowing she had no place at the side of someone like him. But it had turned out he hadn’t really wanted her by his side—he’d just wanted her writhing underneath him, or on top of him, or pushed up against a wall by him, and in the end she’d given in. Of course she had. She would have defied any woman to have held out against the potent attraction of the Mediterranean Prince.

They had dated—if you could call it that—for six weeks. Weeks which had whizzed by in a blur of sensuality. He’d never taken her to any of the glitzy functions featured on the stiff cards which had been stacked on the marble fireplace of his fancy house, which she had visited only once, under the cloak of darkness. He had been reluctant to be anywhere which didn’t have a nearby bed, but Lisa hadn’t cared. Because during those weeks he had taught her everything he knew about sex, which was considerable. She had never experienced anything like it—not before, and certainly not since.

The memory cleared as she realised that he was standing in her shop, still exuding that beguiling masculinity which made her want to go right over there and kiss him. And she couldn’t afford to think that way.

‘So you were just passing?’ she questioned politely as she bent and picked up her fallen needle.

‘Well, not exactly,’ he said. ‘I heard in a roundabout way that you’d moved premises and was interested to see how far up in the world you’ve come. And it seems like you’ve come a long way.’ His eyes glittered as he looked around. ‘This is quite some change of circumstance, Lisa.’

She smiled. ‘I know.’

‘So what prompted the transformation from edgy designer to becoming part of the establishment?’

Lisa kept her expression neutral as she met his curious gaze and even though she owed him no explanation, she found herself giving him one anyway. He probably wouldn’t leave until she told him and she wanted him to leave, because he was making her feel uncomfortable standing there, dominating her little shop. ‘I was selling stuff online and from my workshop—but it was too far out of the city centre to appeal to the kind of women who were buying my clothes.’

‘And?’

She shrugged. ‘And then when the opportunity came up to lease a shop in this area, I leapt at the chance.’ It had been a bad decision of course, although it had taken her a while to see that. She hadn’t realised that you should never take out an expensive lease unless you were confident you could meet the charges, and she’d chosen a backer who didn’t know a lot about the fashion industry. But she had been buoyed up and swept away on a wave of acclaim for her dresses—and had needed a new project to fill the void left in her heart after Luc had gone. And then when her sister had announced she was going to have a baby, Lisa’s desire to increase her income had become less of an ego-boosting career move and more of a necessity...

He was looking around the shop. ‘You’ve done well,’ he observed.

‘Yes. Very well.’ The lie slipped with practised ease from her tongue, but she justified it by telling herself that all she was doing was protecting herself, though she wasn’t quite sure from what. And everyone knew that if you talked yourself up, then people might start to believe in you. ‘So what can I do for you?’ She fixed him with her most dazzling smile. ‘You want to buy a dress?’

‘No, I don’t want to buy a dress.’

‘Oh?’ She felt the unsteady beat of her heart. ‘So?’

He glittered her a smile. ‘Why am I here?’

‘Well, yes.’

Why indeed? Luc studied her. To prove she meant nothing? That she was just some tousle-haired temptress who had made him unbelievably hot and horny—before she’d shown him the door.

But wasn’t that what rankled, even now? That she had walked away without a second glance—despite his expectation that she’d come crawling back to tell him she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. His pride had been wounded in a way it had never been wounded before, because no woman had ever rejected him—and his disbelief had quickly given way to frustration. With Lisa, he felt like a man who’d had his ice cream taken away from him with still half the cone left to lick.

As his gaze roved over her, the sheer individuality of her appearance hit him on a purely visceral level. He had dated some of the world’s most desirable women—beautiful women whose endlessly long legs gave him the height he preferred in his sexual partners. But Lisa was not tall. She was small, with deliciously full breasts which drew a man’s eyes to them no matter what she was wearing, or however much she tried to disguise them. She was none of the things he usually liked and yet there was something about her which he’d found irresistible, and he still couldn’t work out what that something was.

Today she was wearing a simple silk dress of her own design. The leafy colour emphasised the unusual green-gold of her eyes and fell to just above her bare knees. Her long, curly hair was caught in tortoiseshell clips at the sides, presumably in an attempt to tame the corkscrew curls. Yet no amount of taming could disguise the colour of her crowning glory—a rich, shiny caramel which always reminded him of hazelnut shells. A glossy tendril of it had escaped and was lying against her smooth skin.

But then he noticed something else. The dark shadows which were smudged beneath her eyes and the faint pinching of her lips. She looked like a woman who was short on sleep and long on worry.

Why?

He met question in her eyes. ‘I’m often in this part of town and it seemed crazy not to come in and say hello.’

‘So now you have.’

‘Now I have,’ he agreed as his mind took him off on a more dangerous tangent. He found himself remembering the silken texture of her thighs and the way he had trailed slow kisses over them. The rosy flush which used to flower above her breasts as she shuddered out her orgasm. And he wondered why he was torturing himself with memories which had kick-started his libido so that he could barely think straight.

His mouth hardened. Soon his life would follow a predictable pattern which was inevitable if you were born with royal blood. Yet some trace of the man he would never be called out to him now with a siren voice—and that siren’s name was Lisa Bailey. For this was the woman who had fulfilled him on almost every level. Who had never imposed her will on him or made demands on him as so many women tried to. Was that why the sex had been so incredible—because she had made him feel so free?

And suddenly the self-imposed hunger of his two celibate years gnawed at his senses. An appetite so long denied now threatened to overwhelm him and he didn’t feel inclined to stop it. What harm could there be in one final sweet encounter before he embraced his new life and all the responsibilities which came with it? Wouldn’t that rid him of this woman’s lingering memory once and for all?

‘I’ve just flown in from the States and I’m here for a party this weekend,’ he said. ‘And on Monday I leave for Mardovia.’

‘This is all very fascinating, Luc,’ she observed drily. ‘But I fail to see what any of this has to do with me.’

Luc gave a short laugh, for nobody had ever spoken to him as candidly as Lisa—nor regarded him quite so unflinchingly. And wasn’t that one of the things which had always intrigued him about her—that she was so damned enigmatic? No dramatic stream of emotion ever crossed her pale face. Her features were as cool as if they had been carved from marble. The only time that serene look had ever slipped was when he’d been making love to her and it was then that her defences had melted. He’d liked making her scream and call out his name. He’d liked the way she gasped as he drove deep inside her.

He smiled now, enjoying the familiar lick of sexual frisson between them. ‘And I thought I might ask you a favour,’ he said.

‘Me?’

‘Well, we’re old friends, aren’t we?’ He saw her pupils dilate in surprise and wondered how she would respond if he came right out and told her what was playing in his head.

I want to have sex with you one last time so that I can forget you. I want to bend my lips to those magnificent nipples and lick them until you are squirming. I want to guide myself into your tight heat and ride you until all my passion is spent.

His pulse pounded loudly in his ears. ‘And isn’t that what old friends do—ask each other favours?’ he murmured.

‘I guess so,’ she said, her voice uncertain, as if she was having trouble associating their relationship with the word friendship.

‘I need a date,’ he explained. ‘Someone to take to a fancy wedding with me. Not the ceremony itself—for those I avoid whenever possible—but the evening reception afterwards.’

Now he had a reaction.

‘Oh, come on, Luc,’ she said quietly. ‘You need a date? You of all people? I can’t believe you’re revisiting an old lover when there must be so many new ones out there. There must be women lining up around the block to go out with you—unless something is radically different and you’ve had a complete personality change.’

He gave an answering smile and wondered what she would say if she knew the truth. ‘I cannot deny that there are any number of women who would happily accompany me,’ he said. ‘But none of them entice me sufficiently enough to take them.’

‘So why not go on your own?’

‘Unfortunately, it is not quite that simple.’ He glanced out of the window, where he could see the shadowy shapes of his bodyguards standing beside one of the waiting limousines. ‘If I turn up without a woman, that will leave me in a somewhat vulnerable position.’

‘You? Vulnerable?’ She gave a little snort of a laugh. ‘You’re about as vulnerable as a Siberian tiger!’

‘An interesting metaphor,’ he mused. ‘Since, in my experience, weddings are a prime hunting ground for women.’

‘Hunting ground?’ she repeated, as if she’d misheard him.

‘I’m afraid so.’ He gave an unapologetic shrug. ‘Some women see the bride and want to be her and so they look around to find the most suitable candidate for themselves.’

Her eyebrows arched. ‘You being the most suitable candidate, I suppose?’

Luc looked at the tendril of hair still lying against her pale cheek and wanted to curl it around his finger. He wanted to use it like a rope and pull her towards him until their lips were mere inches apart. And then he wanted to kiss her. He shifted his weight a little. ‘I’m afraid that being a prince does rather put me in that category—certainly amongst some women.’

‘But you think you’d be safe with me?’

‘Of course I would.’ He paused. ‘Our relationship was over a long time ago, and even when it was in full swing neither of us was under any illusion that there was any kind of future in it. You were probably the only woman who truly understood that. You can protect me from the inevitable predators.’ He smiled. ‘And it might be fun to spend the evening together. Because we know each other well enough to be comfortable around each other, don’t we, Lisa?’

Lisa looked at him. Comfortable? Was he insane? Didn’t he realise that her pulse had been hammering like a piston ever since he’d stepped inside the shop? That her breasts were so swollen that it felt as if she’d suddenly gone up a bra size? Slowly, she drew in a deep breath. ‘I think it’s a bad idea,’ she said flatly. ‘A very bad idea. And now if you don’t mind—I’m about to shut up shop.’

She walked over to the door and turned the sign to Closed and it was only afterwards that she wondered if it was that gesture of finality which suddenly prompted him to try a different approach, because Luc was nothing if not persistent. Because suddenly, he began to prowl around the shop like a caged tiger. Walking over to one of the rails, he slowly ran his fingertips along the line of silk dresses, a thoughtful expression on his face as he turned around to look at her.

‘Your shop seems remarkably quiet for what should be a busy weekday afternoon,’ he observed.

She tried not to look defensive. To replicate the same cool expression he was directing at her. ‘And your point is?’

‘My point is that a society wedding would provide an excellent opportunity for you to showcase your talent.’ His blue eyes glittered. ‘There will be plenty of influential people there. You could wear one of your own designs and dazzle the other guests—isn’t that how it works? Play your cards right and I’m sure you could pick up a whole lot of new customers.’

And now Lisa really was tempted, because business hadn’t been great. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. Business had taken a serious dive, and she wasn’t sure if it was down to the dodgy state of the economy or the more frightening possibility that her clothes had simply gone out of fashion. She’d found herself looking gloomily at magazines which featured dresses which looked a lot like hers—only for a quarter of the price. True, most of the cheaper outfits were made from viscose rather than silk, but lately she’d started wondering if women really cared about that sort of thing any more.

She kept telling herself that the dip in her profits was seasonal—a summer slump which would soon pick up with the new autumn collection, and she prayed it would. Because she had responsibilities now—big ones—which were eating into her bank account like a swarm of locusts rampaging through a field of maize. She thought about Brittany, her beloved little sister. Brittany, who’d flunked college and become a mother to the adorable Tamsin. Brittany, who was under the dominating rule of Jason, Tamsin’s father. Lisa helped out where she could, but she didn’t have a bottomless purse and the indisputable fact was that Jason wasn’t over-keen on earning money if it involved setting the alarm clock every day. Just as he seemed to have a roving eye whenever any female strayed into his line of vision. But Brittany trusted him, or so she kept saying.

A bitter taste came into Lisa’s mouth. Trust. Was there a man alive who could be trusted—and why on earth would any woman ever want to take the risk?

‘So pleased you’re giving my proposal some serious consideration,’ Luc said, his sardonic observation breaking into her thoughts. ‘Though I must say that women don’t usually take quite so long to respond to an invitation to go out with me.’

‘I’m sure they don’t.’

‘Though maybe they would if they realised how much a man enjoys being kept guessing,’ he added softly. ‘If they knew just how irresistible the unpredictable can be.’

Lisa looked at him. Instinct was telling her to refuse but the voice of common sense was suddenly stronger. It was urging her to stop acting as if millions of offers like this came her way. She thought about the kind of wedding someone like Luc would be attending and all the upmarket guests who would be there. Women with the kind of money who could afford her dresses. Women who wouldn’t dream of wearing viscose. Surely she’d be crazy to pass up such an opportunity—even if it meant spending the evening with a man who symbolised nothing but danger. She swallowed. And excitement, of course. She mustn’t forget that. But she could resist him. She had resisted him once and she could do it again.

‘Who’s getting married?’ she questioned carelessly.

He failed to hide his triumphant smile. ‘A man named Conall Devlin.’

‘The Irish property tycoon?’

‘You’ve heard of him?’

‘Hasn’t everyone? I read the papers like everyone else.’

‘He’s marrying a woman named Amber Carter.’

Lisa nodded. Yes. She’d seen pictures of Amber Carter, too—a stunning brunette and the daughter of some industrial magnate. Someone like that would be unbelievably well connected, with friends who might be interested in buying a Lisa Bailey dress. And mightn’t this wedding serve another purpose at the same time? Mightn’t it get Luc out of her system once and for all if she spent some time with him? Banish some of her dreamy recollections and reinforce some of the other reasons why she’d finished with him. It would do her good to remember his fundamental arrogance and inbuilt need to control. And while she had shared his bed for a while, she realised she didn’t really know him.

Because Luc hadn’t wanted anything deeper—she’d understood that right from the start. He’d made it clear that the personal was taboo and the reason for that was simple. He was a royal prince who could never get close to a foreigner. So there had been no secrets shared. No access to his innermost thoughts just because they’d been sleeping together. He’d said it would be a waste of their time and make their parting all the more difficult if they became more intimate than they needed to be. She had understood and she had agreed, because her own agenda had been the same—if for different reasons—and she had also been determined not to get too close. Not to him. Not to anyone. And so they had just lived in the present—a glorious present which had been all about pleasure and little else.

She returned his questioning look. ‘Where is this wedding happening?’

‘At Conall’s country house at Crewhurst, this Saturday. It’s only just over an hour out of London.’

She looked directly into his eyes. ‘So it would be possible to get there and back in an evening?’

He held her gaze and she wondered if she’d imagined another flicker of triumph in his smile. ‘Of course it would,’ he said.