HOLIDAY ROYALE (9 page)

“You
needed
to marry? Why?”

He’d assumed she knew. Apparently not. “You haven’t heard of the Prince’s Marriage Law?” She shook her head, so he explained, “The Prince’s Marriage Law decrees that all princes of Montedoro are required to marry by the age of thirty-three or be stripped of all titles and relieved of the large fortune they each inherit by virtue of their birth.”

She made a low sound in her throat. “Well, that’s just wrong.”

“It’s a controversial law and has been abolished in the past. But then the Calabretti line almost died out. My grandfather had it reinstated.”

“You’ll be thirty-two in January....”

He put his hand to his heart and teased, “You remembered.”

“Of course I remember. Aren’t you worried you won’t find the right woman?”

“But don’t you see? I did worry. And I was practical. At the age of twenty-nine, with plenty of time to spare, I went looking for a bride. And you can see how well that went.”

“Not well at all.”

“So I’m becoming more philosophical about it. What will happen will happen.”

“Dami,” she scolded, “it’s your inheritance....”

Now he looked at her sternly. “I’m fully aware of that. You are not to worry about it. It’s not your concern.”

She was quiet. But only for a moment. “So, then, you’re telling me that Vesuvia didn’t love you, either. She just wanted to be a princess.”

“And that was all right with me. I needed a suitable bride. She liked the idea of marrying a prince.”

“Oh, Dami. You sound so cynical.”

“Because I
am
cynical.”

“No, you’re not. Not in your heart.”

He chuckled. “Go ahead. Believe wonderful things about me if you must.”

“Thank you. I will.” She leaned toward him, all eyes. “What changed your mind about proposing to her?”

“At first, as I said, she behaved reasonably. But she didn’t
stay
reasonable, because at heart she’s
not
reasonable. In the end, it’s always a big drama with V. She can’t just...sit at a table and talk, over cocoa.” He watched her smile, only a hint of one, a slight lifting at the corner of her tender mouth. “With V there must be grand gestures, and often. She craves expensive gifts and constant attention. She loves to stage a big dramatic scene. I can’t count the number of times she walked out on me in restaurants after telling me off in very colorful Italian.”

“Whew. Yeah. I can see how that would get pretty old after a while.”

“It’s been over for months now, really. At least, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Not for her, though?”

“Let me put it this way. I’m through. I’ve told her I’m through. She says she understands and then she starts calling again.”

“So maybe she loves you after all. Maybe she
still
loves you....”

“Luce, it’s not love. Believe me.”

She reached across the table and put her soft hand over his. “You look so sad, Dami.”

Sad? Was he? “My parents married for love.”

“Oh, yeah.” She squeezed his hand. Her touch felt so good. “They’re, like, legendary, your parents. The American actor and the Montedoran princess, finding true love, living happily ever after....”

With his thumb, he idly stroked the back of her hand—until he realized he was doing it and released her. She gave the tiniest shrug, pulled her arm back to her side of the table and slowly ran a finger around the rim of her demitasse. He thought about kissing her—and not on the forehead.

And what were they talking about?

His parents. Right. “Growing up, we all—my brothers and sisters and I—loved what they had. We all knew we wanted to grow up and have that kind of love for ourselves. Well, except for my twin, Alex. Alex was always...separate. Alone. But in the end, he found his way to Lili. He found true love after all. That’s what we do, we Bravo-Calabrettis. We marry for love. We mate for life. Of the nine of us, only my youngest sisters, Genny and Rory, haven’t found the one for them yet. They have plenty of time. They’re both in their early twenties—like you.”

“And what about you, Dami? You haven’t found the one.” She regarded him solemnly. “I hope you do.”

He thought how perceptive she was, really, for someone so young. Once, Alice had told him that Lucy was more grown-up than he realized. He hadn’t believed her at the time. But he was beginning to see he’d been wrong.

“Dami?”

He gave a low laugh. It was a sound without much humor. “No, I haven’t found ‘the one.’ I honestly believe now that I’m the exception who proves the family rule. I enjoy the thrill of a new romance. I can’t get enough of the chase. But I don’t have what it takes for a lifetime of happiness with one woman.”

“Oh, come on.” She cast a glance at the ceiling and gestured grandly with both hands, the way she liked to do. “So it didn’t work out with Vesuvia. You know what Hannah would say?”

He put on a pained expression. “Don’t tell me. Please.”

Lucy only grinned. She was very fond of her former foster mother. “Hannah would say, get over yourself. Try again. Forget finding someone
suitable—
look for someone to love. And choose a nicer woman this time.”

“Nice women bore me—present company excluded, of course.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “Good save.”

“I
am
the Player Prince after all. It’s my job to be smooth.”

She drank the last of her cocoa. “That was so good it had to be sinful.” Then she pushed her chair back and stood.

He gazed up the length of her, taking in the pretty curves of her bare shoulders and the brave beauty of that inch of scar tissue her gown didn’t hide. “Did I tell you that you are incomparable in red?”

She dimpled at him. “It never hurts to say something like that more than once.”

“You’re very fine, Luce. Absolutely splendid.” His pulse had accelerated and his breath came faster. Warning signs, he knew. Temptation was calling again and the urge to surrender becoming more insistent.

He knew what to do: move, get up, break the sweet spell of this breath-held moment. Stop thinking that he wanted her more today than yesterday, more now than an hour ago, more in this minute than the minute before.

And what was he doing, anyway, keeping on with this, with her? If he wasn’t going to take her to bed, he needed to stay away from her.

But he wasn’t willing to do that. He wanted this time with her as much as she seemed to want it with him.

The truth skittered through him, striking off sparks: he didn’t want to stop. And he wasn’t going to stop.

Impossible. Sweet Lucy Cordell, of all people. He never would have imagined. Not in a hundred years.

But he imagined it now, in detail. With growing excitement. In spite of her brother’s probable fury. Even if it ended up costing him her friendship.

Really, he ought to be a better man. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

She stepped away from her chair, pushed it in and came around the table toward him in a rustle of red satin, her eyes never letting go of his, all woman in that moment, the girl he had known before eclipsed, changed. When she stood above him, she reached down and put her hand on his shoulder.

Her touch burned him, made his throat clutch, tangled his breath inside his suddenly aching chest. He couldn’t bear it. He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth, pressed the tips of them against his lips. Heat seared his belly and tightened his groin. She sucked in a sharp breath. He kissed her fingers one more time and then let go.

That was when she said so sweetly, “Stand up, Dami. Please.”

Chapter Six

D
amien rose and stood with her and tried to think what to say. “Luce...”

She lifted on tiptoe, so her sweet mouth was so wonderfully, perfectly close. Her breath smelled of cocoa. “I haven’t had a lot of kisses. I mean, real kisses. On-the-lips kisses.”

He whispered her name again. “Luce.” Somehow her name was the only word he had right then.

She continued on the subject of kisses. “Two from you, so far. Two from a boy I met in Cardiac ICU at a very excellent hospital in Los Angeles. His name was Ramon. He was getting better, they said. And then one night, out of nowhere, he died. He had the most beautiful crow-black hair.” A single tear escaped the corner of her left eye.

He dipped his head, kissed that tear, tasted the salty wetness on his tongue.

She drew in a shaky little breath, put her hands on his shoulders as though bracing herself—and continued, “A boy named Troy kissed me in middle school. It was one of the few times I was well enough to go to school for a while. He kissed me out under the football bleachers. I promised to meet him in front of the school in the morning. But I got bad in the night and there was another surgery and I didn’t go to school again for three years.”

He made a low noise in his throat, a noise of encouragement, and he pressed his lips to the pretty arch of her left eyebrow.

She went on, “And then there was this boy in high school, a very pricey private school. I went there for three months in my junior year. Noah was rich by then....”

Her brother had started from nothing. Lucy’s illnesses had spurred him on to greater and greater success. He’d needed a lot of money to make sure she got the very best care available.

Lucy went on. “The boy in high school? His name was Josh and he lived in our neighborhood in Beverly Hills— This was before Noah bought the estate in Carpinteria. Josh took me to the homecoming dance and I kissed him at the door when he brought me home. He never called me after that. I called him twice, left messages with his mom. And then a few weeks later, there I was in an ambulance again. I was homeschooled exclusively after that. I never saw Josh again and I never kissed anyone else until last year.”

“You had a boyfriend last year?” He hadn’t known.

“Uh-uh. It was at one of Noah’s parties. A man named David, a business associate of Noah’s. David would have done more than kiss me, but I got cold feet—and don’t you dare tell Noah.”

“Never.” He growled the word and tried to recall if he’d ever met this David. He didn’t think so, which was probably just as well.

“Promise me,” she whispered.

“I swear on the blue blood of my Calabretti ancestors, on the honor of all the Bravos who came before me, that I will never tell Noah that you kissed a man named David at one of Noah’s parties.”

“Wow. Now,
that’s
a vow.”

“I’m so glad you approve.”

She gave him her best Mona Lisa smile. “But you need to seal it with a kiss.”

He didn’t even hesitate. There was no point. He accepted that now. Unless she called a halt, he was in. All the way. He bent and captured her mouth, tasted chocolate and heat and a sweet, slow sigh.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed closer. He felt the giving softness of her breasts against his chest. Not the least childish, the softness of those breasts. “Dami...”

He pulled her closer still, not even caring anymore that she might feel him unfurling against her belly. He only went on kissing her, dipping his tongue into the moist heat beyond her parted lips, sharing her breath, the world a wonderful place that smelled of peaches and chocolate and something else, something of Lucy, fresh and clean and womanly, too.

After a while, he lifted his head. He gazed down into those shining brown eyes.

She whispered, “That’s three kisses from you. Give me another.”

He drank in the sight of her flushed upturned face. “You’re greedy.”

“I need a lot of kisses. I’ve been deprived.” And then she giggled.

That did it. That naughty little laugh of hers made him greedy, too. He swooped down and took her mouth again.

She cried softly, “Oh!” against his lips.

And then he kissed her long and slow and deep, sweeping a hand down to press the small of her back, pushing his hips against her, aching to have her, to feel her tight heat all around him.

She moaned a little, and she lifted her lower body up and into him. Eager. And so very sweet.

That time when he lifted his head, she took the lapels of his jacket and guided them over his shoulders. He allowed that, catching it as it fell, tossing it onto a far chair. She started on the buttons of his shirt.

He caught her hands, kissed them, one and then the other. “Anticipation is a fine thing.”

She tipped her head to the side and considered. And then she blushed again. “I’m rushing it, huh?”

“I want you right now,” he whispered. “I want to bury myself in you and hear you moan beneath me.”

Deeper color flooded upward over her throat, her chin, her plump cheeks. Her scent intensified. “Oh. Well. Okay...”

He bent and scraped his teeth along the side of her throat.

She let out a small rough little sound and clutched him closer. “Dami...” She made his name into a plea.

He caught her earlobe between his teeth and worried it lightly. Then he whispered, “Will you be guided by me?”

Another sound escaped her, more tender than rough. She shifted her fingers up into his hair, pulling his head down into the warm woman-scented curve of her throat. “Yes. Please. That’s what I want. For you to teach me.”

He took her shoulders then and gently held her away from him—just enough that he could meet her wide, dazed eyes. “First of all...”

“Yes?” Breathless. Hopeful. Impossibly sweet.

“We don’t have to hurry.”

She groaned and then pressed her lips together.

He touched her hair. Like living silk. “Say it. Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t hold back.”

She winced. “Well, it’s just that, um, yeah, we kind of do have to hurry. I mean, it’s already Saturday morning. I’m flying home tomorrow. We need to get this done.”

He wanted to laugh at her total frankness, but he didn’t. He held her gaze. “As your friend, I must warn you against men who say ‘trust me.’ But trust me.”

She laughed then. “Oh, Dami.”

“Do you trust me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I do. Absolutely.”

“Good.” He caught her hand. “Come with me.”

* * *

Dazed, amazed, excited and very nervous, Lucy went where he led her.

To his bedroom.

It was a large room with a high, coffered ceiling from which hung a giant iron chandelier. The bed had an intricately carved headboard and finials shaped like crowns. The turned-back sheets were cobalt-blue satin, the bedding in deep blue and gold and red.

Unreality assailed her. Alone with Dami in his bedroom. Who knew?

He turned on a torchère lamp beside the bed nice and low. The chandelier was on, too, but also low. She could see clearly enough, but everything was soft and shadowed. Which was great. The pleasant dimness eased her nerves.

At least a little.

He took her shoulders again, his long fingers warm and sure against her bare skin. Still, she shivered at the touch, scared and also excited for what was to come.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

Her mouth went dust dry. She swallowed to try to get some moisture going. “No. Really. I want to do this, I truly do....”

His smile was way too knowing as he stepped back from her and began to undress, first dropping to a chair to remove his shoes and socks, then sweeping upright again and getting rid of everything else. Quickly, so gracefully, all his beautiful clothes were gone in what felt to her like an instant, as she just stood there staring.

At least the saliva had flooded back into her mouth.

He was a magnificent man, honed and tanned, with a broad, deep chest and shoulders and a belly you could scrub your laundry on. Her gaze trailed down over hard, narrow hips. The muscles in his long thighs were sharply defined. Even his feet were beautiful, long and perfectly shaped.

She did more absurd gulping as she let her glance stray upward again. This time, she allowed herself to look directly at the most private part of him. He definitely wanted her. His manhood curved up, thick and fully aroused, from the dark nest of hair between those powerful thighs.

That he wanted her was good. Excellent— Well, except for the definite largeness of him. She couldn’t help it. She wondered what all virgins probably wondered.

“Seriously, Dami. Are you sure it’s going to fit?” The words were out and hanging in the air between them before she stopped to think how ridiculous they would sound.

But he didn’t laugh at her. He only brushed a finger slowly down the outside of her arm, bringing the goose bumps to bloom where he touched. And he said in a low rumble, “I promise you, Luce. We’ll take all the time we need. You’ll see. It will fit. That’s how it is with men and women. We are made to fit.”

“Well, of course I know that. But it’s still, um...yikes. You know?”

He went very still, waiting—and watching her so closely, his eyes that strange deep black-green right then, dragonfly green. He asked, “Do you want to stop? Any time you want to stop, all you have to do is say the word.”

“No. Uh-uh. I absolutely do
not
want to stop.”

One corner of his sinful mouth quirked up. How did he do it? How did he stand there in front of her without a stitch on looking so comfortable in his own skin he almost didn’t seem naked at all?

His finger started moving again, across the slim rolled-satin belt at her waist, pausing at the jeweled butterfly pin. He traced the shape of it and then he let his finger trail upward. He touched her breast just with that single finger. He found her nipple beneath the satin, inside the thin cup of her strapless bra. He rubbed his finger up and down until the nipple hardened.

Lucy gasped. She couldn’t help it.

And then he used his thumb, too, rolling it a little, until she felt a certain flooding of heat down low, felt a thin, shimmering cord of desire forming, connecting her breast to her core. She drew another ragged breath as he moved to the other breast and repeated the process.

Then he leaned close. He licked her at her temple. The moisture made a cool spot, right there where her pulse beat above her ear.

He blew on that spot, increasing the coolness. And then he whispered, “Take off your belt....”

She did it, fumbling a little, removing the vintage pin and unhooking the clasp beneath. He took them from her and set them on the bedside table.

“Luce.” He licked her temple again, caught a bit of her hair between his lips and tugged. Then he pressed his mouth to her hair. She felt his warm breath sift over her scalp. “Luce?”

“Yeah?” Her own voice sounded...different. Tentative. And breathless, too. She wished fervently to be more experienced, not to be so obviously out of her depth. Her wish was not granted.

And somehow Dami made that seem all right. “Please turn around.”

She remembered to breathe again and the air rushed into her hungry lungs as she ordered her feet to move. Three careful steps and she was facing away from him, staring at the shadows in the corners of the room, at the waiting blue satin sheets on the wide carved bed.

He touched her shoulder, as though to steady her. And then he took down her zipper in one long, slow glide. The dress dropped around her ankles.

He wrapped one of those big hard arms around her and kissed the side of her neck. “Step out of it. Careful, now....” She lifted one satin stiletto and then the other, cautiously stepping free of the gown. “Don’t move,” he warned softly. He let go of her long enough to scoop the dress up and deposit it safely over his clothes on the bedside chair.

Then he wrapped both arms around her. He pulled her against him, his heat and hardness all along the back of her, his manhood pressing into her, making her moan, making her little red panties wet.

He cradled her breasts. It felt...so good. She let out a long sigh, and her head fell back to rest against the hard muscles of his chest. “Should I...take off my shoes?”

He kissed her ear. “No. Leave them on. There is nothing so fine as a beautiful woman in red satin shoes.”

A beautiful woman.
He meant
her,
Lucy. And she knew it was just Dami, just how he was. He had all the right words to make a woman want him, and he didn’t hesitate to use them—and somehow when he used them, he made her believe him. He made her absolutely certain that she was every bit as beautiful and desirable as he kept saying she was.

He continued to caress her, first dipping his thumbs into the cups of her bra, easing the semisheer fabric out of the way so her breasts came free. She looked down at his big dark hands holding her breasts, rolling the nipples. At the narrow white gleam of her heart-surgery scar.

And it was so wonderfully unreal, so perfectly erotic. So totally thrilling in an otherworldly kind of way. Her hips were moving, rubbing back against him. And he kept on touching her.

Her bra fell away. She let out a small cry of surprise. He only growled low in his throat and scraped his teeth along the ridge of her shoulder, easing his mouth into the curve of her throat, sucking a little.

She brought her hand up and back, hungry to touch him. Wrapping her fingers around his nape, she eased them up into his thick dark hair.

Time flew away. His hands were everywhere and she gloried in their knowing, hot glide over every inch of her. She had his strong, tall body at her back to steady her. And she was suddenly liquid and moving, rocking slow and loving it, as his hands moved lower, pressing at her belly, fingers easing under the elastic of her panties, finding the heart of her.

One finger drifted in where she was wet and hot and hungry. He worked such shimmering magic on her willing flesh. She was wild by then, completely outside herself. Her panties were gone, ruined—he had taken the narrow elastic on both sides and torn it so he could more easily remove them from between her shaking thighs.