His Royal Love-Child. Lucy Monroe
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different girlfriends in the last six months…he’s a bad risk.” But she had to swallow a burble of hysterical laughter as she realized what she’d just said.
No worse risk existed in the relationship stakes than Marcello Scorsolini.
“All of life is a gamble, or haven’t you learned that yet?” Lizzy asked as she got up to go.
“Some chances are more worth taking than others.”
“And you don’t think Ramon is one of them?”
Danette sighed. “I don’t know, but not tonight. I’m sure about that much, all right?”
“Okay.” Lizzy smiled again and reached out to hug her. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
Danette hugged her back. As she stepped away, she remembered all the times she’d encouraged her friend, Tara, to go for it with Angelo Gordon, but this was different. No one could compete with Marcello…not even the sexy, charming Ramon from sales. “Have fun tonight.”
“We will.” Lizzy turned to leave.
“You forgot your magazine.”
“Keep it,” Lizzy tossed over her shoulder on her way out the door. “It’ll give you something to read before bed.”
The door shut behind the other woman before Danette could respond.
She didn’t want to read the tabloid. She didn’t want to look at it. She didn’t want it in her apartment, but when she picked it up to throw away, she found herself rereading every single word of the article about King Vincente’s birthday party. It was a four-page spread with tons of pictures, a few quotes and enough innuendo to sink an oil tanker.
She was staring at the picture of Tomasso and the woman dancing when a peremptory knock sounded on her door.
She lived in what had once been the groundskeeper’s cottage on a large estate on the outskirts of Palermo. The family still occupied the main house and the security system was top-notch. Angelo and Tara had helped her find the place and she was really grateful. Even though Angelo had arranged for her job, she’d wanted to make it on her own in Italy from that point forward. So, she had refused her parents’ offer to help her buy another condo like the one she’d had in Portland, or in procuring what they considered an acceptable place of habitat for their one and only child.
The groundskeeper’s cottage with security services provided by the main house had been a compromise they could live with.
Because her home was far from the main road and the security was so good, she didn’t worry about getting unwanted guests. However, Marcello had drilled into her enough times never to open the door without checking first to be sure she knew her visitor, that she automatically did so now.
It was him.
She didn’t know why that should shock her, but it did. After seeing the article, her mind had told her he no longer belonged to her…if he ever had. Therefore, why would he bother showing up on her doorstep?
Yet, there he stood on the other side of her door looking like the epitome of Sicilian male perfection. From his golden-brown hair styled casually to enhance his sculpted features, to the tips of his Gucci leather shoes, he exuded delectable masculine appeal. He also looked tired, the skin around his cobalt-blue eyes lined with fatigue.
He’d probably been too busy partying to sleep. Even as the unpleasant thought surfaced, she was forced to dismiss it. She knew better.
He’d been gone on a business trip for more than a week before his father’s birthday party. They’d spoken on the phone every night and he’d made it clear he was pushing himself and everyone around him to finish.
Only seeing the picture had made her think that he wouldn’t come straight to her from the airport. Why would he when he had beautiful, sophisticated women like the one in the photo to spend his time with?
Perhaps it was an irrational line of reasoning, but she wasn’t at her logical best at the moment. He knocked a second time, the staccato rap and his scowl communicating his impatience at being kept on the doorstep.
She opened the door and then stood staring mutely at his large frame as it filled her doorway.
His sensual lips transformed from a frown to an enticing smile. “Good evening, tesoro mio. Are you going to let me in?”
“What are you doing here?”
His eyes narrowed, the smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. “What kind of question is that? I have not seen you for more than a week. My plane landed not an hour ago…where else would I be?”
Six months ago, when they’d begun their affair, the question would have been ludicrous. He had made it a point of seeing her only a couple of nights a week, but as the weeks progressed the number of nights they spent together increased until they were practically living together…albeit in secret.
“Maybe spending time with your new girlfriend?”
He stepped into the small cottage, forcing her to move backward if she didn’t want him touching her. And she didn’t. Not right now. Maybe never again.
She tripped backward with speed, not stopping until she was several feet away.
“What other girlfriend?” he asked, enunciating each word with quiet precision as he pushed the door shut behind him and then followed her across the room.
She lifted the gossip rag toward him. “This one.”
He stared down at the magazine and then took it from her hand to look more closely. His eyes skimmed the pages, his expression turning to one of disdain before he tossed it to the coffee table behind her. “That is nothing more than a scandal sheet. Why were you reading it?”
“Lizzy brought it over. She thought it was a hoot to read an article about the big boss. What difference does it make how it came into my possession? Dismissing it as a low form of journalism isn’t going to make the pictures go away or the behavior that got caught in the camera lens for that matter.”
“Nothing untoward was caught on film.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I danced with a few women at my father’s birthday party, smiled at some, talked. There is no crime in that.”
“Not if you weren’t attached, no.”
His frown intensified, eyes that usually looked on her with indulgent affection going wintry. “You know I will not tolerate a possessive scene, Danette.”
She almost laughed. He sounded so darn arrogant it wasn’t hard to believe he was a prince, only that he was the youngest son. That kind of egotism should be reserved for the heir to the throne.
“Fine. Leave and we won’t have one.”
He jolted as if she’d slapped him. “You want me to leave? I’ve just arrived.”
“Well, since apparently the only thing you want me for is sex and I’m definitely not in the mood after seeing those pictures, you might as well.”
“I have never said that.” He cursed volubly in Italian. “Where did that come from? Why would you say such a thing? I do not see you as a body without a brain.”
“Good, because I have one, and it’s telling me that if I was more than a body in your bed, I would have been by your side at your father’s party, not reading about it in a gossip rag two days later and having to see pictures of you flirting with other women.”
“You know why you were not at my side.”
“Because you don’t want anyone to know about me! You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?” she asked, slipping one more notch into pain-induced irrationality and unable to do a thing to prevent it. Which terrified her more than the pain itself. She had always been able to control her emotions, no matter how devastating,