Cavelli's Lost Heir. Lynn Harris Raye
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appropriately, she would no longer appear so common. She was not as beautiful as Antonella, but she was quite lovely in a natural way. Antonella didn’t affect him one way or the other. He could take or leave the Monteverdian princess.
But Lily—
Nico crossed to the bar and poured another cognac. This time he downed the liquid himself, welcomed the burn of fine Montebiancan brandy. Per Dio, it’d been a hell of a night thus far. And he wasn’t finished fighting with himself.
Part of him, a mad and primal part of him, was so completely aware of the woman across the room that he wanted to haul her to his bed and strip her slowly before burying himself inside her for the rest of the night.
Madness. Sheer madness. The urge filled him with both hunger and rage, and he worked to force it down deep and put a lid on it.
In the two months since Gaetano had died, he’d mostly ignored the sensual side of his nature as he’d worked to further Montebiancan interests and be the kind of heir to the throne that his people deserved. He was sorely regretting the lack at the moment. It made Lily Morgan seem far more irresistible to him than she should be.
“Surely we can work this out another way,” she said, her voice small and hesitant. “You can have visitation and—”
“Visitation,” he exclaimed, slicing her words off before she could finish. He shrugged out of the sash and tossed it aside, then worked the buttons of his uniform jacket with one hand, throwing it open with an angry gesture to let the air from the terrace door he’d left ajar cool his body. This night had thrown him so far out of balance that he half wondered if he would ever recover his equilibrium. “You are quite lucky this is no longer the Middle Ages, Liliana. As it is, you are getting far more from me than you deserve.”
If he thought she would be chastened by his words, he was in for a surprise. She lit up like a firecracker. Dio, she was lovely. And she’d just cost him five million dollars, a trade treaty with a neighboring kingdom, and every last shred of credibility he’d built since becoming the Crown Prince. Being illegitimate, and having the playboy reputation he’d had before his brother’s death, he’d had to work doubly hard to prove himself.
Now, all his effort lay in tatters around him. The thought fueled the anger roiling in his gut.
“More than I deserve?” she said, her voice not small any longer but large and strong. “How dare you! I’ve been on my own for these two years, enduring what you could not begin to imagine in your ivory tower, taking care of a baby and—”
“Silence!” There was no way on this earth he would listen to her berate him for what had been essentially her decision to keep him in the dark about their child. She would pay for what she’d done. He was far too angry, far too close to losing the last shred of his control. “If you are aware of what is good for you, cara, you will not speak of this any further tonight.”
She opened her mouth, and he slapped the crystal on the table and moved toward her. When she scurried backward, her eyes widening, he checked his progress. He was on the edge of emotions he’d never felt before, torn between wanting to protect and destroy, and it made him reckless.
He snatched up the phone and pressed the button that would summon his housekeeper. When he put it down, Lily was chewing her lip, arms folded beneath her breasts as if to protect herself. Or to keep warm. The night was probably cooler than she was accustomed to in her native Louisiana. A tremor passed over her, confirming his observation. Beneath her shirt, her nipples peaked, small and tight, and goose bumps rose on her skin.
Nico swallowed, remembering how perfect her breasts had been when he’d first bared them to his sight. How responsive she’d been as she’d moaned and clutched his shoulders when he kissed the tight little points.
Dio, this was insane.
Nico shook the memories away and peeled off his jacket. “You are cold,” he said as he closed the distance between them. “Take this, cara.”
He placed the jacket on her shoulders and she clutched the material around her, thanking him softly. He turned his back on her and moved away.
He heard the intake of her breath, braced himself for what she might say next—but there was only silence.
Finally, she spoke. “Nico, I’m sorry that—”
The door opened and the housekeeper entered, interrupting whatever she’d been about to say. Nico didn’t look at her again.
“Please show our guest to her room,” he told the woman awaiting his instructions. “And send someone to clean up the broken glass.”
Signora Mazetti gave a short bow and waited for Lily to join her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily remove the jacket and place it carefully over the back of the settee closest to her. Then she followed the housekeeper without complaint.
Lily awoke to the sound of china and silverware delicately clinking together. She sat up, yawning, and blinked as she tried to take in her surroundings. Brocade curtains hung from a canopy and were drawn back to let light filter into the giant bed. For a moment, she thought she’d been upgraded to the best suite the hotel had—but then she remembered.
She was in the palace, in Prince Nico’s apartment. If you could call a wing of a royal palace an apartment. And she was as much a prisoner here as she’d been in the dungeon cell of the old fortress.
A woman in uniform stood off to one side, fussing with a tray. She turned and dropped a curtsy before coming forward and settling the tray laden with bone china and thick silverware across Lily’s lap.
“His Highness says you are to eat and dress, signorina. He wishes you to join him in precisely one hour.”
The woman curtsied again and slipped out the door, closing it behind her. Lily started to set the tray aside, but the scents of coffee and food wafted up to her, reminding her how hungry she was. She’d been unable to eat during the twenty-four hours she’d spent in prison. Last night, all she’d wanted was to shower and sleep—but now her stomach rumbled insistently.
She thought about tossing on her clothes and trying to find a phone—maybe she could call Carla and explain she was being held against her will. Or maybe she could call her boss and tell him she’d been kidnapped. She’d call the consulate herself except she couldn’t waste precious time looking for the phone number. Someone would help her, she was positive.
Her suitcase had arrived, but her laptop, cell phone and passport had not been returned, naturally. Nico had cut off not only her contact with the outside world, but also any chance of escape. But Lily Morgan did not give up so easily, damn him.
Her stomach growled so hard it hurt, and she had to acknowledge that if she didn’t eat something now she wouldn’t get very far. Lily wolfed down the fresh bread and thinly sliced meats and cheeses along with a soft-boiled egg and two cups of strong coffee with cream.
Half an hour later, after she’d showered again and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she tried the door. It was unlocked and she slipped into the corridor, looking right and left. Which direction had she come from last night? She couldn’t remember, so she started down the hall and tried doors. When she emerged into the living room where Nico had coldly informed her she would be his wife, she stumbled to a halt, a shocked “Oh” escaping her. With bright sunlight spearing through the windows and through the terrace doors, the room glittered with gold and colored glass mosaic.
She dragged her gaze from the opulence of the room and searched for a phone, finally finding it on an inlaid cherry-wood table beside one of the velvet couches. Lily snatched it from the cradle, not sure who she should call first.
“You have to go through the palace operator, I’m afraid.”
Lily jumped and slammed the phone back down. Nico stood across from her, a newspaper in one hand, a cup in the other. He was so tall and elegant. She didn’t usually think of men as elegant, but Nico was. Elegant, gorgeous and so masculine he shot her pulse through the