By Royal Decree. Оливия Гейтс
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her. “Yes, as you say, ‘wow.’” He pulled her down for a quick kiss.
She rolled onto her back. “I mean, geez, I knew it would be something but that was something.”
It was his turn to lean over her. “I knew we would be like this together. I had to hide my desire for you with a suit jacket in the first minutes we met.”
“Really?” Smooth, suave Giorgio had had an unexpected hard-on for the dress designer? “I’m flattered.”
“No, I am flattered that you would be here with me. So beautiful.” He ran a tender hand over her cheek, her breasts and hips. “Give me a little while and I will show you how flattered I am.”
She smiled and touched his face. “We won’t let that one go to waste.”
He kissed her hand and pulled her into a spooning position. Even soft, his cock was impressive against her bottom. She wiggled experimentally and he groaned. “Insatiable woman. I can see I will have my hands full with you.” To emphasize his words, he cupped her breast in his hand.
She giggled. “Your hands, your mouth, your cock…” She giggled again as he snorted in surprise. “What? Do I shock you?”
“Only in the best way possible. I had forgotten how blunt New Yorkers can be.”
The New Yorker yawned. “It’s been about sixteen hours since I left there, but I am perfectly willing to boss you around in bed once I get my second wind.”
“You say that, but I knew what you wanted.” He tongued her earlobe and she shivered. He lowered his voice to a honeyed purr. “You loved it when I pinned you down—your sweet little pussy tightened even more on me. Your body will tell me what you want.”
She swallowed hard. Dammit, he was right. She yawned elaborately again and he immediately pulled a soft cotton sheet over their naked forms. “Rest, mia bella. I do not want to wear you out the first day.”
His breathing quickly fell into the slow, regular pattern of sleep, but to her annoyance, she was still awake and thinking about what he had said. Yes, he had possessed her in the most elemental sense of the world, pinned her down and taken her like the lord of the manor and the local lovely virgin peasant girl.
On the other hand, the lord of the manor wouldn’t have bothered to make the peasant girl come screaming twice in five minutes.
Renata was a modern girl, used to taking charge in her life and in the bedroom, as well, if need be. But what if she didn’t need to take charge? It was an interesting idea. Not that she wanted to bring out any weird leather accoutrements that were ho-hum among certain friends of Flick’s, but if she were going to do the deed with an honest-to-goodness prince, she may as well try new things. The man was born and bred to be bossy.
And if she wanted some turnabout…she smiled in satisfaction, remembering how he’d crumbled like a cracker when she’d grabbed his erection. A well-placed hand—or mouth—and he’d be putty in her hands. Well, not really putty—she wanted him firmer than that.
7
THE NEXT MORNING, GIORGIO stood on the apartment’s terrace and gazed at the bright blue sea dotted with white sails. A fresh breeze ruffled his hair, and he couldn’t stop grinning. So much so, his face was starting to hurt.
So this was what freedom felt like. Freedom to wear a battered football shirt—not that Dieter’s team, of course—and battered cargo shorts and just stare at the water. Freedom to spend time with a wonderful woman without prying eyes wondering who she was, how long they had been dating and whether or not she would be the next Princess of Vinciguerra.
He didn’t have to worry about weddings, deepwater port negotiations or the price of coffee in Vinciguerra. Alessandro was ably manning the fortress and had been providing daily email briefs with strict instructions to call only if absolutely necessary. Even Paolo’d made himself scarce.
He slipped on a pair of sandals, a baseball hat and sunglasses. Once he hid his distinctive green eyes, he pretty much looked like any other young Italian man going to buy coffee and rolls for his sleeping girlfriend.
The café down the street was narrow but fragrant with the scents of coffee beans, cream, vanilla and sugar. He purposely put on a thick Roman accent when ordering, just in case the counter girl enjoyed flipping through People magazine. World’s Most Eligible Bachelor, pah! Jack and Frank had busted a gut laughing, as the Americans said, and he wouldn’t have put it past his sister to have been the person who nominated him. They had had a tiff last winter when she had wanted to drop out of grad school to follow Jack’s merry men of medicine to Ulaan Baator or Timbuktu or Bora Bora.
Fortunately Jack had declined her offer since a background in international politics was of little use in treating infections and parasites. Although several international politicians he’d met somehow brought parasites and infection to mind.
He accepted the caffe lattes and pastries with a smile of anticipation at waking Renata. She’d roll over in bed, smile sweetly up at him—maybe even beckon him to her as the coffee grew cold and the pastries grew stale. Yes, a sweet morning wake-up for both of them.
RENATA SQUINTED AS A BAND of dreaded sunlight crossed her eyelids. She wrapped the sheet tighter around her naked body. After their long, exciting night she hadn’t bothered pulling on a sexy negligee or cotton T-shirt, her normal sleepwear.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” a husky male voice crooned. “I know you have jet lag but it’s almost ten o’clock. Come get some sun and you’ll feel better.”
“No, I won’t.” Renata rolled onto her stomach and buried her head under a pillow.
“I have coffee, cara mia,” Giorgio coaxed. “Lots of cream and sugar and fresh pastries. Just the thing to wake you up.”
She pried open a gritty eye to stare at him. He sounded entirely too perky for her liking. But she did like how the thin soccer T-shirt outlined his chest muscles nicely and his shorts showed strong brown legs. He obviously got more exercise than pushing a pencil across his desk and cracking the whip over peasants. “Giorgio, it’s five o’clock in the morning New York time and I’m achy from that long flight.”
“Okay, Renata.” He set the tray onto the dresser and crossed the room. “Let me loosen you up.”
The mattress dipped as he moved onto the bed next to her. Warm hands moved over her shoulders, massaging and loosening them. She sighed as he found all the knotted muscles. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I took classes as a massage therapist in case the prince thing didn’t work out for me.”
A snort escaped her.
“What? You don’t believe me? Europe can be a very volatile place and it is always good to have a backup plan.”
With that sexy five o’clock shadow, his backup plan ought to be a new career as a male underwear model. Somehow she doubted the massage school. “What’s your degree in?”
“International finance. If you ever have trouble sleeping some night, I will tell you all about the Mundell-Fleming model, the optimal currency area theory and the purchasing power parity theory.”
It made her yawn just to hear their names. “Good Lord, are those for real?”
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “The purchasing power parity theory originated in Spain in the sixteenth century and was modernized by Gustav Cassel in the early twentieth.”
“Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she teased him. “Keep talking finance to me, Giorgio.”
He laughed. “Will emerging market economies ever become decoupled from developed market economies?”
“Oooh, coupling. Now that sounds kinky.”
He brushed her hair