By Royal Decree. Оливия Гейтс
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you enjoying yourself.” His eyes twinkled.
“You’ll know when I’m enjoying myself,” she assured him.
“Indeed?” He turned his head slowly so their faces were almost touching. Renata swallowed hard. She thought he was going to kiss her but he clenched his jaw instead. Perhaps public displays of affection were against the Vinciguerran Royal Book of Etiquette. “I will call Paolo to pick us up.”
“No, don’t.” She didn’t want anyone intruding in what was turning out to be a very intriguing afternoon. “It’s a nice day—let’s walk.”
“Where?”
“A surprise.” She tugged him out of the gallery and onto the sidewalk, tipping her face up. “Ah, sun. Makes up for a long and gloomy winter.”
“An Italian girl like you should always get plenty of sun.”
She patted her jaw. “Bad for the complexion. The rest of my family has the typical dark hair and olive skin like you, but I only burn.”
“No wonder you have such lovely skin. You must be careful when you travel to Italy the next time. You know our sun can be very strong.”
“The next time? I’ve never been to Italy before.”
He stopped and stared down at her. “Your name is Renata Pavoni and you’ve never visited Italy? How can that be?”
She laughed and led him along the busy street. “My parents have five of us. You’ve never priced out airfare to Europe for seven, but my mother did once. We heard her scream of shock down the street.”
Giorgio looked momentarily startled—budget concerns didn’t cross his radar. He nodded thoughtfully. “What part of Italy did your family come from?”
“After the war, my grandparents on my mom’s side came from a little village on the Italian Riviera called Corniglia. My nonna says the town is perched on a huge rock surrounded by grapevines. They make this special kind of wine found nowhere else in the world.”
“Scciachetrà.”
“Yeah, that’s right. We crack open a bottle every New Year’s Eve to toast the old country.” Renata shivered in remembrance. “Boy, is that stuff strong. Made of raisins, so the sugar is very concentrated.”
“I’ve never tried it, although we have something similar in Vinciguerra, called Bocca di Leone—The Lion’s Mouth. We serve it in thimble-size glasses and no one can drink more than a few without falling over.” He sighed. “I’ll have to make sure we have enough for Stefania’s wedding. It’s the traditional toast for weddings, especially royal weddings.”
“And you are the di Leone family, after all.”
“Our ancestors invented it.” He grinned down at her. “I may need a couple stiff drinks before I walk Stefania down the aisle.”
“Buck up, Giorgio.” She patted his arm. “Everyone gets a bit misty-eyed when they give the bride away. Which sword and medals will you be wearing?”
Giorgio gave her a sidelong look. “Sometimes I cannot tell if you are joking with me or not.”
“That’s because you are much too serious.” She gestured. “Look at the beautiful day! Here we are in the most fabulous city in the world, we have lovely Central Park over there, the sun is shining, your sister has her wedding dress and you didn’t have a nervous breakdown trying to shop for one. Do you know how rare it is to keep good mental health shopping for a bridal gown?”
“Um, no.”
“When I worked at a regular bridal salon, fits of hysteria, therapeutic slapping and tranquilizers of dubious legality were an everyday occurrence.”
“It seems I’ve dodged the bullet.”
“You sure have. Hey, let’s cut through the park.”
HE TOOK A DEEP BREATH of the spring-scented air, the pale green leaves on the trees unfolding from their winter’s rest. The tension started to leave his muscles, although they were still mighty buff.
“See? All you needed was a nice little nature walk. I bet it’s been a long time since you got outdoors for some fresh air. A guy like you isn’t meant to be cooped up indoors pushing paperwork all day. Maybe you should get yourself a yacht—I mean if you don’t already have one—”
“We have my father’s yacht. We loan it out to people for field trips and marine science expeditions.”
“Weddings, proms and bar mitzvahs.”
He grinned. “Probably, if anybody requested it.”
“Don’t you or your sister ever use it?”
“Stefania does for her charity fundraisers.” They passed near a tree and he held a branch back that might have scratched her face.
“Not for that, but for your personal use.”
He shook his head. “Not since she started at the university and I took over more duties from my grandmother.”
“All work and no play makes Giorgio a dull boy,” she quoted the old saying. Imagine owning a yacht and being too busy to use it. Running even a small country must take an enormous amount of time.
“Then I should stop being so dull.”
He pulled her to the side of the path underneath a big oak tree. “Is that red lipstick smudge-proof?”
“Yeah, pretty much. It actually has a sealant clear gloss that—”
“Good,” he cut her off. Wow, for a prince he needed some work on conversational manners.
He kissed her.
And he did not need some work on his kissing. Renata’s mouth fell open in shock and he took advantage, slipping his tongue between her hopefully smudge-proof lips. She clutched his broad shoulders as he caressed her mouth with his, gently nibbling and sucking at her lips.
Renata had never been kissed like this, with passion and lust but tenderness, too. Her previous boyfriends had been younger than Giorgio, in their early or mid-twenties, and had either been tentative in their kisses or overly aggressive, mashing her lips as if to prove their desire. Now Giorgio was planting kisses across her jaw and holy crap—he licked her neck’s equivalent of a G-spot and she nearly screamed with pleasure.
His hot breath quickened against her skin and she knew he was as on fire as she was. “Mmm, Renata.” He lifted his head.
Renata’s eyes fluttered open when she realized he wasn’t kissing her anymore. “Wow.”
He wore a dazed look on his face, as well. At least she wasn’t the only one. She probably would have socked him if he’d been gloating. “I am sorry, Renata.”
“Sorry for kissing me?” She shoved him away and plopped her hands on her hips.
“Never. Sorry for pushing you against a tree and kissing you in public.” His lips were plump from kisses but her lipstick had lived up to its promise.
She wanted to taste his mouth again—hell, taste him all over. “You’d rather kiss me in private?” She traced her finger up his golden silk tie.
Giorgio caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the palm. “I would like nothing more.”
A handful of female runners clattered along the path next to them, all of them ogling Giorgio. He turned away, not wanting to be recognized.
He rubbed his face. “Much as I’d like to invite you to my suite at the Plaza—”
“You have a suite at the Plaza?” she interrupted. “Is it as fancy as in the movies? I’ve only been in the lobby once.”
“I don’t know about the movies, my rooms are very nice.