Rising Stars. Maisey Yates
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in Sardinia, with nothing but warm sunlight, cool blue water and swaying palm trees around them, far from the rest of the world!
Instead, she was here with him in Rome. As she’d insisted. And as he’d warned her, she was miserable.
Vladimir followed her gaze. “Come, Principessa,” he said quietly. “I will take you back to him.”
As he led her across the elegant restaurant, the tension in Lilley’s throat ratcheted up with every step. They reached the table, and the laughter of the group abruptly fell silent.
“Cara.” Alessandro turned with a smile. “I was starting to wonder …” Then he saw Vladimir behind her, and the tenderness in his eyes evaporated. He said shortly, “Hello.”
“Your wife isn’t feeling well,” Prince Vladimir said. “I suggest you take her home.”
“Yes,” Alessandro said grimly, rising to his feet. Throwing money on the table, he said to his friends, “Mi scusi. Buona notte.”
Placing his hand against the small of Lilley’s back, Alessandro escorted her out of the restaurant. Collecting his Ferrari from the valet, he helped her into the car. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at her.
He drove swiftly and silently through the streets of Rome, and Lilley glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His face was dark, his expression hard. Miserably, she looked away.
The harder she tried to please him, she thought in despair, the worse it seemed to get.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to have to leave your friends early.”
Alessandro changed the gears on the Ferrari with more force than necessary. His jaw was tense as he said in a low voice, “I’m sorry you felt it necessary to tell Vladimir Xendzov you wished to leave, rather than coming to me.”
She blinked at him. “I was just trying to—”
“Save it,” he cut her off. He pulled past the guardhouse outside their palazzo, driving through the gate.
Parking his car haphazardly in the small courtyard, he stomped into the sixteenth-century palace. Hurt and furious, Lilley followed him. He was far ahead of her, already halfway up the dark, sweeping stairs, when she stopped, clenching her hands.
“You’re not being fair!” she bit out.
Alessandro stopped on the stairs, pulling off his tie. He looked down at her, his jaw set. “Are you coming to bed?”
Lilley blinked, taken aback. He stood above her, his button-down shirt tight across his muscular chest, his black trousers fitted low on his hips. Yes. She wanted to go to bed with Alessandro, damn him. Angry as she was, her nipples were hard, her breasts heavy and she felt a spiraling need low and deep in her belly. Her body was instantly at his command.
But—make love with a cold heart? When they both were angry?
She straightened, tightening her hands, and vehemently shook her head.
“I said,” his voice was deceptively cold as he came down the steps towards her, “are you coming to bed?”
“No,” she ground out.
His black eyes glittered.
“Then,” he said, “I will bring bed to you.”
She saw the intent in his eyes the instant before he grabbed her. Cupping the back of her head, he lowered his mouth to hers in a punishing kiss. As she tried to push him away, his hands gripped her hair, and he deepened the kiss, wrenching her lips apart with his own. He used his tongue like a sensual weapon, plundering her mouth, and, against her will, her body responded. As her sensitive nipples brushed against him, her breasts were crushed against his hard chest, and she melted into his arms.
Leaning her back against the stairs, he kissed her with such brutal ferocity that she surrendered, allowing him to push her down onto the carpet. With a low growl, he yanked her skirt up to her hips. Without a word, he started to unzip his fly.
That woke her up.
“No,” she said, grabbing his wrist as she looked straight into his eyes. “No.”
His eyes widened. He exhaled, then pulled away. Rising to his feet, he zipped up his trousers, not looking at her.
“I never want to see you with Vladimir Xendzov again,” he said coldly. Then, without a look, he walked up the stairs.
Lilley sat up, feeling disheveled and dizzy, her skirt at her waist. He’d nearly made love to her—and she’d nearly let him do it! Then, when she’d refused him, he’d just left her! Her fury returned, redoubled. Standing up, she readjusted her ugly, expensive beige skirt. Her eyes narrowed as she followed him up the stairs to their bedroom, where she heard the shower running in the en suite bathroom. She pushed open the door, and saw him in the shower, standing naked beneath the running water.
Yanking open the glass door, she leaned into the shower and slammed on the handle, shutting off his water.
“What the hell?” he exploded.
Hot steam floated between them, water dripping noisily off the travertine wall. She glared at him, folding her arms. “How dare you treat me like that, you big—jerk!”
“What did you expect?” he ground out. “That I’d kiss your toes with adoration after you spent the whole night flirting with another man?”
“I wasn’t flirting! He was comforting me! After—”
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. “After what?”
She swallowed, fighting tears. “It doesn’t matter.”
He stepped out of the shower, his body naked and dripping wet. His voice was dangerous as he said, “Tell me.”
In the mirror, she saw the reflection of his magnificent, naked body, and next to him, she saw herself, fat and dowdy in the unflattering beige suit that made her look like a lump. “I can’t.”
“Tell me!” he thundered.
She flinched, and her lips turned down. “They were mean to me.”
He gripped the door of the shower. “Who? Who was mean to you?”
“You were right,” Lilley whispered. “I never should have come to Rome.” She blinked back tears. “I don’t belong here.”
Moving forward, Alessandro grabbed her shoulders. His eyes were dark as he said in a low voice, “Just tell me who.”
She tried to laugh it off. “Nothing, really. They followed me into the bathroom where I was hiding at the restaurant—”
“You were hiding?”
“—and spoke to each other. In English, to be sure I’d understand. They called me fat and stupid, and said you’d divorce me. They couldn’t wait for you to be back with Olivia.”
He stared at her, his mouth a grim line. Then he abruptly released her, turning away. Lilley stared at his muscular backside as he headed for the door.
He was walking away from her without a word. Again.
“Don’t you care?” she choked out. “Don’t you care at all?”
Alessandro whirled around, and his expression was so full of fury that she gasped.
“I care,” he said. “They will regret hurting you.”
“What are you going to do?” she whispered, afraid of the strange darkness she saw in his eyes.
“They are women. I cannot physically hurt them. But,” he stretched his intertwined hands, “I can take what they care about the most. Their money.”
“How?”
He looked past her ear. “A few well-placed calls