Bought By The Billionaire Prince
CAROL MARINELLI
At her royal boss's beck and call!Two of his heirs having been ruled out, the king turns to the black sheep of the family…. Luca Fierezza is a royal rebel. He's made Niroli a magnet for the rich and famous–and himself a billionaire.Megan Donovan's stunned when she's jailed after working at Luca's casino. And her unlikely rescuer is her new boss, Luca! She's entirely at his mercy…and his passion!A scandal will end Luca's chance to be king. But he wants little thief Megan at his beck and call, day and night!
Bought by the Billionaire Prince
Carol Marinelli
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Sam, Alex and Lucinda
with all my love xxx
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Carol Marinelli for her contribution to THE ROYAL HOUSE OF NIROLI series.
CONTENTS
Cover (#uf335fa6a-d3ab-5207-bab6-d86272ae3b5c)
Title Page (#u277ad1a5-6fb8-5ada-a6f8-d9e5183fd0a8)
Dedication (#u4c47cd85-399d-54cb-9c7b-710ab92acc6e)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ubec619b0-90ef-5f65-8601-dafb2272b6d4)
‘IS HE good-looking?’
Meg felt her teeth literally grind together as her travel companion, Jasmine, repeated the question for the hundredth time. Here they were docking in Niroli, which was undoubtedly the most beautiful island Meg had seen on her travels to date, and all Jasmine wanted to talk about was potential men.
Coming from Australia, where everything was comparatively new, Meg was in awe of the past that drenched each place she had visited on her travels through Europe, reeling at the ancient architecture and glorious tales of times gone by and, for Meg, Niroli had it all! To the South of Sicily, the island of Niroli, according to the travel guide Meg had devoured on the boat trip, was steeped in history, its colourful past filled with rivalries and wars dating back centuries and still playing out today. They’d just passed the tiny island of Mont Avellana, which, as recently as two decades ago, had been ruled by Niroli, and now they were coming into Niroli’s main port. Meg stared in wonder as they approached—sandy beaches rapidly giving way to a lush hillside, which was like a fabulous tapestry, with thick forests, and edged by vineyards that laced neatly around the sprawling town. But a grand castle set on a rocky promontory was for Meg the main focal point, standing tall and proud, looking out towards the ocean, as if somehow guarding it all.
‘That’s the palace,’ Meg pointed out to Jasmine excitedly, checking with the map to get her bearings, ‘and over to the right there’s a Roman amphitheatre….’
‘There’s a casino,’ Jasmine said, peering over Meg’s shoulder, ‘oh, and a luxury spa!’
‘We can’t afford luxury.’ Meg smiled. ‘We’re backpacking!’
‘Then we’ll just have to find someone who can!’ Jasmine countered, her mind flicking back to the inevitable. ‘So what sort of doctor is he?’
‘Who?’ Meg asked, then let out a pained sigh as Jasmine’s momentary interest in her surrounds rapidly waned. ‘Alex is a surgeon,’ Meg admitted, then wished she hadn’t, noting Jasmine’s eyes literally light up at the prospect of dating a rich surgeon—well, she could dream on. Alex was the least money-minded of persons and would see through Jasmine in a flash.
If only she had, Meg inwardly sighed. At first when Jasmine had befriended her, Meg had been only too glad of the company, only lately the very qualities that Meg had admired had started to repel. Jasmine’s impetuous nature, her carefree attitude and her obsession with men were starting to irritate, and Meg was actually looking forward to cooling off the friendship a touch—ready now to complete her journey alone.
Backpacking through Europe had seemed the most unlikely of adventures for Meg to embark on. Routine was the key in Meg’s life—routine was what saw her through. Routine was the only way she could control her life and the emotions that had overwhelmed her as she’d struggled to come to terms with her difficult childhood.
But now here she was, twenty-five years of age and ready to start living; ready to let go of a difficult past and truly embrace a world that had at times been so very cruel. Backpacking through Europe was the final self-imposed step in her recovery. Casual work, casual clothes and casual meals had at first been a huge enigma for Meg, but gradually she was starting to relax—that knot of tension that had been present for as long as she could remember was slowly unravelling and, as she stepped off the boat and took a deep cleansing breath, closed her blue eyes and turned her face up to the warm sun Meg knew there and then that she had been so right to embark on this journey—could hardly wait to tell her brother just how far she’d come.
‘Where is he?’ Jasmine’s hopeful face scanned the crowd for a first glimpse of a suitable good-looking surgeon. ‘Does he look like you?’
‘Not in the least.’ Meg laughed but didn’t elaborate. Alex Hunter was as dark as Meg Donovan was blond, his eyes black where Meg’s were blue. They looked nothing alike and with good reason—both were adopted, Alex when he was a toddler, Meg when she was twelve years old. But despite their differences, despite not sharing one shred of DNA, they were as close as any blood brother and sister.
‘Does he know what boat you’re coming on?’
‘I told him ages ago.’ Meg frowned. ‘Well, I emailed him with the details.’
‘And he got it?’ Jasmine checked.
‘Yes, I’m sure he got it,’ Meg answered, but a trickle of unease slid down her spine. ‘He should be here.’
‘Well, it doesn’t look like he is,’ Jasmine pointed out as the crowd started to disperse. ‘Maybe he’s stuck at the hospital.’
‘Maybe,’ Meg answered, but she wasn’t convinced. It was most unlike Alex to just not turn up; if he couldn’t make it himself then he’d have sent someone. ‘Though I haven’t checked my emails for ages. Maybe he’s been trying to get hold of me.’
‘So what do we do now?’ Jasmine asked, her eyes scanning the notice boards. ‘They said at the youth hostel there were usually loads of signs advertising for seasonal workers, but there doesn’t seem to be any—not that I fancy fruit-picking!’
‘It sounds fun. And you do need the work,’ Meg pointed out. Jasmine wasn’t just down to her last Euro, she was dipping into Meg’s carefully planned budget and, frankly, Meg was tired of hearing Jasmine say she’d pay her back as soon as she got some work.
‘Well, I think fruit-picking sounds awful.’ Jasmine pouted, but soon cheered up, cheekily ripping down a notice and then pocketing it. ‘This is more me. They’re looking for casual staff at the casino and there’s discounted accommodation—ooh, look, there’s even a courtesy bus.’
‘I think that’s for the clientele,’ Meg said as some holidaymakers who certainly weren’t backpackers were escorted into the luxury vehicle.
‘So?’ Jasmine shrugged and pulled on her backpack as she called to the bus driver to wait for her—Meg couldn’t help but smile; Jasmine was like a cat who always landed on her feet. ‘Come on, Meg.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Meg shook her head. ‘A casino is the last place I want to be. All that noise and bustle…’
‘All those rich men!’ Jasmine giggled and even Meg managed a laugh. ‘Come on, Meg, hold off on your search for inner peace for a few days and come and have some fun at the casino. We can share a room.’
‘It’s really not me.’ Raking a hand through her blond hair, Meg felt the salt and grease and almost relented—given Alex wasn’t here, that long soak in a bath she’d been looking forward to wasn’t going to eventuate and accommodation at the casino, even if it was budget accommodation, was surely going to be better than some of the hostels she’d stayed in. ‘I think I’ll head over to the hospital.’ Meg checked out her map. ‘It isn’t very far. Maybe he is just caught up at work. You’d better go or you’re going to miss that courtesy bus.’
‘Well, if it doesn’t work out with your brother, you know where I am.’
‘Thanks.’ Meg grinned, watching as her friend climbed on the bus and waved her off, wishing, wishing she could, even for a little while, be as happy and as carefree as Jasmine—could relax just a little bit, could have just a fraction of her confidence. The universe itself seemed to provide Jasmine with her assured nature.
Meg watched until the tiny bus disappeared from view, filled with something she couldn’t define—a hunger, a need almost for familiarity, to be able to let down her guard a touch, to be with someone who knew how hard this was for her, someone who knew that this so-called trip of a lifetime, this carefree existence, was in fact an agonising journey for her.
Where the hell was Alex?
The last e-mail he’d sent, he’d confirmed her date and time of arrival, had told her he couldn’t wait to catch up, had huge news to share. Surely if his plans had changed he’d have contacted her?
But how?
Meg closed her eyes against a temporary moment of panic. She hadn’t been near a computer for the last couple of weeks—happy the next leg of her tour had been arranged, she’d decided to cut loose for a while—and look where it had got her!
The taxi rank had long since closed, so, consulting her map, Meg set out on foot towards the Free Hospital where Alex had told her he was working. The midday sun combined with her heavy backpack made the relatively short distance seem to take for ever. How she’d have loved to have lingered and wandered through the pretty shops, but a backpack and a pressing lack of accommodation for the night didn’t allow for such luxuries, so instead Meg stopped at one of the pavement cafés and ordered a quick coffee. Watching intrigued as the town seemingly prepared for something—shopkeepers were draping their stores with huge vines, hilarity ensuing as a few vocal locals strung banners and lights across the street, calling to each other in their colourful language as children watched on gleefully.
‘Is there going to be a party?’ Meg asked one of waiters whose English was better than most.
‘A bigger party than you have ever seen!’ Filling her cup he elaborated, ‘The Niroli Feast starts tomorrow—we party for the next few days and celebrate the treasures the rich soil gives us.’
‘Here?’ Meg checked, gesturing to the street they were in, but the waiter just laughed.
‘The whole island celebrates—you must stay for it,’ he insisted as only the Italians could. ‘I ask you—why would anyone not want to stay a while in this wonderful place?’
Why indeed?
Boosted from her shot of coffee, Meg made her way more briskly to the hospital, hoping against hope that Alex would be there and trying to fathom what she’d do if he wasn’t.
‘Dr Alex Hunter!’ Meg tried to keep her voice even, trying not to show her frustration as she said her brother’s name for perhaps the tenth time. On perhaps the eleventh, the receptionist nodded her immaculately groomed head.
‘Sì, Alessandro Fierezza!’ Eagerly, again she nodded, tapping details into her computer. ‘He no here, I have no contact for him. Try palazzo!’
Help!
Meg grabbed her long hair into a tight fist and let out an exasperated breath as the receptionist called on a colleague, who spoke even less English, listening to their vibrant discussion peppered with the names Alex and Alessandro and wondering what on earth she should do.
‘Your brother marry.’
‘But my brother is not married, he’s not even engaged!’ Meg gave a helpless laugh, then shook her head as in broken English the two women attempted to explain the impossible.
‘Matrimonio,’ the receptionist said firmly, nodding as Meg frowned. ‘Your brother, Alessandro—’
‘Alex,’ Meg corrected, then slumped in defeat as the receptionist forced her to admit the truth—even if they had got the names mixed up, the simple fact was if Alex was in Niroli then he’d have met her at the port; her careful plans for the next couple of weeks flying out of the window courtesy of three little words—
‘Your brother gone.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ubec619b0-90ef-5f65-8601-dafb2272b6d4)
JASMINE HAD BEEN RIGHT—there was work at the casino.
Lots of it!
Working her way through mountain after mountain of white china plates, Meg tried to block out the noise of a busy kitchen—the chefs screaming at each other like proud cats fighting over territory, waiters collecting elaborate dishes, swooshing out of the swing doors only to return moments later, laden with half-eaten dishes to add to the pile Meg had been allocated. Not that Meg minded hard work, she’d been more than prepared for the back-breaking work of fruit-picking, but being shut up in a kitchen, her face red from the heat, her blond hair dark with sweat, was a million miles from what she’d envisaged from her time in Niroli.
Almost as soon as she’d found Jasmine and filled in an application form, Meg had been given a list of shifts. Six till ten o’clock each evening, paid in cash at the end of each of shift, which meant Meg had the whole day for exploring Niroli, and it paid well, much better than fruit-picking, which meant, Meg realised, if she was careful and perhaps worked a couple of extra shifts she could treat herself to a day at that luxury spa.
With renewed enthusiasm Meg tackled the mountain of plates—the last hour of her shift made so much easier by fantasising about being smeared in the famous Niroli volcanic mud she’d read about and being thoroughly pampered and spoiled for a day!
‘Faster now!’ Antoinette, her colleague for the night who was rinsing and stacking the plates that Meg was washing, egged her on in her broken English, but kindly. ‘We need empty sink for next staff. Or else they…’ She didn’t finish what she was saying—in fact a ream of sentences and orders around the kitchen remained forever incomplete, broken off midword for a reason Meg couldn’t yet fathom—the swing doors opened and an immediate hush descended on the busy kitchen as a group of dark suits entered.
‘Ah—sir!’ The head chef jumped to nervous attention as he approached the foreboding-looking men that had entered, yet he addressed only the leader.
And even if he hadn’t uttered a single word, even if she had no idea who he was, Meg knew that he was very much in charge. His jet hair was a head above the rest of them, but it wasn’t just his height that set him apart—there was an authoritative air about him that would hush any room, an intimidating and overwhelming presence that had everyone in the kitchen, Meg included, on heightened alert.
‘Who is he?’ Meg whispered to Antoinette as slowly he toured the kitchen, talking with the staff as he did so. There was a slightly depraved look to him, a dangerous glint in those black eyes as he worked the room.
‘That,’ Antoinette said, in broken English, ‘is the boss, Luca Fierezza. He owns the casino. A prince.’
For a simple woman like Antoinette, Meg reasoned, such an enigmatic personality would seem like a prince. Not for a second did it enter her head that nothing had been lost in translation.
He was over at the far end now, talking with some of the kitchen staff, and Meg quickly realised that this was far more than a cursory appearance by the owner, that he was actually listening to what they were saying, taking in every word and relaying them to one of his sidekicks who was faithfully writing down each word.
‘He comes often,’ Antoinette said. ‘He make sure that everything work okay. See, now Mario tell him the trouble we are having with the shrimp—the yield was low this last two days….’
‘Is that his concern?’ When Antoinette frowned Meg attempted to make herself clearer. ‘Isn’t that a problem for the kitchen?’
‘He makes it his concern,’ Antoinette said, an almost proud note to her voice as she did, letting Meg know she had understood her the first time. ‘This casino is the best place to play and to work—Luca makes sure of that. I work here under four different owners and he is the best.
‘Come—’ she nudged Meg ‘—work now. He is coming.’
Meg could feel him making his way over, feel the thick tension in the air as he worked the room, the raucous sound of the earlier kitchen replaced now by the quiet hum of ordered efficiency.
‘Antoinette!’ he greeted the elderly lady by her first name. ‘Come stai?’ How are you?
‘Molto bene, grazie.’ Very well, thank you. Antoinette carried on working as she spoke, kept her head down as she addressed her boss, but, Meg noted, even if his greeting had been personable and friendly, Antoinette was keeping her respectful distance, a clear pecking order on display.
Meg glanced over as he walked past, gave him a brief polite nod as he did the same, and then picked up a plate, swishing the cloth over it, waiting for him to move on—a casual kitchen hand undoubtedly didn’t merit Antoinette’s more familiar greeting—only he didn’t move on! Meg could feel him standing over her shoulder; feel the burn of his eyes on the back of her neck as he questioned Antoinette.
Antoinette introduced Meg and he asked something in Italian, his rich, fluid voice prompting Meg to briefly turn around.
‘She’s a good worker,’ Antoinette responded to his question as Luca ran a dismissive eye over her, and, turning her back on him, Meg plunged her hands back into the soapy water, her skin red—not from heat or exertion, instead embarrassment, humiliation prickling every nerve as they openly discussed her without inclusion.
She was beautiful.
Luca had noticed her the second he’d walked into the kitchen, her blond head amidst the many dark ones immediately drawing his attention, her tall, willowy body forcing his gaze.
She didn’t belong in the kitchen—that tall, delicate frame would wear the finest of gowns with ease; those long, delicate fingers should be wrapped around the silverware on the other side of the door; those full lips should be tasting the delicacies produced here, not clearing the aftermath. Yet she clearly thought otherwise. There was nothing martyred in her stance as she worked on, unlike some of the foreigners who came to the island—he had met one just moments before. Bold as brass, she had deemed herself too good for the manual work behind the scenes.
Only this lady was too good for this.
Too good for here, only she didn’t know it yet—and now she was turning her back on him.
Luca felt the discomfort of his staff around him, registered the appalled look on Antoinette’s face as this Meg broke with protocol as she turned her slender back to him and proceeded to work on, but instead of feeling enraged, instead of demanding that she face him when he spoke, unusually he smiled and took a step closer to her. For the first time he inhaled the scent of her and it was like pulling the stopper on a fragrance bottle, a heady rush of femininity filling his nostrils, his first instinct to touch her shoulder, to turn her around to face him, but he resisted. Instead he clenched his fingers into his palms—there would be time for that later.
There would be a later.
Luca knew that with the certainty of a man who always got his own way. A combination of wealth, power and devilish good looks were a heady cocktail no woman had ever refused—at least not for long. The pleasure of pursuit was a skill Luca never needed for more than the short-term. But chatting up a lowly kitchen hand was far from Luca’s style, so quickly he came up with what he deemed a suitable solution, addressing her for the first time in English.
‘We need blondes out on the casino floor. You come and see me tomorrow and we can discuss something—’
‘No, thank you,’ Meg interrupted, still keeping her back to him, still not looking at him, but at least she was moving now—quickly washing the dishes, anger fuelling her, appalled at the gall of him.
‘I am offering you a promotion.’
‘And I’m declining,’ Meg answered through gritted teeth, her hand reaching for the hose to rinse the plates and sorely tempted to turn it on him, but Luca wasn’t about to be dismissed, his voice authoritative, almost daring her to defy him.
‘You will turn around and face me when I speak with you.’
Oh, she’d face him, all right, Meg decided, swinging her blond head around, more than ready to give him a piece of her mind, more than ready to tell him just what he could do with his blatant chauvinism, but again she hadn’t counted on the effect of Luca up close and personal.
He was savagely good-looking.
Savage, because the effect of him close up was utterly brutal—like staring into the sun. His beauty, his presence was so dazzling, so blinding that, though the sensible thing to do was surely tear her eyes away, to shield herself from his effect, Meg found it impossible. Instead, she took in the impeccable attire, the raven hair without even a fleck of silver, and his exquisitely chiselled face that hadn’t met with a razor for the last couple of days, the dark stubble of regrowth giving him a bandit-like appearance.
Danger!
Her mind was screaming it, playing out the message in stereo in her head, yet for once her body wasn’t listening. Instead it was flaming into a wicked response caused by a mere look from him and now burning with awareness as his eyes leisurely worked her, leaving Meg to beg the perilous question as to how she would respond if he so much as touched her.
‘I’d prefer to work in the kitchen…’ Her voice was a croak, her protest pathetically weak compared to the one she had intended, but Luca wasn’t listening anyway.
‘You work where I tell you to. Nine o’clock tomorrow.’ His thickly accented voice clipped his order and Meg stiffened. ‘You come and see me then, tell the security staff who you are when you arrive and they will show you where to go—oh, and wear something nice.’
‘Lucky you.’ Antoinette beamed as Luca stalked out of the kitchen followed by his entourage, but normal services were definitely not resumed, every member of the kitchen crew staring at her, awaiting her reaction as Antoinette excitedly chatted on. ‘Tomorrow you will be working on the casino floor—’
‘I don’t want to,’ Meg broke in. ‘I’ve already told him that!’ But Antoinette firmly shook her head, her voice more insistent now.
‘You will do as Luca says. You have to go and see him—he has ordered you.’
‘He can order away,’ Meg said grimly, peeling off her drenched apron as Antoinette did the same, the long, exhausting shift over, and even as they took their work cards to the management and were paid for their time, somehow Meg knew that tonight had been her first and final foray as a kitchen hand at the Niroli casino, that when she didn’t turn up tomorrow for promotion, her services would no longer be required.
But it wasn’t a lack of work that was troubling Meg.
It was the effect that look had had on her—the fact that, despite her brave words, despite his appalling rudeness, she was actually thinking of going to see him again tomorrow.
Meg practically ran back to her hotel room, ran as if the devil himself were chasing her, but she couldn’t outrun her feelings, shocking emotions beating her to her door.
With one look, one brief exchange, it was as if he’d somehow reached inside and flicked a switch, aroused feelings that were so deeply buried Meg was barely aware of their existence—till now. It was as if he’d undressed her right there in the kitchen with his black, knowing eyes, as if in the two seconds he’d graced her with, somehow he had peeled away every layer of clothing, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. And if ever it were possible to make love to someone and never even touch them, then that was surely what had just happened.
Tomorrow morning she’d pack her things and head to Mont Avellana, look for work in the vineyards or orange groves. She was tired of Jasmine anyway; it wasn’t running away, Meg countered her own question as her shaking hand put the key in the lock.
It was about staying in control.
CHAPTER THREE (#ubec619b0-90ef-5f65-8601-dafb2272b6d4)
‘COME ON, Meg—loosen up and live a little!’
Since Meg had arrived back from her shift Jasmine had been attempting to persuade her to dress up and venture out to explore the night life on their doorstep, but it was positively the last thing Meg felt like doing. They’d been travelling since the early morning, she’d worked in the hot kitchen and that was all on top of the disappointment of missing Alex. Stepping out of the shower and falling into bed were the only things on her mind; except it was their last night together and loosen up and live a little had been the exact reasons for this trip. Though she might be travelling lightly, Meg’s emotional baggage was weighty and few would ever know the supreme effort it took for Meg to give a casual shrug of her shoulders and finally nod in agreement. ‘Just for a couple of hours,’ Meg warned, peeling open her backpack and peering inside.
‘Well, hurry up and don’t take for ever deciding what to wear!’
Which was a joke only backpackers could understand! In an attempt to travel lightly, Meg had packed only one outfit suitable for a glamorous night out—which on the positive side removed the usual angst of what to wear, whilst on the down side…
What had she been thinking when she’d packed it?
The short black tube skirt had seemed a good choice when packing as it took up a mere square inch of her backpack, and the crushed silk azure top took up even less space; only they showed off way more of her body than Meg really felt comfortable with—the confident, assured woman she had envisaged wearing these was probably a few weeks further into her getting her life together.
Stepping back, Meg stared at her reflection, took in the slender, tanned body, her hair scooped up and twisted into a casual but elegant style. Her face that had been void of make-up for her entire trip seemed unfamiliar now—her blue eyes sparkling vividly with the help of shimmering eye shadow and a slick of black mascara, high cheekbones accentuated with a hint of rouge and her lips plump and full with the help of some lipstick. But despite the vision that stared back at her, despite the transformation that had taken place in the small, cramped bathroom, still Meg eyed herself critically, fighting the urge to rip off the clothes, to rub off the make-up, to dive into her bed and pull the sheet over her head. She almost hated the woman who stared back at her, the confident, feminine, sultry image that belied the terrified child inside, her exposed flesh, the curves on her body, the jutting, high breasts, provoking terror within her. She knew that tonight she’d turn heads, that men would look at her, men like Luca….
Her throat felt tight as she swallowed hard, forced herself to relive that brief encounter. She could feel his eyes burning her skin all over again, the shock of sexual awareness fizzing through her body no matter how she’d tried to douse it. Since she’d first glimpsed him, since first he’d stepped closer into her personal space, Meg had felt unsettled, as if he’d taken some imaginary spoon and skillfully stirred her somewhere deep inside.
He was beautiful—even that blatantly obvious acknowledgement was a monumental feat for Meg, a step forward even. Too many times in the past she’d buried her feelings, refused to examine them, but standing there staring at her reflection, her knuckles white as she gripped the sink, Meg forced herself to stay with her feelings for a moment—to explore them. Those dark, liquid silk eyes had caressed her, the deep drawl of his voice had moved her, and Meg acknowledged how much she had wanted to take him up on his offer, and find out what exactly he had in store for her…to see him again!
‘No!’
She said the word out loud, pulled the window shut on the thoughts that were flittering in. He wanted her for how she looked—could look; he’d made that blatantly clear. Men like Luca were used to getting what they wanted, most women couldn’t resist their charms.
Only she wasn’t like most women.
‘You look fantastic!’ Jasmine thrust a glass of cheap wine into her hand as Meg stepped out from the bathroom. ‘I adore your top. Where did you get it?’
‘At a craft market in Queensland.’ Meg attempted girl-talk, tried and wished to be as happy and carefree as Jasmine as they discussed her top; mind you, it was divine. The deepest azure, it scooped into a halter neck and from the front it looked elegant and simple, but it was rather more daring from behind, its low cut making the wearing of a bra impossible and instead revealing the vast expanse of her golden sun-kissed back and almost the entire column of her vertebra. The crushed silk fabric was caught at the bottom and ruched together in a glittering butterfly encrusted with glass beads and semiprecious stones. The moment Meg had set eyes on it she’d wanted it—one of the few impulse buys in her life.
‘Well, you look stunning,’ Jasmine affirmed with a slight hiccough as she forced down her wine. ‘Why on earth do you hide yourself away all the time?’
‘I don’t,’ Meg clipped, refusing to accept the compliment and certainly not answering the question. Instead, she took a sip of the drink and screwed up her face, wondering how Jasmine managed to drink it as if it were flavoured water. Her heart rate seemed to be topping a hundred and Meg knew that if they didn’t leave now, then she’d surely change her mind. ‘Come on, Jasmine—let’s hit the town!’
The casino was everything Meg had expected it would be and more. The white marble of the floors and walls in the vast foyer, where Jasmine and Meg stood getting their bearings, was no doubt a cool respite from the activity in the gaming rooms.
Despite the lateness of hour, it hummed with activity, elevators pinging regularly as winners and losers spilled out, heading to the bars and restaurants eager to spend their winnings or drown their sorrows, the sound of machines an ever-present backdrop. Jasmine and Meg wandered a while, peering into the designer shops, noses pressed against the windows like children at a toy shop.
‘He’s going to buy it for her!’ Jasmine breathed, watching as a rather ancient gentlemen leant heavily on his walking frame with one hand as his other retrieved a wallet, peeling off one of many credit cards and handing it to a pouting redhead who was young enough to be his granddaughter. ‘He’s actually going to buy that diamond ring for her! Lucky, lucky thing!’
‘Lucky?’ Meg screwed up her nose in distaste, not sure who to feel sorry for—the woman who would later pay an extremely high price for her gift or the man who was being fleeced.
‘Let’s go in.’ Jasmine nudged Meg, pressing the intercom and waving at the assistant who gave a snooty frown as she looked over.
‘I somehow don’t think we’re the kind of clientele they’re looking for,’ Meg said, turning to go, but just as she did, surprisingly the assistant came over, gesturing to a security guard who opened the heavy glass door. Like a puppy chasing a ball, Jasmine leapt inside as Meg rather more hesitantly entered.
‘Is there anything in particular you are looking for?’ The assistant spoke fluent English and directed all of her questions at Meg. Embarrassed, Meg shook her head.
‘We’re just browsing—if that’s okay?’
‘Of course!’
But browsing in an exclusive jewellery shop in the Niroli casino was nothing like the high-street stores Meg usually frequented. In fact, it was like nowhere Meg had ever been in her life. Once inside, the rather snooty demeanour of the receptionist faded—slivers of bitter chocolate were offered and refused, but a glass of champagne thrust into her hand while looking was apparently non-negotiable—but Meg couldn’t relax and enjoy. Excruciatingly aware of the security cameras whirring and homing in, and more than aware she couldn’t afford as much as a keyring, all Meg wanted was out.
But Jasmine had other ideas. ‘Oh, would you look at these? Have you ever seen anything as beautiful?’
Never.
Peering into the glass display cabinet, even Meg, who was itching to escape, was momentarily transfixed; on simple black velvet hung a pendant and earrings and, even to a novice like Meg, their worth was clearly more than the entire shop put together.
‘They are very beautiful, yes?’
‘Stunning!’ Meg watched as her breath fogged up the glass, eyes widening as the assistant pulled out a key from her belt and opened the display cabinet.
‘Clearly you appreciate the finer things—these are pieces from some of the Niroli royal family’s collection. You can hold them for a moment—but that is all.’
‘We can actually hold them?’ Meg blinked.
‘The king tries to make things more…’ The assistant snapped her fingers as she attempted to locate the word she was looking for, and then settled for a longer version. ‘He tries to let his people closer to the family—these are not the best pieces, of course.’
And this wasn’t your average jeweller’s, Meg thought. They were locked in, cameras were everywhere, but even so holding such treasures even for a short while was a rare treat.
‘How much are they worth?’ Jasmine asked as the assistant placed the jewels in Meg’s hands, the cool of the perfect stones heavy in her heated palms, and Meg knew the answer before the assistant even spoke.
‘They are not for sale. We are honoured to have them for a short while.’
‘They must be insured for a figure,’ Jasmine rudely pushed as Meg handed the treasures back.
‘Their street value is not relevant,’ the assistant answered tartly. ‘These jewels stay within the royal family.’
‘Snooty madam!’ Jasmine declared once they were outside. ‘I wonder what they are worth…’
‘What does it matter?’ Meg asked. ‘I can’t believe we actually got to hold them—I wish I’d brought my camera.’
‘You probably wouldn’t have been allowed to use it,’ Jasmine pointed out. ‘Right, enough of window-shopping. I’m tired of looking at things I’ll never be able to afford!’
‘Let’s go and buy a drink,’ Meg suggested.
‘Let’s not!’ Jasmine laughed, steering a bemused Meg out of the shopping mall and through a gaming room towards a bar. Supremely self-conscious, Meg took a seat on a bar stool, pulling her skirt down over her thighs, then fiddling with her earrings, aware that they had been noticed. More than a few heads had turned as they’d walked into the room but, instead of boosting Meg’s confidence, it merely heightened her already nervous state, especially when Jasmine assuredly summoned the bartender and loudly ordered two glasses of their most expensive champagne.
‘We’re on a budget,’ Meg whimpered, aware that the slender glass the waiter was pouring the pale golden liquid into was undoubtedly worth her entire night’s spending money.
‘Relax, will you?’ Jasmine giggled, pulling a sequinned purse out of her evening bag, but before she’d even opened the zipper, before the drinks had even been put down on the placemats, the bartender halted her.
‘It has already been taken care of.’ He gestured to a nearby table, where four middle-aged businessmen sat, staring openly at them with knowing smiles.
‘Salute!’
‘Cheers!’ Jasmine held her glass up in acknowledgement to the nearby table, then winked at an appalled Meg. ‘Come on, drink up. There’ll be plenty more where that came from.’
‘At what price, though?’ Meg bit the words out—she could feel the colour mounting on her cheeks, torn between wanting to send the drinks back and not wanting to make a scene. ‘Jasmine, they’re going to want something….’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Meg! Will you loosen up? For God’s sake, they bought us a drink. Can’t you just say thank you? It’s just a bit of fun.’
Only it wasn’t.
As Meg had predicted, as soon as the glasses met their lips the men made their way over, sleazy chat-up lines were followed by sleazy chat-up lines, a bottle of champagne soon appeared, and all she wanted was to get the hell out, knowing the money that was being spent on them had nothing to do with their engaging conversation, nothing to do with a man wanting to get to know a woman. It had been a mistake to come—a horrible, horrible mistake.
‘They want us to play the tables!’ Jasmine said gleefully as Meg bit back a smart retort. ‘Come on!’
She was tired of pointing things out to Jasmine—tired of acting like a boring big sister when Jasmine clearly didn’t want to hear what she had to say.
‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Bed!’ Jasmine gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘It isn’t even midnight. Come on, Meg. It will be fun.’
‘It’s not my kind of fun,’ Meg answered. ‘Look, Jasmine, I’m tired and I don’t particularly like the company we’re keeping. If you want to stay on, then that’s up to you. Just be careful.’
‘Five minutes,’ Jasmine pleaded. ‘Then slip away—pretend you’re going to the loo or something.’
They were already at the gaming area, Jasmine’s eyes glittering from the champagne and attention as Meg attempted her excuses. There was nothing subtle now about the men’s advances—one of them offered her a chip to play the roulette table, which Meg refused, a prickle of fear running down her spine as Jasmine accepted. Things were really starting to get out of control.
‘Thirty, red.’ Jasmine kissed her chip and placed it on the table as Meg watched on. She’d never played roulette. Oh, she’d seen it on films, but she had no idea of the rules and absolutely no desire to find out, but her escort was insistent, pushing the chip into her hand.
‘No!’ Meg almost shouted the word and flung the beastly chip at him. She wanted nothing from him, nothing at all. And, boring or not, she was going to get Jasmine out of here and tell her she was flirting with danger. Once this beastly game was over, even if she had to frog-march her to the toilet, that was what she was going to do!
‘Your bet, please.’
As the businessman who had latched onto Meg pushed the chip back into her hand, Meg again shook her head, but table etiquette demanded she now play, and if Meg didn’t want to make a scene then she had no option but to place her bet. ‘Black seventeen,’ she said, plucking a number from midair and pulling out her purse, refusing to baulk when the croupier informed her of the minimum bet and handing over her entire night’s wages plus a touch more.
Meg barely watched as the wheel spun. Her eyes were seemingly on it, but her mind was elsewhere. Sensing the leering stares of her companions, feeling a hand lingering too long as it brushed her back, she wished this moment over, willed the ball to stop anywhere, for this awful night to end.
Tomorrow she was leaving…. The wheel was slowing down as her jumbled thoughts assimilated into some sort of order, her mind calming as she worked out a rudimentary plan: her job in the kitchen was over, when she didn’t show up in Luca’s office tomorrow she’d be out on her ear anyway, and tonight Jasmine had delivered the last straw. She was tired of Jasmine, tired of Niroli come to that—she’d had nothing but trouble and disappointment since she’d arrived. First thing tomorrow she’d head to back to the port, catch a boat to Mont Avellana perhaps. She’d heard there was seasonal work there…. Only the ball was moving now, rattling around the stilling wheel and even though the tension at the table was building, now she had a plan, for Meg it was abating….
Until the ball landed in its slot and all hell broke loose.
Black, seventeen!
CHAPTER FOUR (#ubec619b0-90ef-5f65-8601-dafb2272b6d4)
‘TABLE FOUR; move in closer!’
Luca’s order was swiftly obeyed, the security camera zooming in on the minor commotion in the general public gaming room, the winning figure being relayed to Dario, his Chief of Security, through an earpiece and passed on to Luca, who didn’t bat an eyelid. It was small pickings compared to the figures he dealt with on a daily and nightly basis and, more to the point, in a few hours the winnings would most probably be fed back into the casino. No, it wasn’t the money that intrigued Luca, it was the reaction of the women that held his attention now. One was jumping up and down, accepting champagne and kisses in all directions, and for a moment Luca thought the information he’d been given must be wrong—that surely she must be the winner—because the other woman stood apart, her stance almost disappointed at her sudden fortune.
‘Closer!’ Luca snapped his fingers impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he recognised one of them. The bold kitchen-hand that had approached him earlier this evening and asked to be considered for work out on the casino floor. He’d declined her instantly and if her behaviour now was anything to go by then he’d been right to do so. But who was the other woman?
Could it be her?
Shamelessly he ordered the camera to focus in on her, and his staff complied, more than used to Luca taking his rich pickings: zooming in on the prettiest girl in the room and observing her for a few moments before making his move. As if he were a lion stalking his prey, this was his domain and everyone present knew it.
It was her! Luca’s eyes narrowed as he focussed on her image. He’d been right with his first assessment—she didn’t belong in the kitchen scrubbing dishes—but neither did she belong down there being fawned and harassed, and now that she had won some money she was even more of a target. He knew how this place worked, knew that the euphoria after a win was a dangerous time, that those men would take full advantage…and it made him feel sick to the stomach.
‘Who are those guys with them?’ Luca asked his staff.
‘Some businessmen they picked up earlier. We’ve been watching them for the last hour or so—they’ve been buying the girls drinks and now they’re giving them money to play the tables—the usual.’
Which it was—this type of thing happened every hour of every day in the casino; Luca knew that more than anyone. So why, then, did he feel so disappointed? Why, then, did he feel as if he’d just been punched in the stomach?
‘She paid for her own bet, though,’ Dario added, listening to some information being relayed through a head piece, and, if it was seemingly a useless piece of information, it was relevant on two counts for Luca. On a professional level it made things easier for the security staff to deal with—her escort had no claim on her, there could be no pointless argument about whose money had aided the bet—but for far more personal reasons, for reasons he could barely fathom, somehow, to Luca it mattered.
It mattered a lot.
‘The croupier just let us know—things are starting to get out of hand.’ Dario ground out the cigar he had been smoking and focussed more cameras on the area. ‘She’s trying to leave, but the men insist that she stay and celebrate with them—the croupier wants the floor security to come over.’
He could sense Meg’s nervousness. Those gorgeous eyes were darting, glancing around the room as if hoping to be rescued, flicking to the surveillance camera for a single second, holding his gaze without knowing it, seemingly asking him for help.
‘Do it.’ Luca snapped his fingers impatiently, watching on another screen as almost instantaneously the security guards made their way through the busy gaming room, the well-oiled machines of the casino moving into swift action—any potential situation swiftly dealt with before it escalated. Luca knew his hand-picked staff were more than capable of dealing with this, knew that in a matter of moments things would easily be brought discreetly under control and the small crowd dispersed, so why then was he pulling on his jacket, filled with something, a need almost to get out there and help her himself?
He snapped his fingers again—ordering his cheque-book and writing out a figure in his impressive violet scrawl, then stalking out of the room as his bodyguards followed without a word. They were more than used to Luca Fierezza’s routine when a pretty girl won: most of her winnings would be delivered personally by cheque, so that she couldn’t spend it, which got him straight to second base because it showed her he was looking out for her best interests—first base had already been passed courtesy of his stunning good looks—and for the final run, with the percentage of cash he handed her, he’d invite her to join him in the high-rollers club.
Home run.
‘Congratulations!’
His voice was instantly recognisable—and Meg started in recognition as she heard it, her startled eyes swinging round to his, actually grateful for his presence. Since her number had come up the table had been a frenzy of activity, everyone around her eager to celebrate, pressing her to join in, to carry on and party into the night, when all she wanted to do was disappear, for the glare of the spotlight to dim from her—and now it had.
Luca was the only one who held the spotlight, the only man in the place who could instantly regain control by his mere presence, and regain control he did. Meg’s unwelcome companion actually melted away without even a murmur of protest as Luca ushered Meg over to a quiet table, pouring her a glass of water, which she accepted gratefully, before handing her her winnings.
‘Most of it is in a cheque—you can come tomorrow morning and cash it.’ He smiled at her frown. ‘People often blow their winnings, by tomorrow morning you will be more restrained.’
‘I’m more than in control now.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘In fact all I want to do is get the hell out of here. Is it always so…?’ She fumbled for a word for a moment and failed to come up with one, but Luca, even with his rather more limited disposal of the English language, found the one she was looking for, or at least one that came close.
‘Frenzied?’ he offered as Meg gave a nod. ‘Always. Especially when a…’ His voice trailed off as he realised somehow that she’d had an earful of shallow compliments tonight, that telling her she was beautiful was probably the last thing she wanted to hear right now. ‘Join me upstairs.’ He watched her eyes widen, and smiled. ‘I mean, there is a quieter gaming room upstairs—a little more civilized, perhaps…’ She knew where he meant—the high-rollers club. She’d seen it when she’d arrived, the elevator neatly roped off with security ensuring that only the richest and most beautiful went there, but it held little appeal for Meg.
‘I’m actually really tired, but thank you for the offer,’ Meg politely declined. ‘I think I’ll just go to bed.’
‘Meg!’ She hadn’t realised Jasmine was standing behind her, but her indignant wail alerted Meg, followed by a very harsh whisper in her ear. ‘You simply cannot turn down an invitation like that. Come on, please say yes—I don’t know how to get rid of these guys!’
The same guys she’s been accepting drinks and gambling chips from all night, Meg thought, but she felt herself relenting; as much as Jasmine had provoked things by accepting so much hospitality, she couldn’t just turn her back on her. Maybe a quiet escape to somewhere more civilised would give her a chance to talk to Jasmine and tell her how precarious her situation was with those guys, and surely one drink with Luca couldn’t hurt….
Who was she kidding?
The memory stick of her camera was full of photos of her travels, packed with exotic locations she’d wanted to capture for ever, but nothing came close to the man sitting opposite her at the table—whether she went for a drink or not, already his image was branded in her mind. As arrogant, as presumptuous as he’d been earlier, still she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling he evoked.
‘Can my friend Jasmine come?’ Meg watched as his eyebrows furrowed slightly, wondered at the thought process behind the tiny gesture.
Luca didn’t want her friend to come, didn’t want the brash woman to join them—strange, he’d actually thought till now they might be sisters. They were both blond, both fairly tall, only this Jasmine was like a crude caricature of Meg. She had none of her delicacy, none of her subtle beauty and her conduct certainly wasn’t befitting of the high-rollers club—yet Luca knew it was the only way he could get Meg to join him, that if he didn’t act quickly, at any moment she was going to terminate the evening, so, forcing a smile, he gave a small nod.
‘Of course!’
But, for once, Luca had misread a woman, because it wasn’t Jasmine forcing Meg to take Luca up on his invitation, it wasn’t some misguided sense of duty that had her standing up and heading towards the velvet rope that was pulled back as Luca approached.
It was something else propelling her tonight—something Meg usually chose to ignore. Whether it be hunger or emotion, it was something she usually stifled—only not tonight.
Feeling his hand on the small of her back as Luca guided her into the exclusive VIP lift, Meg acknowledged what she was feeling….
Want.
And this was a want she somehow couldn’t deny.
Some friend, Luca thought scornfully as within seconds of arriving Jasmine disappeared into the thick fog of smoke, her inbuilt radar homing in on the richest, loudest table, and, frankly, Luca was happy to see the back of her, more than happy to turn his attention to the rather aloof woman who sat before him.
‘Normally people smile when they win.’
‘I was actually hoping to lose.’ Meg gave a small laugh at his bemused frown. ‘I wasn’t particularly enjoying myself!’
‘You don’t like my casino?’
‘No,’ Meg admitted, but softened her rather brittle response with a smile. ‘Though don’t take it personally—I’m not really a big fan of clubs and bars, people shouting over each other just to be heard…’ Conversation here was surprisingly easy. After the noise from below, the exclusive upstairs area was quieter with no gaming machines. Luca had selected a secluded area for them at a low couch well away from the tables, but it wasn’t just the ambience that made talking easier—without his entourage, seated beside her, those brooding eyes and haughty features softened by the dim lighting, he was far less intimidating. In fact, after the pandemonium of before and the unwelcome company she’d been keeping, Luca Fierezza’s controlled demeanour was a refreshing change—only it wasn’t relaxing for Meg. Far from it!
The seedy attempts at chat-ups Meg had encountered downstairs had made her uncomfortable, ill at ease, but she didn’t feel like that with Luca. Unsettled was how he made her feel. Though he hadn’t lifted so much as a finger in her direction and his conversation had been supremely polite, there was definitely an awareness, a tension between them, and she knew he was biding his time, felt as if he was slowly, mentally circling her, waiting to make a move. She knew that it wasn’t by accident she’d ended up at this casino magnate’s table.
For the second time that night a bottle of champagne appeared without order, only this time Meg found it easier to decline. ‘I’d actually prefer some water.’
‘Of course—would you like something to eat? We can—’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Meg interrupted quickly, but as he sent the waiter away with a flick of his wrist and proceeded to pour them both water she rather regretted her haste. Not just because she was, in fact, hungry, but because part of her wanted to stay, to linger a while longer in his presence…to simply relax and enjoy the company of this astonishingly beautiful man. Even his hands were sexy, neatly manicured fingers, olive skin contrasting with the heavy white cotton cuffs of his shirt, but Meg’s forehead knitted in concentration as she glimpsed his gold cufflinks, trying to place where she’d seen the image before. Engraved on the heavy gold was the image of an orange tree surrounded by vines…She tried in vain to place them, giving in when Luca distracted her with a question.
‘Are you on holiday?’ Luca checked and Meg nodded.
‘I’m backpacking around Europe. I’ve been away from home for three months.’
‘And are you enjoying yourself?’
Meg hesitated a fraction too long before nodding, and Luca must have noticed the tiny pensive pause because he dismissed her enthusiastic response with an observation.
‘You don’t look like a backpacker.’
‘What do backpackers look like?’
‘Carefree,’ Luca mused, ‘out for fun—they certainly don’t normally decline the offer of a free drink.’
‘And you must know so many,’ Meg responded with a heavy dash of sarcasm. Luca Fierezza’s world was light years away from the one she’d inhabited these last months and she was annoyed at his assumptions—that she was some starving wretch who would jump at the chance of a free meal and an expensive drink.
He ignored her sarcasm. ‘We have many backpackers that come to Niroli—some to holiday and enjoy the magnificent beaches, others for casual work.’
‘It is a beautiful island,’ Meg admitted. ‘Well, from the little I’ve seen of it. I was looking forward to exploring it and…’ She didn’t continue, just snapped her mouth closed, realising she’d given him an opening, and Meg felt a stab of disappointment when instead of pouncing on it he instead asked a question. ‘So how long do you intend to stay in Niroli?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Meg admitted. ‘I actually came to Niroli to meet up with my brother, but there was a miscommunication. I was thinking of leaving to see if I can find work.’
‘You already have a job,’ Luca pointed out, for the first time acknowledging their encounter in the kitchen. ‘And tomorrow you will have a better one.’
‘Tomorrow I might decide to dye my hair.’ Meg didn’t bat an eyelid, stared coolly at him as she spoke. ‘Then I won’t be blond enough for you.’
‘I was trying to help….’ Luca attempted, but Meg shook her head at his attempt at an excuse.
‘Well, you didn’t,’ she bristled. ‘Tell me something—how come you didn’t ask me to join you for dinner back in the kitchen?’
‘I don’t understand?’
‘Oh, I think you do,’ Meg said shrewdly. ‘Anyway, it’s irrelevant. Tomorrow, I’m going to head to Mont Avellana and look for some seasonal work.’
‘Mont Avellana?’ Luca sneered. ‘Why would you possibly want to go there?’
‘I’ve heard it’s beautiful.’
‘It is nothing compared to Niroli,’ Luca derided in distaste. ‘Full of gypsy Viallis—there is nothing for you there!’
‘I’m sure they speak highly of you!’ Meg made a flip comment and instantly regretted it, watching as his face darkened.
Oh, she’d read about the battle between the islands—knew that Mont Avellana was now a republic and that there was still simmering resentment between the two islands—but the way Luca was talking told Meg that this was more than just patriotism. This was hatred born from the cradle and taken to the grave. ‘I’m sorry,’ Meg offered, unable to comprehend that it was so, so…personal to Luca, but realising she had hit a raw nerve. ‘I’ve clearly no idea what I’m talking about.’
It took a moment for him to translate her vague humour, but he accepted it with a gracious smile, swiftly changing the subject as only he could!
‘Anyway—you can’t go to Mont Avellana tomorrow—you are meeting with me.’
‘I said no, remember.’ Meg smiled, but it died on her lips as she caught his eyes. They weren’t touching, a generous few inches separated them on the sofa, but she could sense his body, feel the heat of him next to her. It wouldn’t have mattered where they were, whether in a busy kitchen or the luxurious surrounds of the high roller club, because again it was just the two of them—the subtle, almost indefinable process of man and woman gauging each other, that delicious heightened awareness when every move, every gesture, revealed itself in slow motion. As her tongue bobbed out to moisten her dry lips Meg knew, knew, he was imagining the taste of her, knew that in this volatile climate even that tiny gesture could be construed as provocative…because it had been. He provoked her, in the most unsettling of ways. He made her dizzy. It was as if she were riding on a carousel, snatching images as she whirred ever faster; images not just of the man sitting before her now, but dangerous glimpses of where this night could lead—that full, sensual mouth pressed onto hers, the feel of his hard, toned body pressed against hers. Never had a man moved her so—never had she felt such a compelling attraction to someone, never had she been more tempted to throw caution to the wind, to let some romance into her ordered life….
To loosen up and live a little.
Till he spoke!
‘I’m sure whatever job you want, it can be accommodated.’
Never had she been more grateful for the dimmed lighting as a dark, burning blush swept up her neck and over her cheeks, her mouth dry all of a sudden, her heart hammering in her chest, unsure if she’d misinterpreted and appalled if she hadn’t—was he offering her a job in his casino or in his bedroom?
‘I speak no Italian.’ Giving him the benefit of the doubt, Meg chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t really see what sort of work…’
‘It doesn’t have to be in the casino; perhaps you would like to spend your time in Niroli with me?’
‘With you!’ She let out a shocked gasp at his directness. ‘You’re offering me a job as your escort!’
‘Meg—’ immediately he shook his head ‘—I think you misunderstand. I am requesting your company for a period of time. I would like us to have a chance to get to know each other better. As you will understand, I’m sure, I am not permitted the luxury of casual dates—I am not able to suggest we meet tomorrow afternoon for coffee or a chat, or a wander on the beach—’
‘Because you’re too busy?’ Meg interrupted scornfully. ‘Too busy to deal with something as trivial as getting to know another person—oh, but if they look okay, if they can string a sentence or two together and are impressed enough by your status, then you’ll simply bypass the superfluous and cut straight to the chase.’
Her angry words didn’t faze him—anything but. A smile on his lips revealed very white, very even teeth. ‘I think you’re overreacting.’
‘Do you!’ Meg gave him a wide-eyed look—she really couldn’t believe the audacity of him. Yes, he was stunning to look at, and, yes, she conceded, they were attracted to each other, but to have the nerve to sit there and offer to buy her company for a few weeks made her blood boil—that he was so pompous, so full of his self-importance to think he was above the social niceties, infuriated her.
‘As I said, you misunderstand….’
‘I don’t think so.’ For the first time in a long time, instead of holding it in, Meg let it out—disappointment, embarrassment all aiding her in a very few choice words. ‘I’m surprised you offered dinner. Why don’t we just go straight upstairs to your luxury suite?’
‘Excuse me?’ For the first time she startled him—a flicker of confusion in his eyes as she confronted him.
‘Your luxury suite. I’m sure you’ve got one waiting—and given that you’re clearly too busy and important for something as trivial as romance or dating, and given that I’m too tired for a late night, why don’t we just go straight up there and get it over and done with?’
As his face darkened for a second Meg thought she’d gone too far—questioned the wisdom of speaking in such a manner to a man she barely knew, her feisty, sarcastic tones maybe open to misinterpretation, but as her words hit home his anger faded. The smile that had been on his lips before returned with vengeance now as he threw back his head and laughed out loud, until Meg actually managed a reluctant smile of her own.
‘You are always this angry?’
‘Only when I’m mistaken for a prostitute!’
‘Never!’ His thumb and finger found her chin, lifting her face so her eyes were level with his—touching her for the first time, the shock of contact with him tumbling her into confusion because despite her angry words before, despite the sarcasm that had laced them, she wanted him—wanted what she had moments before scorned.
Wanted him to make love to her.
‘Eat with me,’ Luca offered again and it was sheer self-preservation that made her shake her head, determined to politely end the conversation and just get the hell out before she did something stupid—something she would surely regret. She was here to sort her life, not complicate it further, and being a paid mistress to this man was surely a recipe for disaster!
‘No.’ Meg dragged the word out, jerked her chin away to break the contact as, reaching down, she picked up her bag and stood up. ‘As I said, I’m very tired. Thank you for your hospitality.’
‘You haven’t allowed me to show you any hospitality.’ He stood up as she did, clearly taken aback by her abrupt change of mood. ‘But that is your choice.’ He gave a brief shrug. ‘I will walk you back.’
‘I don’t need to be walked back,’ Meg declined, but Luca begged to differ.
‘Your friend appears to be busy and those men are no doubt still downstairs. It would be better if I walk you back to your room.’
If it had been anyone else offering it would have made sense. Meg had no desire to run into that group again, but neither did she want to walk with Luca. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him—not for a minute did she imagine him forcing himself on her as that creepy businessman had before—but he had made his intentions exceptionally clear and so now must she.
‘Thank you for the offer, Mr Fierezza, I mean, Signor Fierezza, but I’d prefer—’
‘Luca,’ he interrupted.
‘I’d rather keep things formal,’ Meg said crisply back, but she couldn’t look at him, instead staring down at the ground, ready to turn on her heel and walk off.
‘Well, in that case, my correct title is: His Royal Highness Prince Luca of Niroli.’
As her startled eyes shot up to his, despite the twist of a smile on Luca’s lips at her reaction, she knew in an instant he was speaking the truth. Antoinette hadn’t got her words mixed up, those cufflinks he was wearing, Meg realised in a flash, were actually the Niroli coat of arms she’d seen in her guide book, but it wasn’t just that that convinced her, it was his sheer arrogance, the absolute confident way he carried himself—which told her he would never stoop to lying to impress a woman.
‘There will be no discussion. I will walk you back to your room.’ His hand touched her elbow and she practically shot into orbit at the contact, any argument fading on her lips as he guided her to the opening door.
‘Oh, and Meg…’ as the elevator glided open, as he declined the escort from his bodyguard, Luca managed to elicit a smile from her shocked lips ‘…you can call me Prince for short.’
As they walked through the casino, his hand still on her elbow, Meg’s mind was whirring. They made their way swiftly—he didn’t need to guide her through the throng of people because they all stepped back for him, heads turning, couples nudging each other as they passed, and Meg started to understand what he had been trying to tell her. A prince couldn’t date in the usual way, couldn’t walk into a bar unrecognised or linger over a coffee as he got to know a virtual stranger, and those thoughts were confirmed when finally they left the crowds behind and walked the long corridor to her room.
‘You didn’t know?’
‘No,’ Meg admitted. “Antoinette, the kitchen hand, did say something, but I thought she was…’ She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Shouldn’t you be locked away in a palace or something, with bodyguards protecting you?’
‘I should be according to my grandfather—the king,’ he added as Meg blew a breath skywards, the entire conversation so bizarre she couldn’t believe it was taking place. ‘But it is not how I choose to live; I like to work—to run my businesses. Here I get a shot of a normal life.’
‘Normal!’ Meg gave a wry grin. ‘Even before I heard your title, Luca, you didn’t fit into that description.’
‘I have a comfortable life—but I work hard for it. Yes, I can afford many things, and maybe I could just live off my title, but I still take pride in my work, my business ventures—that is why I mainly choose not to use my title, why here I prefer to be called just Luca, though naturally most people know who I am.’
They were at her door now and Meg wished they weren’t, wished somehow she were staying in some remote cottage at the end of a very long beach, instead of a shared room a mere ten minutes away…
She didn’t want the night to end—even though she’d terminated it, now she wanted to prolong it and it had nothing to do with his royal title, more the fascinating man behind it, the man she was starting to glimpse.
‘Thank you,’ Meg said simply.
‘For what?’
‘For coming over when you did. Things could have got out of hand otherwise.’
‘You have to be careful, Meg. Your friend is not much of an escort for you.’
‘I don’t need an escort,’ Meg answered stoutly, but Luca remained unmoved, shaking his head at her proud words.
‘Tonight things could have been very different—I see a lot of things that go on. Buy your own drinks, Meg, and hold onto your glass. Don’t let it out of your sight.’
‘You sound like my father.’ Meg rolled her eyes as she chatted. ‘When I say my father, I mean my adopted father. I had all the lectures before I set off on my trip—’
Her voice halted abruptly; she was stunned at her own words, at how easily she’d revealed a piece of herself to Luca. She’d been with Jasmine for weeks yet she had never revealed this, yet here she was, an hour into Luca’s company, and she was opening up like a flower in the sun with him. But Luca didn’t seem to notice the revelation, just carried on the conversation where she had so hastily left it.
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