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Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child
Trish Morey


The prince’s reluctant bride!Sienna Wainwright had one phenomenal night with international financier Rafe Lombardi before he unceremoniously cast her out of his bed. Sienna hopes never to see his seductively arrogant face again, but six weeks later their world changes – for ever…Rafe is no longer just a billionaire, but is revealed as the Prince of Montvelatte. Sienna is pregnant – with his twins! What choice does she have now?Rafe is more powerful than ever, and he’s determined to claim his heirs and take Sienna as his royal wife!







‘It is the only solution. I need awife and an heir. I’ll informSebastiano and have him makethe necessary arrangements.’



‘No! I haven’t agreed to anything. You can’t make me do this. I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.’



Sienna scooted to the other side of the bed, swinging her legs over the side and pushing herself off, but Rafe was already there, standing in front of her like a storm cloud, angry and potent and thunderous. But the hand he put to her face was gentle and warm, and she trembled into his touch.



‘Leave and I will bring you back. Run and I will catch you. There is no escaping the truth of this, Sienna. You will marry me. You will become my wife.’



She looked up at him, afraid to blink, afraid to breathe, lest she broke this spell he’d somehow woven around her. How long he stood there stroking her face, and how long she allowed him to, she didn’t know.



‘There has to be another way,’ she whispered.



His hand cupping her jaw, he dipped his face to hers and pressed the barest of kisses to her lips. ‘There is no other way.’


Trish Morey is an Australian who’s also spent time living and working in New Zealand and England. Now she’s settled with her husband and four young daughters in a special part of South Australia, surrounded by orchards and bushland, and visited by the occasional koala and kangaroo. With a lifelong love of reading, she penned her first book at age eleven, after which life, career and a growing family kept her busy, until once again she could indulge her desire to create characters and stories—this time in romance. Having her work published is a dream come true. Visit Trish at her website, www.trishmorey.com



Recent titles by the same author:



THE ITALIAN BOSS’S MISTRESS OF REVENGE

THE SHEIKH’S CONVENIENT VIRGIN

THE BOSS’S CHRISTMAS BABY

THE SPANIARD’S BLACKMAILED BRIDE

THE GREEK’S VIRGIN




FORCED WIFE, ROYAL LOVE-CHILD


BY

TRISH MOREY




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Gavin, with much love.

Thanks for your endless support over the years,

for all the good times and the laughs,

and thanks, more than anything, for just being there.

Happy anniversary, honey.

xxx


CHAPTER ONE

THE sex was good.

Surprisingly good.

With a growl Rafe gave himself up to the inevitable and hauled her naked body against his own, drinking deeply of the sleepy scent of her skin, enjoying the way the last remnants of her perfume mingled with the lingering muskiness of passion, and feeling a corresponding tightening in his loins. He’d barely dozed but again he was ready for her and he wasn’t about to waste a minute of their first night together. Not after it taking the best part of a week to get her into his bed.

He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

Through the filmy curtains of his apartment the lights of Paris still glowed, even as the night sky slowly peeled away and the soft light of dawn turned her skin lustrous. He pressed his lips to her neck and suckled at the tender flesh below her ear, and was instantly rewarded with a sound like a purr. His lips curled into a smile on her skin. There was a price for making him wait so long and he’d enjoyed every last minute of exacting his payment.

She stirred into life then, rolling towards him and reaching out, a low sigh vibrating through her as her Titian hair moved across her pillow like a curtain rising on the next act.

How appropriate, he thought, already anticipating it. He raised himself over her, settling between her legs. A week it had taken to get her here. A week they had wasted. He wasn’t wasting a moment more.

He lowered his head and captured one ripe nipple between his lips, drawing it in deep, circling the tightening bud with his tongue. She arched under him, made another of those little mewing sounds and clung on, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He loved her breasts, loved their shape and the feel of them in his hands, and he loved the contrast in textures, from their satin-soft skin to their pebbled circles to their bullet-like peaks when she was aroused. Loved making them so. She tasted of woman and salt and sex and he couldn’t get enough. And when she lifted her hips and teased her curls against the throbbing length of him, he couldn’t see the point of waiting any longer.

Rearing up, he grabbed a packet from the side table, jammed it between his teeth and reefed off the top.

‘Let me,’ she said, a raw huskiness edging her voice, and a hunger in her hazel eyes that reflected his own desperate need fed into it and ramped it up tenfold. He allowed himself a smile as she took it from him, lifting herself higher on the bed and applying it almost reverentially. He raised his eyes to the ceiling at that first, delicate touch. So much for the woman who just last night had seemed almost nervous about sex. The prospect of the next few weeks was looking better all the time.

And then anticipation turned to agony, his smile morphing into a grimace when she took her own sweet time rolling the damn thing on. He grabbed her hand, finished the job and pushed her down in one fell movement, her gasp of surprise changing to one of delight as he plunged deep into her exquisite depths.

The act of fusion shorted his thought processes, until there was room for just one spark of awareness, barely a thought, more an acknowledgement that seeped through his sex-fogged senses.

Not just good.

The sex was perfect.



That couldn’t be her face in the mirror. Sienna Wainwright stopped dead in her tracks and looked hard. The stranger stared back at her, wide-eyed despite the lack of sleep, her lips plump and pink from his attention, and her usually restrained hair coiled and wild with abandon. She looked wanton, thoroughly ravished and a million miles away from who Sienna Wainwright was supposed to be.

Had been!

Until last night. Until the final unravelling of her defences.

Tentatively, almost experimentally, she put the fingers of one hand to her lips, felt their still tender flesh, traced the now blurred line where they melded into the rest of her face.

Rafe had touched her like this, the pads of his fingers tender on her skin, tracing every line and curve of her lips, almost as if worshipping them, before he’d dipped his mouth and kissed her. Kissed her so sweetly it had taken her breath away. Kissed her so passionately it had made her forget all about the insanity of letting him have his way with her.

And before she’d let him have his way with her all over again.

She squeezed her eyes shut and dragged in a breath, her breathing coming in short bursts with the fresh memories of his amazing lovemaking still sparking off thrills in her body like tiny aftershocks.

Rafe Lombardi, international financier and self-made billionaire, and no wonder, given his knack for pulling back businesses from the brink of failure and turning them into global success stories—only the most marriageable and least-attainable man on earth, if you believed what gossip rags world-wide suggested. Sienna had had no reason to disbelieve them or the reports of the long list of one-time partners left shipwrecked in his wake. It was half the reason she’d wanted to keep her distance, if not run a mile in the opposite direction.

She wasn’t in Rafe’s league and she knew it, economically, socially or sexually, her experience with men up until now limited and frankly disappointing in the bedroom department.

Whereas Rafe Lombardi moved in the highest circles, mixing with the crème de la crème of society, power brokers and tycoons and with the designer women who clung to them like accessories. What would a man like him see in her, a woman who had to work for her living and so far down the social scale as not to register, other than just another chance encounter, another notch in his belt?

So she’d tried to hold him off as long as she could, thinking he’d give up and move on to greener pastures. Expecting he would as soon as she’d told him no the first time.

But he hadn’t. Instead of abandoning the chase, he’d pursued her with a single-minded determination that had simultaneously terrified and secretly thrilled her.

Rafe Lombardi was clearly a man used to getting his own way.

She turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature, stepping in and turning her face into the spray, eyes closed as the liquid massage worked its magic on her newly sensitised skin, caressing places where just so recently Rafe had worked his own unique brand of magic and where he no doubt would again as soon as he kept his promise to join her in the shower.

Her body hummed in anticipation. Rafe, that body and water. That would make for one lethal combination.

A bubble of laughter welled up unexpectedly. She’d turned him down how many times these last few days? She must have been mad. For it was clear after just one night with him that any woman in her right senses would take Rafe Lombardi and whatever he offered and hang onto him as long as she possibly could, and to hell with the consequences.

Besides, she’d been working hard these few months, getting herself established back in Europe, with a new home and a new job. She deserved a bit of rest and recreation.

There would be consequences, nothing surer, but for now she hugged the knowledge that he’d asked to see her again like a secret treasure.

She spun around, letting the water pound the back of her neck as she soaped her hair, half a mind anticipating his arrival, the other half employed on working out what it was that made him so different to every other man she’d ever met. His tall, dark good looks, the designer stubble and thick wavy hair that coiled at his collar just a shade too long to be conservative were enough in themselves to set him apart from the crowd.

But he was so much more than the superficial. There was a confidence in the way he carried himself and in the masterful way he handled people and situations. He wore power as easily as he wore the clothes on his hard-wired body, and it had terrified her to feel that power, and to know it had been directed one hundred per cent towards her.

She shivered despite the warm torrent, remembering how vulnerable he’d made her feel with just one heated glance, one seemingly innocent brush of skin against skin. He had the gift of making a woman feel so desirable, of making her feel she was the centre of his existence and he’d used that gift mercilessly to flatter her during his pursuit, while his eyes had held a look that somehow seemed to burn its way into her soul and beyond.

And then he’d used that gift to wield her to his purpose in his bed.

She directed her face into the spray on a sigh. No, Rafe Lombardi was like no man she’d ever met before. Little wonder he’d left a trail of broken hearts in his wake, because if a woman wasn’t careful, he was everything that a woman could so easily fall in love with…

Oh, no!

She snapped off the tap and yanked the towel from the rail with a determined flick, angry with herself for letting her thoughts drift so far. Remembering how he’d made her feel, recalling the hungry look in his eye while he remained poised over her in that exquisite moment before their union, that was one thing. But building some fairy tale happy ending that could never happen…

Living in Paris must be going to her head. She’d just landed the job of her dreams. An affair was good. An affair was welcome. She wasn’t looking for anything more.

Sienna wrapped herself in a towel, half aware that now the shower was turned off she could hear the sound of the news channel drifting in from the room outside. Rafe had turned it on to check the global money market report before joining her. Which he hadn’t. Proof, if she’d really needed it, that she was nothing more to him than a distraction from his high-powered life.

Albeit a distraction he wanted to see again, just a few short hours away. Right now that was enough.

Her hair wrapped turban style under a towel and wearing one of the plush robes she’d found hanging behind the bathroom door, she emerged from the fog-filled en suite. There was a trolley in the room that hadn’t been there before from which emanated the tantalising scent of fresh coffee and warm pastries, but Rafe was still standing near the storm-tossed bed where she’d left him, though at some stage he’d pulled on a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips, zipped but with the top button still undone. The sight was nearly enough to bring her undone, until she caught the scowl turning his face to thunder as he listened intently to the stream of frenzied Italian issuing from the television.

She moved closer, and, for the first time since they’d been together, he didn’t turn towards her, didn’t greet her with that soul-deep smile. After enjoying his almost instinctive reaction to her presence for the past week, she missed it more than she’d expected.

‘What is it?’ she asked, coming alongside, trying to follow the torrent of Italian delivered too fast for her scant knowledge of the spoken language and, at the same time, unable to resist touching one hand to the small of his back. ‘What’s going on?’

He silenced her with a hiss, shrugging away from the gesture, away from her, and she sensed distance opening up between them where once there had been none. She heard a name—Montvelatte—recognising it as a tiny principality strategically perched in the territorial waters between France and Italy, and saw a reporter against a shifting backdrop—what looked like a fairy-tale palace lit up against the night sky, then the line of famous casinos fringing the harbour and a picture of the former Prince Eduardo. The reporter continued talking animatedly, accompanying footage of an army of maroon-jacketed gendarmes frogmarching the young Prince and his brother into cars before being driven away from the palace. She frowned, trying to make sense of it all. Clearly something was very wrong in Montvelatte.

The reporter ended his report with a scowl and an emphatic slash of one hand accompanying the words—‘“Montvelatte, finito!”’

The news programme crossed back to their studio before moving on to their next story. Rafe hit the remote, the screen went black and he turned his back on both the screen and her, raking his fingers through his hair.

She loosened the towel at her hair, began rubbing it in cautious circles, sensing that something major had transpired and knowing she was missing more than what had been reported in the sensational yet indecipherable television coverage.

‘What’s happening? It looked like the police were carting away the entire royal family.’

He spun round, his ruggedly beautiful face reduced to a mask of tightly drawn flesh over bones suddenly lying too close to the surface, his eyes both wild and filled with something that looked like grief.

‘It’s over,’ he said, in a voice that turned her cold. Then his eyes glazed even colder. ‘It’s over.’

An inexplicable fear zipped down her spine. Finally he’d acknowledged her presence and yet she doubted he’d even seen her. Right now it was more as if he was looking right through her.

‘What’s over? What is it that’s happened?’

For a minute she wasn’t even sure he’d even heard her, his only movement the rapid rise and fall of his chest, but then his chin jerked up and his eyes took on a predatory gleam, finding a focus that had been lacking before.

‘Justice,’ he said cryptically, crossing the carpet silently in his bare feet until he stood before her, his turmoil-filled eyes holding hers hostage, his naked chest so close it took her breath away. And before she could ask him what he meant, before she could ask what any of it meant, he reached over and took the damp towel from her hands, tossing it purposefully to one side.

Sienna trembled, her pulse quickening as it always did when she had one hundred per cent of his attention, his scent and his aura wrapping around her and pulling her in.

‘Tell me,’ she whispered in spite of it, refusing to give herself up to his power, knowing that once he touched her, she’d be lost. ‘What does it mean?’

Rafe said nothing. Instead, there was a tug at her waist followed by a loosening, and then the sides of her gown fell open. She felt the kiss of air against her skin, heard the hiss of breath through his teeth as he gazed down at the ribbon of exposed flesh, and felt that searing heat of his eyes like the brand of a torch. ‘It means I want you,’ he said, reaching out the fingers of one hand to scoop back the robe on one side, tracing a path down her aching breast to her nipple and circling that sensitive peak. ‘Now!’

Her body was ready, the swell of her breasts and the insistent thrumming of the pulse between her thighs telling her so. But something flashed across his eyes, and she sensed something of the torment he was feeling, and panic shimmied up her spine as she recognised the truth. He didn’t see her at all, not really. She was merely a vessel, a vehicle for release from whatever demons were plaguing him, and once again, she wondered why he seemed to care so much about a tiny island principality that featured in the tabloids more for the exploits of its young Princes and their latest love interests, rather than for any financial concern Rafe would normally be interested in.

Sienna put her hands to his chest, made a move to push herself away. ‘I don’t know if this is such a good idea,’ she warned, her head shaking even though the rest of her body betrayed her by trembling under his skilled hands, and her hands refused to lift from the wall of his chest. ‘I have to get to work. I’ll be late.’

‘Then be late!’ he growled, uncaring, before sliding a hand around her neck and pulling her to him. His lips captured hers, punishing and demanding, in a kiss in which it was impossible not to feel the turmoil that held him hostage. He tasted of coffee and need and passion—all these things she had tasted before. But now she tasted something new, something triggered by the news report that drove him, an aching fury that moved his kiss beyond mere passion to something dark and dangerous and all-consuming.

And meanwhile his mouth was everywhere—on her lips, at her throat, on her breasts, hungry as he grappled with her robe, reefing it over her shoulders, forcing it down and pulling her naked body against his. She went willingly then, melting into him because she had no real choice, her senses overloaded with the taste and scent of him, the mouth suckling and nipping at her breast, the brush of denim against her legs, the feel of his hot flesh melting her bones, the sound of his zip coming undone…

So many sensations, building one upon the other, a frenzy of feeling that threatened to consume her whole. And then he was lifting her, urging her legs around his waist, only to lower her slowly down until she felt his rock-hard length nudge at her core, and it was her turn to consume him.

He made a sound as he filled her, harsh like the cry of a wounded animal, as if it had been torn from his soul, and she clung to him, afraid for him.

Afraid for herself.

And then he was pumping into her, so fast and furious that sensation exploded inside her like a fireball. She was falling then, his arms still locked around her, barely aware of what was happening when her back met the rumpled bed and he lifted himself, easing out of her until he sat poised there, at the very brink. Through eyes still blurred with passion she looked up at him, looked into his wild eyes and saw the agony that marked his beautiful face and read the words inscribed on her soul—it was already too late—when with a roar he thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt again and again in a final turbulent release that sent her shuddering into the abyss once more.

* * *

It was his voice that brought her back to life, the low, urgent tones as he spoke into the phone rumbling through her like a passing thundercloud, but it was a glance at the clock that catapulted her to full consciousness and back into the bathroom to dress.

He barely noticed her go, his attention almost one hundred per cent on the words his business partner was saying. Yannis Markides, one of the few people on the planet who knew the truth of Rafe’s background and the identity of his father, knew more than anyone what the television reports would mean to him.

‘You have to go,’ Yannis urged. ‘It’s your duty.’

‘Now you’re sounding just like Sebastiano. He’s already in Paris, apparently, and on his way. He certainly didn’t waste any time hunting me down.’

‘Sebastiano’s right to do so. Without you, Montvelatte will cease to exist. Do you want to be responsible for that?’

‘I’m not the only one. There’s Marietta too—’

‘And the day you drop something like this on the shoulders of your little sister, is the day you lose me as a friend. Anyway, you know law dictates it must be a male heir. This is your call, Raphael, your duty.’

‘Even if I go, there’s no guarantee I can save it. The island is a financial basket case. You heard the reports—Carlo and Roberto and their cronies have drained the economy dry.’

There was a deep laugh at the end of the line. ‘And this isn’t what you and I do for a living every day? Bring the fiscally dead back to life?’

‘Then you go, if you’re so concerned. I like my life just the way it is.’ It was the truth. He’d worked hard to get where he was, taking on the hardest projects out there and proving to himself time and again he was up to the task. And he’d proven something else to himself—that he didn’t need to be royalty to be someone.

‘But it’s not up to me, Rafe. You’re the son, the next in line. There is nobody else who can do what you have to do.’ There was a pause. ‘Besides, don’t you think it’s what your mother would have wanted you to do?’

Rafe should have known Yannis would hit below the belt. They’d grown up so close he was better than any brother could ever be. The downside was he also knew how to hit hard and to hit where it hurt the most. He wasn’t about to admit that fact, though he couldn’t deny another truth. ‘I’m just glad she died before she found out his death had been organised by his own sons.’

‘Not all of his sons,’ Yannis corrected. ‘There’s still you.’

He laughed, short and hard. ‘That’s right. The bastard son. The son he exiled along with his bastard’s mother and baby sister. Why should I go back to bail out his island nation? It’s sickening what happened to him, sickening that his own sons conspired against him. But why should I be the one to pick up the pieces? I hate what happened to him, but I don’t owe him a thing.’

‘Why should you be the one? Because Montvelattian blood flows in your veins. This is your birthright, Rafe. Seize it. If not for your father’s sake, then for your mother’s.’

Rafe shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Yannis knew him too well, knew he felt no loyalty for a father who had never been more than a name to him, and who had discarded his own son and the woman who had borne him as easily as if he’d been brushing lint off his jacket. Even the knowledge that his death had not been an accident didn’t cause Rafe any pangs of loss. It was impossible to lose something you’d never had, and Prince Eduardo had never been part of his life.

But his mother was a different matter. Louisa had loved Montvelatte and had talked endlessly of scented orange groves, of colourful vines, of herb bushes tangy with the spray of sea, and of mountainsides covered with flowers amidst the olive trees that she would never see again.

She’d never forgotten the small island nation that had been her home for twenty-one years and that had spat her out, sending her into exile for the rest of her too short existence.

Yannis was right. It had always been her dream to return. It had never happened in her lifetime, but maybe this was his chance to make it happen for her in spirit.

Merda!

Sienna emerged from the bathroom ready for work and wearing a frown. They’d made love so quickly—too quickly for either of them to have given a thought about protection. The risks of pregnancy were low, it was late in her cycle, but there were still risks and she couldn’t help but regret her decision not to renew her prescription for the pill when her course had expired last month. At the time there hadn’t seemed much point and finding a new doctor with everything else going on had been the last thing on her mind. She now wished she’d thought about it.

And at the risk of making her even later for work, she couldn’t leave without at least broaching the subject.

‘We need to talk,’ she said, registering that he’d finished the call as she gathered up the last of her things and stashed them in her bag. She turned when he didn’t respond. He was still sitting on the bed with his back to her, his head in his hands, a picture of such utter desolation that she would never have recognised him if she hadn’t known it was him. His air of authority was gone. His power gone. Instead he wore a cloak of vulnerability so heavy that she felt the weight of it herself. ‘What is it?’ she asked, drawing closer but afraid to touch him, afraid she might feel the pain that was torturing him. ‘What’s wrong? Is this about that news report, about Montvelatte?’

For heavy seconds he didn’t move, didn’t speak—then finally let out his breath in a rush as he lifted his head, his fingers working hard at his temples.

‘What do you know of the island?’ Rafe asked, without looking around.

Sienna shrugged, thrown by the question. But at least he was talking to her and she knew that the pain would be lesser if he did. She rounded the bed and knelt alongside him on the dishevelled linen, finally game to put a hand to him, sliding her hands over his shoulders, feeling the tension tight and knotted under her fingers, trying to massage it away with the stroke of her thumbs. ‘What does anyone know? Other than it’s a small island in the Mediterranean, famous for both its stunning scenery and the string of casinos that have made it rich. A Mecca for tourists and gamblers alike.’

He snorted dismissively and twisted then, capturing one hand in his and pulling it to his mouth and pressing it to his lips. Hardly a kiss—his fingers were so tight around hers they hurt, his dark eyes almost black. ‘And for gangsters, it turns out. Apparently they’ve been laundering drug money through the casinos ever since Prince Carlo took the crown five years ago.’

Behind him the clock continued to advance and she cursed inwardly. She had to get to work. It had taken some doing to land the job with Sapphire Blue Charter, only her ability to speak French and three superb references winning her the contract and making up for her being a woman, and an Australian to boot, but she was still under probation. The way she was going this morning she’d be lucky if she still had a job by the time she got to the airport. But she couldn’t leave him, not like this. ‘It still doesn’t make sense. They’ve arrested the Prince and his brother in front of the entire world’s media over unproven money-laundering charges? Whatever happened to being innocent until proven guilty?’

Rafe swept from the bed then, grabbing his jeans, quickly dropping those in favour of a snow-white robe that he wrapped and lashed around himself and that showed his olive skin and dark features to perfection. Through the vast expanse of window behind him it seemed the entire city of Paris was laid out like a glorious offering, the Eiffel Tower the centre-point in a brand new morning, but it was the fiery glare from his eyes that demanded her full attention.

‘I didn’t say they’d been arrested over the money-laundering charges.’

‘Then why?’

‘Because now they’ve been linked to the death of the former Prince.’

For a moment she was shocked into silence, her mind busy recalling the history she knew of the tiny principality. ‘But Prince Eduardo drowned. He fell from his yacht.’

His hand dropped away, and his face looked even harsher then, if it were possible, his skin drawn so tight it made her jaw ache in sympathy. ‘The authorities have just uncovered fresh evidence. He didn’t fall.’

Shock punched into her more effectively than any fist. ‘They killed their own father?’ No wonder the news reports were full of it. It was more than a scandal. It was a monarchy in crisis, a diplomatic nightmare. A nightmare that somehow held Rafe in its thrall.

‘I still don’t understand, though. It’s horrible, but why does it matter so much to you?’

Sienna searched his eyes, dark eyes filled with grief and torment and pain that scarred their depths, and saw the shutters come down again even as he moved away from her. But the intention was clear. He’d said all that he was going to say.

A final look at the clock told her she couldn’t wait any longer. ‘I’m sorry, Rafe, but I really have to go.’

He didn’t even turn around. ‘Yes.’

She slipped on her shoes, picked up her jacket. ‘I don’t finish until six tonight. How about I call you once I’m home?’

This time he did look at her and she glimpsed something skate across his eyes, something warm and maybe a little sad. Then he blinked and whatever she’d seen was gone. ‘No,’ he clipped, ‘I can’t see you tonight.’

‘Oh.’ She swallowed, trying desperately not to show on her face how disappointed she felt. ‘I’ve got a late shift tomorrow, but how about Wednesday, then?’

But he just gave a toss of his head and opened a closet door, pulling out a travel bag. ‘No. Not then. I’ll be away.’

‘You’re leaving?’

His eyes, when they turned on her, were cold, unfathomable. ‘Like I said. It’s over.’

And mere disappointment curdled into despair, leaving her feeling wrong and suddenly shaky inside her gut. Hadn’t he been talking about Montvelatte when he’d said that? ‘Where are you going?’

‘Away.’

Crazy. She should have accepted his response for the dismissal it was intended to be—no doubt would have if she had been thinking rationally. But right now she felt crazy. He’d pursued her for a week for the sake of just one night? She’d known she would never be more than a short-term distraction for him and could live with that, but, damn it, she wasn’t prepared to let it end just yet, not when such a short time ago he hadn’t so much as asked her, but told her he would see her again.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I thought you were late for work!’ He tossed the words roughly over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at her as he dragged things from his closet.

Breath snagged in her chest. In another life she would have already left, his dismissal of her more than plain. But not now. Not after the night they’d shared, and when he’d been the one to promise more. ‘Is this something to do with that news report, because until that happened, you seemed quite happy to meet up with me again? Why is it that what happens on a tiny island in the Mediterranean is so important to you anyway?’

He stopped pulling things out of the wardrobe then and swivelled around, dumping underwear and shirts carelessly into his carry on as he fired her question right back at her. ‘Why is it so important to me?’

And for just a moment, when she saw the pain etched in lines upon his face, she wished she’d never asked. ‘You saw those two being carted away by the police.’

‘Prince Carlo and Prince Roberto? Yes, of course. What’s wrong? Do you know them?’

‘You could say that.’ A shadow moved across his features. ‘We shared the same father.’

Then the buzzer rang and he brushed past her shell-shocked form to answer it. ‘I’m sorry, but you really have to go.’

Rafe pulled the door open. ‘Come in, Sebastiano,’ he said, ushering in an officious-looking man in a double-breasted suit. In the same breath she was ushered out without so much as a goodbye. ‘It’s been a long time.’

The door closed behind her with a determined click but not before she’d heard the words the older gentleman had uttered in greeting, ‘Prince Raphael, you must come quickly…’


CHAPTER TWO

Six weeks later



THE chopper flew out of the sun, past the blade of rock that was Iseo’s Pyramid and low over the line where the cliff met the azure sea. For seconds it hovered effortlessly over the helipad before touching gently down. Rafe watched the descent and landing, knowing who was on board and resenting the intrusion even before the whump whump of the rotors had settled into a whine of engines.

‘Contessa D’Angelo and her daughter, Genevieve, have arrived, Your Highness,’ his aide-de-camp announced, appearing from nowhere with his usual brisk efficiency.

‘So I gathered,’ Rafe answered drily, without putting down the Treasury papers he’d been reading or making any other move to respond. ‘I think I’ll take that second cup of coffee now, Sebastiano.’ He noticed the telltale tic of disapproval in the older man’s cheek even as he complied by pouring a stream of rich black liquid from the silver coffee jug into his cup. So be it. If Sebastiano was so concerned with finding a suitable princess for Montvelatte, he could perform the meet and greets himself. After something like half a dozen potential brides in ten days, Rafe was over it. Besides, he had more important issues on his mind, like solving the principality’s immediate cash crisis. Montvelatte might need an heir to ensure the principality’s future, but there would be no future for any of them if the dire financial straits his half-brothers had landed them in weren’t sorted out and soon.

Sebastiano hovered impatiently while Rafe took a sip of the fragrant coffee.

‘And your guests, Your Highness? Your driver is waiting.’

Rafe took his time replacing the cup on its saucer before leaning back in his chair. ‘Isn’t it time we gave up this wife-hunting charade, Sebastiano? I don’t think I can bear to meet another pretty young thing and her ambitious stage mother.’

‘Genevieve D’Angelo,’ he began, sounding suitably put out on the young woman’s behalf, ‘can hardly be written off as some “pretty young thing”. She has an impeccable background and her family have been nobles for centuries. She is eminently qualified for the role as Montvelatte’s Princess.’

‘And what good is it to be “eminently qualified” if I don’t want her?’

‘How do you know you don’t want her before you’ve even met her?’

Rafe looked up at the older man, his eyes narrowing. Nobody else could get away with such impertinence. Nobody else would even try. But Sebastiano had been in charge of palace administration for something like forty years, and, while he’d been shunted to one side in his half-brothers’ desire to rule unopposed, Rafe credited him with almost certainly being the one thing that had held the principality together during those years of recklessness and financial ineptitude. Not that that meant he had to like what his aide said. ‘I haven’t wanted one of them yet.’

Sebastiano gave an exasperated sigh, his attention on the recently arrived aircraft. ‘We’ve been through this. Montvelatte needs an heir. How are you to achieve this without a wife? We are simply trying to expedite the process.’

‘By turning this island into some kind of ghastly reality game show?’

Sebastiano gave up the fight with a small bow. ‘I’ll inform the Contessa and her daughter you’ll meet them in the library after they’ve freshened up.’ Without waiting for a reply he withdrew as briskly as he’d arrived. Scant seconds later Rafe noticed the golf buggy used to transport travellers between the helipad and the palace heading out along the narrow path.

Rafe sighed. He knew Sebastiano was right, that Montvelatte’s future was insecure without another generation of Lombardis, and that nobody would invest the necessary funds in Montvelatte’s financial reconstruction without a guarantee of the longevity of the island’s status as a principality. But he still didn’t like the implications.

The buggy came to a halt alongside the helicopter where his aide emerged crisp and dapper, stooping under the still-circling blades as he approached before opening the door.

Rafe turned back to his papers and the problem at hand. He had no interest in its passengers: the hopeful mother, the ‘eminently qualified’ daughter. He’d seen the stills, he’d seen the tapes and the two-minute interview, all of which had been provided to give him the opportunity to assess how this particular marriage prospect looked, walked and talked and how she might satisfy at least half the requirements of a future Princess of Montvelatte—that of looking the part. The other half—doing her part—had been apparently already assured by a barrage of eminent medical specialists.

Rafe had no sympathy for these women, these carefully selected marriage prospects, who seemed so keen for the opportunity to parade in front of him like some choice cut of meat. All so they might secure marriage to a near perfect stranger and, through it, the title of princess.

It made no sense to him. What they had subjected themselves to to prove that their families and their past were beyond reproach and that there were no health impediments to both conceiving a child and carrying it to full term, beggared belief.

On the other hand, nobody had dared question his prowess to conceive a child, for despite the scandalous circumstances of his own bastard birth thirty-three years ago, he had the right bloodlines and that, it was deemed, was sufficient.

He would have laughed, if it weren’t the truth. A hitherto unknown prince had appeared on the scene in a blaze of publicity and suddenly everyone wanted a piece of the fairy tale.

Rafe glanced up, noticing Sebastiano’s lips move as he handed the second of the women into the buggy, the silky outfit she was wearing shifting on the breeze, rippling like the sea.

Even from here he could see she was beautiful. Tall, willow slim and every bit as elegant as the photographs and film footage suggested.

But then they were all beautiful.

And he was completely unmoved.

He sighed. Maybe that was one good thing about this search for a princess. At least nobody would labour under the misapprehension that this was a love match. At least he would be spared that.

The woman hesitated a fraction before entering the vehicle and turned her silver-blonde head up towards the palace, scanning from behind her designer sunglasses. Was she looking for him, wondering where he was and whether the snub of not being there to greet her was deliberate? Or was she merely sizing up the real estate?

Rafe drained the last of the thick, rich coffee and collected his papers together. He would have to meet her, he supposed. He might as well get it over with. But he would talk to Sebastiano and make him see sense. This system of princess hunting that Sebastiano and his team of courtiers had devised was no basis for a marriage. Especially not his.

Over at the helipad the buggy’s cargo was safely loaded, and the buggy was pulling away when the door of the helicopter was thrown open and the pilot jumped out, running out after the vehicle with a small case in his hands.

And it hit Rafe with all the force of a body blow.

Not his hands.

Her hands!

He was on his feet and at the terrace balustrade in an instant, peering harder, squinting against the glare of the sun. It couldn’t be…

But the pilot was definitely a woman, a tight waist and the curve of her hip accentuated by the slim-fitting overalls, and, while sunglasses hid her eyes, her pale skin and the copper-red hair framing her face were both achingly familiar. Then she turned after delivering the bag and a long braid slapped back and forth across her back as though it were a living thing.

Christo!

He pounced on the nearest phone, barking out his first ever order to the Palace Guard, ‘Don’t let that helicopter go!’



Sienna had to get out of here. Her knees were jelly with relief that Rafe hadn’t been there to meet the helicopter, her stomach churned and if she didn’t get off this island in the next thirty seconds she was going to explode. Although, the way her insides felt after that panicked dash to deliver her passenger’s forgotten bag, she might just explode anyway.

Sienna sucked in a deep, and what she hoped was a calming, breath and with clammy hands pulled the door of the chopper shut, clipping on her headset. Thinking he might be there when she landed—dreading it—had put her in a cold sweat the entire flight.

And she was still sweating. It didn’t help that it was so hot today, especially out here on this rocky headland, where the effect of the hot Mediterranean sun was compounded by the way it bounced off the white painted walls that coiled along the narrow road up to the castle like a ribbon. And the castle up the top—the fairy-tale castle that rose out of the rock, ancient and weather-worn and beautiful, the fairy-tale castle now presided over by Prince Raphael, last of the long and illustrious line of Lombardi.

Prince Raphael. Oh, my God, she’d slept with a prince. Royalty. And she’d had no idea. But nobody had back then. It had only been in the days after he’d practically tossed her out of his room that the news of the discovery of a new-found prince for Montvelatte had broken. Sensational news that had rivalled the earlier news of the downfall of the then incumbent and his brother.

And it had seemed as if every newspaper, every magazine and every television programme had been full of the news, digging into the once buried past, and uncovering the story of the young nanny who’d become the Prince’s lover, only to be exiled with a young son and another baby on the way. The coronation that had followed had kept the story alive for weeks.

And his face had been everywhere she’d looked, so there was no hope of forgetting him during the day, no chance of escaping the face that haunted her in her dreams.

He was a prince!

No wonder he’d changed his mind about seeing her again. He would have known what that news report had meant—that he’d have even less reason to slum it with the likes of her.

Why would he, when he clearly had his pick of society’s brightest and prettiest? There’d been a constant stream of women being brought to the island in the past few days. Nothing had been said at the base—they knew that discretion was the better part of business success—but she knew from personal experience. Prince Raphael was a man of big appetites…

Her stomach churned, the taste of bile bitter in her mouth as she completed the preflight checklist. The sooner she was away from this island and the sooner there was no risk she would run into the man who’d so unceremoniously thrown her out of his life, then the sooner this damned queasiness would settle down. Ever since she’d been told she’d been rostered on for this assignment she’d felt physically ill. Montvelatte was the last place on earth she wanted to be. Knowing she’d just delivered his latest love interest made it doubly so.

Sienna yanked herself back from that thought with a mental slap to the head.

What was she thinking? Genevieve, or whatever her name was, was welcome to him. She was out of here.

There was the roar of another engine, the blast of horns and she turned to see a jeep screeching to a halt alongside the helipad in a spray of gravel and dust, and the churning in her gut took a turn for the worst. It didn’t get any better when four uniformed officers jumped out, gesturing to her to cut the rotors. This was supposed to be a simple drop-and-run. Surely there was no obscure paperwork she’d forgotten to complete?

She was making a move to open the door when it was pulled open for her from the other side. The officer saluted so properly that even over her own thumping heartbeat, Sienna imagined she could hear the snap of his heels clicking together. She’d seen that uniform before—in the footage of the former Prince and his brother being carted away—and she wasn’t at all sure that was a comforting thought.

‘Signorina Wainwright?’



Breath caught in Sienna’s lungs and gave birth to a new strain of fear. They knew her name?

She shook her head, removing her headset once again. ‘Y-yes,’ she stammered. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘There is no problem, I assure you,’ the officer told her in his richly accented English. ‘Please, if you would just step outside the aircraft,’ he added, offering her his hand to alight the helicopter. His words and actions were accompanied with a smile so seemingly genuine that for a moment she thought everything must be fine after all, that her most recent panic attack was unwarranted and that this was merely some kind of quaint formality nobody had thought to warn her about.

But once outside he made it clear that he expected her to keep moving. Towards the jeep.

Sienna stopped, the men either side of her coming to a halt also. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It is but a short trip to the Castello,’ he said, neatly sidestepping her question and throwing her thoughts into turmoil.

Her eyes swung up to the palace that sat atop the massive rock that made up this part of the island. It stared down at her with its thousand window eyes, and for the first time she didn’t notice the beauty of the ancient stone architecture with its arched windows and flag-topped turrets, but the thick walls and the fortifications all around that had protected it from invaders for centuries. This time the fairy-tale palace had disappeared, and it was the fortress that she noticed, the fortress she knew instinctively would be just as hard to escape from as to break into.

The fortress that contained the man she least wanted to seein the world.

Oh, no. No way was she going there.

She swallowed back on the sick feeling in a stomach that was once again threatening to unload its pitiful contents at any time, while the hot sun wrung even more perspiration from her nervous body. Her overalls stuck to her in all the wrong places, and sweat beads slid lazily along the loose curling tendrils at her fringe and neck.

‘Look, I don’t really have time for this. I have to get the chopper back to base. They’re expecting me.’ She cast a desperate look back over her shoulder towards the helicopter, frowning when she noticed that the remaining two officers had taken up guard duty in front of the chopper, strategically placing themselves between her and the door and effectively cutting off that means of escape. Even if she could have outrun these two beside her.

‘Please,’ the officer urged, gesturing towards the jeep.

Finding what little shred of courage she still had left, she kicked up her chin. ‘And if I insist on being allowed to leave? If I refuse to accompany you to the palace?’

He smiled again, but this time it was a little lighter on the charm, a little heavier on the menace. ‘In that unfortunate case,’ he said, adding a little bow, ‘you would leave me with no choice. I would be forced to arrest you.’


CHAPTER THREE

SIENNA had had enough. For almost three hours she’d been stuck inside this drawing room, prowling the walls holding her prisoner like a caged lion at the zoo.

It didn’t matter that the drawing room was the size of a small country and that the accoutrements, the Renaissance tapestries gracing the walls, the crystal chandeliers and fine furniture, made it much more pleasant than any zoo enclosure she’d ever seen. Nor did the constant visitors make a shred of difference, bustling in and out and offering her refreshments and any number of pastries or other tasty delights that she desired.

She wasn’t about to be taken in by window dressing. The now familiar maroon-clad guards she’d spied perched at their posts outside the door every time they’d opened had made it more than clear that she was not some welcome guest, but a prisoner in a cage, albeit a very gilded one.

And while at first she’d been nervous, anxious about having to confront Rafe again and certain that he must be the one behind her detention, after waiting this long with no information she was beyond nervousness and frustration. She was furious.

Not one person she’d met here—was able to tell her exactly why she was being kept against her will or when she would be allowed to leave.



The bearer of the pastries had waved her questions aside with a sweep of a hand and had seemed insulted she hadn’t been more interested in tasting the proffered wares. The tea bearer had pretended he was ignorant of both English and French and had looked benignly down his crooked nose at her when she’d attempted her rudimentary Italian.

She had a helicopter that had been due back at base hours ago and nobody had allowed her anywhere near a phone to let them know she’d been detained. A missing helicopter. A missing pilot with it. And while the fragrant sweet tea had settled her stomach, it would take something a lot stronger, if not a minor miracle, to settle her nerves. Her earlier nausea was nothing to how she felt now. She would lose her job over this for sure.

Then she heard it, the familiar whine of helicopter engines leading up to that whump whump of the rotors. And not just any helicopter. In fact, if she didn’t know better…

She ran, her heart sinking with every step, to the large arched windows overlooking the helipad in time to see the helicopter rise up and turn to point out to sea.

Her helicopter!

‘No!’ she cried, slapping her open palm on the window fruitlessly, knowing there was no chance that whoever was flying the craft could see her, but continuing to slam her hand against the glass anyway as the helicopter accelerated away, already shrinking into the distance.

And mere anger turned incendiary.

There were two doors into the room—one she figured led to the kitchens from where the coffee and cakes had issued. She ran instead to the other, the large double doors she’d entered through and that she knew led to the entrance lobby, the same doors that had remained firmly closed against her until now. She pulled with all her weight against their handles, banging on the wood with her closed fists when she found them locked. ‘That’s my helicopter. Let me out!’ When the doors stayed closed, she rattled the handles some more, her fury rising further as they refused to budge. She cursed out loud. Why the hell wouldn’t they let her out?

‘I know you’re out there,’ she yelled at the wall of solid wood, punching it some more for good measure. ‘I know you can hear me. I demand to see Rafe. Right now. Where is the cowardly bastard?’

‘Here in Montvelatte,’ came a familiar voice behind her, a voice that sent panic sizzling down her spine like an electric shock, ‘the usual form of address is Prince Raphael, or Your Highness, rather than “the cowardly bastard”.’

Sienna swung around, vaguely aware of her braid slapping heavily against the timber door, all too aware of the impact of him slamming into her psyche. She’d demanded to see him and yet still she was totally unprepared for the sheer onslaught of this man on her senses.

And standing there, not two metres away from her, it was some onslaught. It was the same Rafe she remembered, but smoother, his thick wavy hair a little shorter and more tamed, his designer stubble smoothed to a mere shadow. But the sheer intensity contained in his eyes packed as much punch as they ever had. More. Because those eyes pinned her now, scanning her lazily from the top of her head to the toes of her boots and all points in between, until the skin under her uniform tingled, her nipples tightening to peaks under his continued scrutiny.

She swallowed, her breathing still ragged, her colour still high from her exertions on the door, if the heat she was feeling in her face was any indication, and it occurred to her in that moment the gulf between them had never been wider or more extreme. Because Rafe was now a prince and looked every part of it, so cool and urbane in his fine wool jacket, so groomed and superior, whereas she was still a nobody, and right now a dishevelled and flustered one.

But so what? She didn’t give a damn about his title, not after the way she’d been treated. She was little more than a prisoner here. The last thing she would do was grovel.

‘I call it like I see it,’ she shot back, refusing to apologise for the outburst or the terminology she’d resorted to.

His eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. ‘So I noticed. I can see your mood was not improved by the delay. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long. I was unavoidably detained.’

‘You were detained?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Who are you trying to kid. It was me who was detained, prevented by your goons from taking off, and threatened with arrest if I didn’t go along with their plans. I’m the one who’s been detained for hours, held here against my will, and now my helicopter’s been stolen—’

‘It hasn’t been stolen.’

‘It’s gone! Someone’s taken it without my permission. I call that stolen.’

‘It’s been sent back to base. You’re not the only one who can fly a helicopter.’

‘Oh? And that’s supposed to make everything okay? I was due back with that helicopter. Instead I’ve been locked inside this prison you call a palace. Well, I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.’

Sienna launched herself across the room, aiming for the door he must have come through, figuring that one at least might still be unlocked, when his hand snaked out and took hold of her forearm, using her momentum to spin her back around.

‘You’re not going anywhere.’

The words were a whisper but deadly sure in their intent. She looked down at the hand burning a brand into her flesh, then up to his face, and almost wished she hadn’t. His eyes, once filled with passion and longing and desire for her, now harsh and flat and so cold that she shivered.

‘And if I don’t want to stay?’

‘You’ll stay.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because I want you to.’

The unexpected words sounded like they’d been ground through his teeth, their intensity rocking her to the soles of her feet so that she felt herself sway towards him, as if drawn by some invisible thread. Drawing her so close that his masculine scent wrapped around her and drew her even closer. She’d dreamt of such a moment, on countless sleep-elusive nights, and in pointless daydream wishes. Wished it long and hard, even after she’d seen the news reports declaring that Rafe was indeed the new Prince of Montvelatte, and realising it could never be so.

But she was here now… She searched his face, his eyes, looking for the truth, trying to discover what it meant.

And then damned herself for hoping, straightening suddenly, her back once again rigid and set. This was the man who’d thrown her out of his room and his life without so much as a goodbye once before. There was no way she’d give him the chance to do it again.

‘And that matters to me because?’ She wrenched her arm from his grasp. ‘No, thanks. I’m leaving. And if you won’t arrange my departure, I’ll damn well find a way out of this hellhole myself.’

‘You’re not leaving.’ It wasn’t a question. It was a bald statement of fact and it used up the last remaining shred of patience Sienna had.

‘Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what I can and cannot do? They make you a prince and suddenly you think you’re the ruler of the universe? Well, let me tell you, Rafe, or Raphael or whatever it is you like to call yourself now, you’re not my prince. I didn’t vote for you!’

Silence followed her words, so thick and heavy that she wished away the thump of her heart lest he hear it and read too much into it.

She was angry.

Furious.

Nothing more.

And then, totally unexpectedly, he threw back his head and laughed, really laughed, deep and loud. So deep that it was too much and cut her right where it shouldn’t hurt and yet still did. So deep that she took advantage of his lack of attention and decided to make good her escape.

She didn’t get far.

‘Sienna,’ he said, as his hands trapped her shoulders and collected her in, pulling her around until she faced him, and holding her close. So close than the room shrank until it was just his scent that surrounded her, coiling into her all over again. So close that she had to shut her eyes to block out the sight of the triangle of skin exposed by the undone-at-the-collar shirt, a patch of skin her mouth knew intimately.

‘Let me go,’ she protested, squirming in his arms, lashing out at her gaoler while the prick of tears was dangerously close. ‘Stop laughing at me!’

‘I wasn’t laughing at you,’ he said, with such conviction that she stopped thrashing about and dared open her eyes. And what they met was a gaze so intense and fathomless that she felt it resonate to the soles of her feet. She watched his eyes drift purposefully southwards, felt their heat on her lips before it was the touch of a finger she felt there. She gasped, her lips parting with the shock of it, and dragged in air laced with the very essence of him. ‘Do you know how long it is since I’ve had someone really disagree with me?’



She wavered, thrown off balance by this sudden change in mood and by the electricity generated by his touch. But only for a moment. She knew what charm the man possessed—hadn’t it succeeded in getting her into his bed that first fateful time, even after she’d tried everything she knew to put him off? She couldn’t afford to let him through her barriers a second time.

Even so, it took everything she possessed to muster a defence. She stiffened in his arms, determined to be resolute.

‘Ten minutes? Fifteen at the outside. Surprise me.’

His smile widened, as if delighted by her response, rather than irritated by it as she’d intended. ‘Here I am surrounded by advisers and counsel but not one person has dared to disagree with me since that night I learned I was to become Montvelatte’s ruler.’ He looked down at her, smoothed a wayward tendril of hair from her brow, the touch of his fingers setting fire to nerve endings under her skin. ‘Not until today when you blew back into my life like a breath of fresh air.’

His words flowed like liquid promise through her veins, spreading warmth and hope and all the things she’d missed in these past few weeks, all the things she’d known even back then she had no right to, all the things she had even less right to now. It was exactly the way he’d lured her into their previous affair, by telling her she was different, that she was special. By making her feel special.

And look how that had ended.

Bitterness spiked in her gut, lending her new strength. Sienna shook her head, shrugging off his hand and twisting out of his reach. ‘I can imagine how much it must gall you being surrounded by sycophants,’ she shot back. ‘Now, is there a telephone or some other means of communication I can use to contact my employer and make arrangements for blowing right out of here again?’



To her surprise he let her go this time, and she edged cautiously away, forcing herself not to bolt in case those manacles he called hands locked down on her once again. She skirted the intricately carved lounge suite that held pride of place in the centre of the room in front of a majestic fireplace, all the while scanning the room’s contents for a telephone she might have missed earlier, while keeping one eye on Rafe. Making sure he kept his distance. It had taken every last shred of self-control she possessed to tear herself out of his embrace. How long could she keep doing so? How many times could she be constrained by those arms before she stopped fighting altogether and gave herself up to the temptation his body offered, the temptation she had given herself up to once before?

How many times?

What a joke.

How few times?

But at least for now he remained where he was, seemingly content to watch her from a distance. If his stance was relaxed and casual, a smile tugging at his lips as he leant back against a polished timber table with his hands at his side on the glossy wood and his ankles crossed in front of him, there was nothing of a smile about his eyes. She shivered, reaching out to clutch the cool wood of the lounge back as she felt their purposefulness wash over her. They were the eyes of a predator, glinting and dangerous, and right now they were fixed on her, content just to watch. She turned away before he might see her fear. The sooner she was out of here and away from Rafe, the better.

Why didn’t he make a move to stop her? Did he know the door she was heading for was locked and her quest to escape doomed accordingly? Her already wary footsteps slowed. Was he merely playing with her like a cat with a mouse, letting her think she would soon be free when she was trapped in here until he deigned to let her out? And would he laugh again when she turned the handle of the door to find that, too, locked?

Sienna swallowed back on a gasp that threatened to turn into a sob, tears of frustration all too close.

‘It’s locked, in case you were wondering,’ he said behind her, reading her thoughts and her intentions with ice-cold precision.

She didn’t want to believe anything he said but she believed that. Why would he allow her any chance of escape when he’d kept her locked up the entire afternoon?

So she threw him a cold look over her shoulder and changed direction, heading towards the wall of full-length windows instead of towards the door, as if that had been her goal all along. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she lied.

She came to a halt next to the window, her arms crossed over her thumping chest, thankful that at least she’d managed to put several metres between them as she pretended to gaze out unconcernedly over a view of sea and sun and cliff-top so spectacular it should have taken her breath away.

But it was the empty helipad that filled her vision and thoughts, a sight that tore at her all over again and freshened the sting of unshed tears. How the hell was she supposed to explain what had happened when she got back?

‘Why are you so desperate to leave?’ Even from across the vast room, his rich voice filled the room like it was little larger than a shoebox. ‘I thought we could use a little time to get reacquainted.’

She shot him a look, sending her braid flicking heavily over her shoulder. ‘You really expect me to believe you mean reacquainted? Or horizontal?’

His eyebrows lifted at that one. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be in such a hurry, but if that’s what you’d prefer…’

Her cheeks burned and she turned back towards the glass. Why the hell had she given him any idea of the direction of her thoughts? And the answer came back instantaneously, loud and clear. Because she only had to look at this man and her thoughts turned horizontal, along with her wishes and desires. ‘The only hurry I’m in is the hurry to get out of here.’ ‘You have no desire at all to resume our relationship?’

‘We never had a relationship!’

‘No? What would you call it, then?’

‘A fling. A one-night stand. And I would have thought that given that night is long since over, then so too is any kind of “relationship” we might have shared.’

‘You think it’s over?’

This time it was her turn to laugh. ‘Oh, I think you made that pretty plain at the time.’

She turned, wanting to see his reaction to that but finding him suddenly closer, shocked that she’d been totally unaware that he’d silently closed half the distance between them while she’d kept her gaze fixed sightlessly at the window.

He stopped a few short paces from her, his head tilting, his gaze delving deep into her. ‘You’re angry with me. Because I let you down.’

‘No way!’ That would imply she actually cared one wayor the other. ‘I think we both got what we wanted that night. I’m over it.’

‘Are you,’ he said, one side of his mouth turned up as he moved still closer, ‘I wonder.’

She scoffed, and continued to stare pointedly towards the window in an effort to disguise the backward movement of her feet. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I think you’re afraid of what might happen if you do stay.’

‘I’m angry, is what I am.’ She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Because you think you can ride roughshod over anyone and everyone.’

‘And you wish it could have turned out differently.’



Her shoulders hit something solid and she looked around to find herself wedged in the corner of the room, her frustration mounting as his words struck too close to home and his physical presence came too close for comfort. She backed up tight against the corner, thankful for the solidity of the centuries-old walls. ‘Look, does this palace actually have a telephone service? I’m already late back. I really don’t want to delay my departure any longer.’

‘Stay,’ he said, resting one hand up on the wall beside her head with his elbow bent, now so close she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. ‘Have dinner with me tonight.’

She shook her head, wishing the action would also negate the intoxicating scent of the man that came with his proximity. ‘Not a chance. I have to get back and you know it.’

‘So get back later. I’m a lonely prince in a castello. Indulge me.’

‘Indulge you?’ She attempted another laugh—there was no way she was feeling sorry for him—but this one came out all brittle and false so she switched to words instead, remembering the precious cargo she’d had to transport to the island only hours earlier. ‘Besides, what about your Signorina Genevieve? Won’t she be expecting you to dine with her? Or are you planning on abandoning your latest plaything in order to slum it with the hired help?’

His eyes took on a feral gleam. ‘My “latest plaything”? Oh, now, that is interesting.’

She regarded him suspiciously, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Merely that anyone would think you were jealous. And why would you be jealous of the Signorina Genevieve unless you thought she had access to something you wanted—or perhaps, someone?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself! As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome to you.’



He sighed. ‘I’m sure she would be pleased to hear you say that, but, alas, Signorina Genevieve has already departed, courtesy of the helicopter you left so carelessly unattended.’ Sienna opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off with the briefest touch of his finger to her lips, a touch which caused a hitch in her breath as her senses sizzled into high alert again. ‘Which means I find myself without a dinner companion tonight.’ He gave a very stiff bow. ‘Would you do me the honour?’

It was surreal. Whatever had transpired between them before, he was now a Mediterranean prince, bowing to a complete nobody and asking her to dine with him.

Unless he was merely desperate…

‘So Lady Genevieve turned you down and you expect me to pick up the pieces?’

Rafe’s hand slammed against the wall alongside her head, before he spun and strode away, his hands on his hips. And when he turned, it was a flash of fury she saw in his eyes.

‘This is nothing to do with Genevieve or anyone else. This is between you and me.’

‘Why?’ she asked, all too aware of the breathlessness that accompanied her question. ‘Why me?’

He moved closer, stopping only inches away before he raised a hand to her face and traced the curve of her jaw. ‘Because the moment I saw you emerge from that helicopter, I knew I wanted you again.’

She gasped, heat rushing through her on a tide. His brazen admission shocked her to her core, but already she felt the answering call of her body to his words in the tightening fullness of her breasts and the aching need between her thighs, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that if she didn’t get out of here soon, she would once again fall victim to the sensual spell he cast around her.



‘Th-that’s too bad,’ she stammered. ‘I have to go.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ he told her, still in that mellifluous ribbon of a voice, a ribbon that seemed to be drawing ever tighter around her. ‘Because you see—’ he gestured out the window to where a catamaran could be seen rounding the headland and speeding away from the island ‘—that’s the last vessel to sail to Genoa today. And you’ve just missed it.’

His words blasted through the sensual fog more effectively than a dousing with a bucket of iced water. She watched the catamaran power into the distance, leaving behind twin trails of foaming water, feeling herself just as churned. ‘There has to be another way off! An airport. A private charter—’

‘Sadly, not today. And as you can see, we have no helicopter—’

‘That’s crazy. It’s barely six o’clock in the afternoon. There must be something—’

‘As I said, not today. Tonight there will be no moon, and Velattians are superstitious; nobody will risk travelling while the Beast of Iseo patrols.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘The Beast of Iseo. Surely you’ve heard of it.’ He pointed again out the window to where the massive jagged blade of rock thrust from the sea into the sky some kilometres from the island. ‘Iseo’s Pyramid, the remnants of the caldera of an ancient volcano, is its home. According to the ancient legend, The Beast of Iseo emerges on the blackest of nights, foraging for wayward travellers. It’s a charming legend, full of local colour, don’t you think? Although it does mean you will be forced to spend the night here.’

The full impact of what he was saying hit home like a sucker punch. She was trapped here for the night. With him.

‘I’m not staying here with you. I can’t. My employer will be waiting for me. I’ll lose my job…’



‘Your employer has been made aware of the situation and the fact you will be staying. Besides, you have no choice; there is no way of getting you off the island, even if I could help you.’

‘But it makes no sense. It’s just a legend. And yet you cease all transport to and from the Island because of it?’

‘You’re not superstitious, Sienna? You don’t believe in the Beast?’

‘Oh, I believe in the Beast of Iseo. Right now I’m looking at him.’

He laughed in a way that made it plain he was enjoying his role as captor all too much, and that got so far under her skin that there was no coming out. ‘You bastard. You planned all this, didn’t you? You kept me here, waiting for hours, knowing I’d be trapped and that I’d have no choice but to stay on the island.’

He shrugged, looking far too smug for her liking. ‘I fear you misjudge me. It was hardly my intention at all, merely an unfortunate result of Lady Genevieve’s stage mother’s inability to accept no for an answer. But maybe her recalcitrance was more fortunate than I gave it credit for.’




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