Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa. Sun Chara

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СКАЧАТЬ That thrust the knife deeper into his aorta and proved she wasn’t interested in handing him a band-aid.

      He had no choice but to play hardball… with her.

      There was too much at stake… his life, his profession, and his reputation. Then there were others—

      The sudden ringing of the telephone had him almost jumping from his skin. He thought to ignore it, but the sound penetrated through the fog of his mind, his pain, and his fury. With every muscle throbbing, he reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table. Cherry red. Her favorite color. “Shut up,” he muttered to the noise in his head.

      He heaved a deep breath and exhaled with force. “He-l-lo,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Hello.”

      * * *

      “Three dollars.” Ellie clutched the money in her hand and glanced at her empty wallet. Then she rifled through the bills, fingers shaking, to ensure she had counted correctly. She had.

      She leaned against the sooty wall of the matchbox she’d called home for the last three months and closed her eyes. No money. No job. No prospects. She balled her hand into a fist and pressed it against her mouth, swallowing desperation. “I will not go back to him like I did at Christmas.”

      The sound of her breathing vibrated around her. She shoved the wallet back in her purse, slipped the strap over her shoulder and glanced about. Faded curtains hung on the one window, not quite blocking the sound of rain shooting against the pane. Wind whistled through the maple branches scraping against the building, cars honked, and tires swished on wet roads of downtown North Hollywood.

      She drew the lapels of her brown coat under her chin, her eyes following the crack in the wall from the stove to the stained sink and to the refrigerator. Shifting, her gaze settled on the frayed sofa that doubled as her bed; the blotchy dandelion hue matched the carpet. What a color scheme, she mused, the tight line across her mouth twitching, but not quite making it to a smile. The nearby table held her one luxury. A cell phone. Cherry red.

      She glanced outside at shops still decorated with cupids and hearts, and her eyes filled with tears. Heaving a tremulous breath, she blinked them away, and her thoughts drifted back to her former life. It had included a luxurious Beverly Hills estate, a beachfront penthouse on the Italian Riviera, chauffeur-driven limos, servants… gowns, jewelry… money… and a husband who was virtually a stranger. Pain and disillusionment mocked her; yet, beneath it all another feeling persisted.

      She bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t give into it. If she returned to him now, without anything resolved between them, it’d be business as usual with the sexy doctor.

      With determined effort, Ellie severed her thoughts from the past and glanced in the mirror behind the door. She combed her fingers through her hair, scooped it up, and tucked it beneath a wool cap. Pinching her cheeks to add color, she took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. At that moment, the doorbell rang and made her jump. She pulled the door open and her vitals went into overdrive.

      “Go away.” She forced the words between her stiff lips.

      “No.”

      “What do you want?” She twisted the purse strap around her fingers.

      “Answers.”

      Peter towered above her, his six-foot frame hidden beneath an Armani overcoat, his hair damp from rain. She wanted to run to him, yet she’d run away from him, three times. Not proud of it. But she’d been desperate to crack through his professional veneer, willing him to see her and not what she represented – a necessity for his next promotion.

      “I-I have nothing more to say to you.” She squeezed the doorknob, its metal ridges pressing into her palm.

      He took a step closer.

      She nudged the door closed, but he blocked it with his shoulder.

      “Nonsense, Ellie.” Flecks in his eyes turned coal black and he stepped inside, booting the door shut with his heel. “I deserve an explanation. Demand it.”

      “Explanation?” She moved two paces back and a sound, almost a snort, burst from her mouth. “You mean, like in talk?”

      A perplexed look skimmed across his face.

      “You never listened. Or weren’t there. Or it wasn’t the right time. Too tired. And most often you just wanted to … uh …”

      “Yes?”

      A blush warmed her cheeks.

      “And was that so bad?” He brushed the color on her cheek with his knuckles. “To love you?” His words were so gentle that she almost crumbled in her resolve.

      “No … yes … I mean no, but—”

      Peter flicked his eyes across her agitated breasts, then lower, pausing at the apex of her thighs. A tense beat, and he glanced back up, clashing with her mutinous face.

      “Don’t provoke me, Peter.” She yanked the hat lower over her ears.

      “What’s the matter?” He stepped closer, and she smelled the damp wool of his coat. His rain-fresh scent was intoxicating … putting her senses on full alert. “Afraid you might still feel something for me?”

      She snapped out of the sexual trance. “The only thing I feel for you i-is indifference.” Not true, the voice in her head jabbed. Be quiet!

      He blanched, his proud features more pronounced. “I could prove otherwise.” His warm breath teased the curls springing loose from the confines of her hat and sensitized her skin with awareness.

      “Why are you here, Peter?” She walked backward until her legs bumped the sofa. “Besides trying to force yourself upon me.”

      A loaded moment, and she glimpsed something in his eyes… pain?

      She doubted if he could feel anything but arrogance. Nevertheless, she knew her words weren’t quite fair.

      “I have never forced—”

      “I know.” She sighed, glancing down at her scruffy boots. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

      He rubbed his forehead with his fingers and his wedding ring glinted in the dim light. The motion mesmerized her. She remembered holding his hand, feeling his strength, kissing, tasting, wanted to … no!

      “How’d you find me at the club?” she blurted.

      His eyes glittered with purpose, his cheekbones prominent. “A friend tipped me off—”

      “A spy.”

      “Hardly that, Ellie.” An unbidden smile tugged at his lips. “A patron at the club—”

      “I was fired this morning.”

      “Oh?” He flicked a speck of imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

      She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, it was.” She bet he had something to do with it. Her throat constricted. He had everything to do with it.

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