By Royal Decree. Оливия Гейтс

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СКАЧАТЬ “It’s very late and I have to go to work soon.” How disappointing he would pull a stunt like this.

      “No, not now, I realize that.” He exhaled harshly. “I am making an ass of myself. Let me try again. Renata, I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever since I dropped you off, all I see is the smile on your face, your hair falling around your shoulders, the scent of you, the taste of your skin…”

      She gulped. If this was a booty call, it was a very poetic and arousing one. Maybe she should reconsider her policy…

      But he was continuing. “I do need you. I want to know you better, know what you think about things, what you like to read, see at the movies, do for fun. And I want to show you your family’s ancestral village on the coast. Come with me to Italy.”

      Renata patted herself on the cheek to make sure she was really awake having this conversation and not just a really weird dream. If it was a dream about Giorgio, wouldn’t she come up with something a little more erotic like actually having sex with the man instead of receiving odd phone calls inviting her to Europe?

      “Renata? Will you come?”

      Oh, yes, she was awake after all and therefore had to decide what to do. “But, my business—”

      “Your assistant you mentioned or your artist friend Flick can manage, can’t they? I will pay for a temp if you need one. You have a passport?”

      “Yes, I suppose they could manage for a few days.”

      “A week?”

      Her eyebrows shot up. “A week? And I have a passport.” She’d gone to Montreal for a short vacation last year. Enough of this beating around the bush. “But, Giorgio, why me? We just met this—well, yesterday morning. Why should I upend my life and take off to Italy with you like some royalty groupie?”

      “You know why.” His voice deepened to a seductive growl. “Because you want me. Me, the man, not the prince. You want what I can give you, but not at the boutique or the jewelry store. You want what I can give you in the bedroom.”

      Oh, he had her there. The man wasn’t even in the same borough with her and was making her crazy for him.

      “Remember how I sucked on your nipples last night? Remember how I touched your silky thighs and hot, sweet center?”

      She let out a moan in remembrance.

      “That was just a taste of how it could be.” Triumph tinged his voice. “I may be a prince in public, but I would be your slave in the bedroom.”

      A whimper escaped her lips. With talk like that, he could take her to bed anywhere and she’d be more than happy. “Yes.”

      “Wonderful. I will make arrangements and send them to you tomorrow.”

      “This morning,” she corrected.

      He gave a startled laugh. “I’m sorry I hadn’t waited until a reasonable time to call you.”

      “That’s fine with me,” she reassured him. He’d promised to be her sex slave and she was going to hold him to it.

      “Good.” His voice dropped into the purr again. “Now think of all the things you want to see in Italy and I will do my utmost to fulfill your wishes.”

      Number one—see his naked body. Number two—see the bedroom ceiling. Number three—see the bed’s headboard. Well, she could maybe come up with some tourist activities. Or not.

      “Good night, Giorgio.”

      “Ciao, bella Renata. My only thoughts are of you until I see you again.”

      She waited until she’d hung up to whimper again. She had a feeling she was going to be just as much a sex slave as he was. Did she mind?

      She gave a very New York shrug in the darkness of her bedroom. Nah, of course not.

      “SO A REAL-LIFE SEXY PRINCE wants to whisk you off to Italy, have his royal wicked way with you and you are hesitating why?” The next morning, Flick put her hands on her hips and blew a long turquoise hunk of hair out of her eyes, spoiling the punk persona she cultivated. She wore ripped-up jeans, a holey lime-green T-shirt and safety pins decorating both. A black military surplus jacket and black combat boots with chrome hardware-store chain strung around like tinsel made her look like a scary Christmas tree.

      “I’m not that kind of girl,” Renata replied virtuously, crossing her legs primly on her elevated desk chair. She made a face at Flick’s raucous laughter. “Oh, knock it off. I’m not that kind of girl anymore.”

      Her friend snorted. “That’s only because it’s been years since you’ve had a decent opportunity to be ‘that kind of girl.’ What’s with the cold feet?”

      “Oh, all right,” she said tersely. “Let’s say I do go. What do I tell my aunt?”

      “Tell her the truth—you’re going on an extended European hookup with one of the tabloids’ most eligible bachelors.”

      “Eeeww, is he really on that list?” Not that Renata wanted Giorgio to have a wife and four kids, but holy crap, was that cheesy.

      “Hand to God.” Flick cleared a stack of files onto the floor and flopped in the small chair across from Renata’s drawing table. “After you called me to come over, I looked him up on my phone. ‘Prince Giorgio Armani Ferragamo Versace Gucci Pucci is the crown prince of Vinciguerra—’”

      “That is not his name,” Renata interrupted.

      Flick gave her a sly look. “What is his full name, Miss How-Do-You-Say-Torrid-Vacation-Fling-In-Italian?”

      Renata pursed her lips. “Giorgio di Leone. And no, I don’t know his middle name.”

      “Middle names, plural. He has about five. But you only have to know the first. ‘Oh, yes, Giorgio. Oh, just like that, Giorgio.’ Et cetera.” She ducked out of the way as Renata flung a fat illustration marker at her head, having uttered those very words last night in his limo. “Don’t waste your energy on me—save it for Prince Loverboy.”

      Deciding she didn’t want to pay for a replacement desk lamp if it broke when she hurled it at Flick, Renata restrained herself. “Speaking of names, Felicity, you really are annoying sometimes. I thought your name meant happiness and joy.”

      Flick, who had the hide of an elephant, blew her a kiss. “I’m the annoyance who’s going to watch your shop while you go happily and joyfully off to Italy. And if you promise me a nice souvenir, I’ll even lie to your aunt so she doesn’t find out how sex-crazed you really are.”

      Renata repressed a shudder. If her aunt found out, that meant her whole family found out. “Just what would you tell her?”

      “What does your aunt want to sew more than anything?”

      “Big poufy dresses,” she replied promptly.

      “Exactly. So you are going to Europe on a buying trip for lace, ribbons, beads—”

      “Sequins and pearls.” СКАЧАТЬ