the better.
Two days later the commuter flight from Milan where Callie had gone through customs, taxied to a stop at the airport in Turin. Torino to the locals.
She unfastened her seat belt, anxious to meet the prince and get this over with. Though she was tired, traveling first-class had made it a pleasant enough experience. In an hour she’d be on the return flight and sleep all the way home.
Looping the strap of her tote bag over her shoulder, she followed the other passengers to the waiting area inside the terminal.
There were masses of people standing about. Callie braced herself for whatever fanfare awaited her, but to her surprise nothing happened. She walked around for a few minutes, expecting to be approached, or to hear her sister’s name being called over the public address system at least.
How odd… It appeared no royal contingent had come to the airport for her yet. Maybe something unavoidable had occurred and the prince couldn’t help being late.
Slowly the crowds thinned until everyone had gone except a dangerous-looking male in his mid-thirties with overly long black hair seated on one of the lounge chairs. He was reading an Italian newspaper. His well-worn jeans and black leather jacket emphasized a strong, powerful physique.
There was something about Italian men Callie had noticed from the moment she’d entered the Milan terminal. No matter what they wore, they had a certain style and elegance that caused them to stand out from other men.
She grudgingly admitted that’s why they had the reputation for being seductive lovers. Especially this dark, arresting stranger whose aquiline features made her heart race for no good reason.
When he looked up suddenly and she met his jet-black gaze head on, heat enveloped her like a desert storm. She turned away, embarrassed to be caught staring like that. Without hesitation she headed for the terminal desk.
If the prince didn’t come soon, she’d write a note of explanation and slip it in the envelope with the check and ring. Before she boarded the plane for her return flight home in half an hour, she would ask the airline employee to make certain it was put in the prince’s hands.
“Signorina Lassiter?”
A deep, unfamiliar male voice spoke directly behind her. She spun around to discover the striking-looking stranger standing too close to her, robbing her of breath. He was a tall man, at least six feet two. At five feet eight, she noticed things like that.
His searching black eyes seemed to consume her features and hair which she wore in one fat braid halfway down her back.
“Are you from the palace?”
There was a pregnant pause. “That’s right. My name is Nicco.” He spoke excellent English with a heavy accent she found disturbingly appealing.
“I understood Prince Enzo was going to meet the plane.”
“I’m afraid he was unavoidably detained. I was dispatched to…take care of you.”
“Who are you? One of his bodyguards?”
His lips twitched. “Would it make you feel safer if I said yes?”
Not particularly. If the truth be known, Callie had already imagined this man could handle himself in any situation. What bothered her was his mocking arrogance which had caught her on the raw. It appeared the prince’s emissary had kept her waiting on purpose.
He didn’t like her.
She’d sensed that instinctively, yet she couldn’t blame him. Any woman who would be a part of a benefit in order to sell her body to an unknown prince deserved the world’s scorn.
On the other hand, any man who would work for a prince who had no morals was equally despicable.
“Let’s just say that by answering my question with a question, you’ve come off sounding positively Machiavellian. But then I shouldn’t be surprised. You did say your name was Niccolo. The master of cunning. A throwback to your ancient ancestor perhaps?”
For a split second his eyes glittered with some unnamed emotion that sent a dart of fear coursing through her nervous system.
“The prince will be impressed with your knowledge of Italian political history, signorina. It seems there are depths to you yet to be plumbed. Shall we get your bags?”
“I didn’t bring any.”
“Of course not,” he murmured in a silky voice. “A princess-to-be must have an entirely new wardrobe from the skin out.” He slid an index finger down her cheek. “Yours feels like velvet. No wonder Prince Enzo couldn’t resist you.”
“Is that one of your jobs? To inspect the royal merchandise?” she snapped to cover the shock wave that had just passed through her body.
“Call it a lapse I couldn’t resist. It won’t happen again. Now that you’re his fiancée, the prince won’t allow another man to touch you on pain of death.”
She flashed him an icy smile. “How feudal of your master to send you ahead to discover my fatal flaw. I’ll warn you now. I have several of them.”
A sardonic gleam entered his eyes. “I hadn’t thought to enjoy my mission this much. Except for the wedding dress which I understand was purchased some time ago, the prince told me to accommodate your every desire.
“As soon as we leave the airport, it will be my pleasure to take you shopping for your royal trousseau. Along the arcade of the Via Roma you will find our country’s most fashionable couturier salons,” he whispered in a husky tone, giving her voluptuous body a slow, frank appraisal.
Considering she was in jeans and a knit top that was several years old, the look he’d just given her was meant to be insulting. The sparring had gone on long enough.
“You won’t be taking me any place because I have no need of a new wardrobe,” she blurted with as much hauteur as she could summon.
“Then you truly are a dream come true, signorina. I will let the prince know you intend to keep him happy in the marriage bed for the entire thirty days and nights.”
“Careful, Niccolo—your true colors are showing,” she bit out as white-hot heat consumed her.
“If your lack of concern about clothes is one of the fatal flaws you were referring to, then I admit I’m looking forward to ferreting out the rest of them.”
Anxious to wipe the gloating expression from his eyes she said, “Will you please give this to the prince for me?”
Callie reached in her bag that contained her toiletries along with a change of underwear, and handed him the velvet lined box. It held the betrothal ring. After opening the lid, he trapped her hand.
“Do you know this ring dates from the early sixteenth century when the House of Piemonte and the House of Monferrato formed a valuable alliance through marriage?”
To her shock he slid it on her ring finger. After studying it he said, “I wondered why you weren’t wearing it. Now I have my answer.
“Though
