thought that she should have run while she’d had the chance flashed into her mind. Instead, she’d pushed the thorn deeper into the lion’s paw when she should have given him a wide berth.
Cristiano’s mouth crushed down on hers with devastating precision. The kiss was masterful, dominating, unlike any she’d ever experienced before. Antonella’s head tilted back as he bracketed her face between two broad hands. He slanted his mouth over hers, forced a response. When she opened her lips—to protest? To bite him? To do what?—his tongue slipped inside and tangled with her own.
Heat flooded her like melting wax, dripped into her limbs, made her languid and pliable when she should be anything but. He’d caught her by surprise and she couldn’t seem to separate herself from the act. It wasn’t the first time she’d been kissed—but it was the first time she’d felt on the verge of losing herself in a kiss.
She wanted to dissolve into him, wanted to see where this hot achy feeling would take her if she let it. It was marvelous, extraordinary—
Reality trickled through her as his hands slipped down her back, over her hips, pulled her against his body. His hard, tense body.
Oh, my, was that—?
No. She couldn’t do this. He was the enemy, for God’s sake! She fought against nature, against him, against herself to claw her way back to the surface.
And though it was a cheap thing to do, she bit down on his questing tongue just enough to make him withdraw. It was that or allow him to so completely dominate her senses that she lost the power of her convictions.
He swore. And then he laughed. Actually laughed. “You need a spanking, cara. I’ll be sure to remedy that when we are naked together.”
Antonella managed to jerk free from his grip. She was off-balance, her heart pounding and her blood simmering, and she wanted nothing more than to escape. But she had to stand firm.
She jerked her shawl back into place. “If this is how you usually set about your seductions, it’s a wonder you have any success at all.”
His eyes burned into her. “When I want something, I get it. Always.”
Against her will, a hot little flame smoldered deep inside. She had to get away, far away. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but if you will excuse me, my lover is waiting. Ciao.”
“For now, Principessa,” he said. “But I have a feeling you will take a new lover quite soon.”
She’d made a mistake thinking she could manage him. A huge mistake. And yet she desperately wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. She gave him her best ice princess glare. “Yes, well, that man will not be you.”
“Never make promises you cannot keep. The first lesson of statecraft.”
“This isn’t a negotiation between nations.”
“Isn’t it?”
When she couldn’t think of a rejoinder, she pivoted and hurried to the dining room. Raúl stood on the opposite side of the room, speaking with a short, bald man. He looked up when he saw her, smiled. She smiled back. He was a handsome man, tall and rather good-looking in his custom tuxedo.
But he did not make her blood hum. Not the way Cristiano seemed to do. Angrily, she shoved away thoughts of the prince and crossed to Raúl’s side, letting him kiss her on both cheeks in greeting.
“There you are, Antonella. I was about to send a search party.”
Antonella laughed. Was she the only one who thought the sound brittle, false? Other guests clustered together, talking and sipping cocktails. A few watched her from beneath lowered lids. One man stared openly.
“I’m afraid I must always be fashionably late, darling,” she said.
Raúl swiped a champagne glass from a passing tray and handed it to her. She murmured her thanks before lifting it to her lips. Cristiano di Savaré walked in at the moment she sipped.
Her pulse jumped and she swallowed too much of the bubbly liquid, coughing as it seared a path down her throat.
Raúl failed to notice as he murmured, “Excuse me a moment, my dear,” and strode over to Cristiano.
Oh, God. She had to keep them apart. She had to convince Raúl to invest in Monteverde tonight. There was no time to lose. She wasn’t about to let that arrogant, rude bastard derail her plans.
Just as she got the coughing under control and started toward the two men, someone bumped her elbow.
Antonella held her glass out in time to prevent a spill. An elderly woman in a garish tropical-print muumuu gasped, her hand over her heart as if she were having an attack. “Please excuse me, Your Highness! Oh, how clumsy of me!”
“No, no, it is fine,” Antonella said, her voice a little rough from the coughing. “I didn’t spill a drop.”
But the woman was unconvinced and insisted on a thorough inspection. Then it took several more minutes for Antonella to disentangle from the ensuing conversation. Once the poor lady seemed soothed, Antonella moved away with a murmured apology and went looking for Raúl.
It didn’t take her long to realize the frightening truth, however.
Raúl had left the room. And so had the Crown Prince of Monterosso.
Chapter Two
SHE stood for everything he despised.
Cristiano sat at the polished mahogany table, directly across from Antonella Romanelli, and watched as she directed all her attention on Raúl Vega. Vega basked in her lovely glow like a man showing off a prized possession.
And why not?
She wore an ivory silk gown that clung to her body like a sleeve and displayed her breasts to perfection. With her sooty fall of hair, generous cleavage, and sharp sense of self-awareness, Princess Antonella was the kind of woman who lit up a room simply by entering it. He’d seen photos of her, but nothing had actually prepared him for the impact of her physical beauty. She was, in a word, stunning.
She had a voice that reminded him of a hidden spring, sweet and pure until she poured on the honey, and a sensual way of moving that made a man’s mind turn to more elemental matters. When she’d turned to him outside her cabin door, he’d felt as if a weight had settled on his chest and wouldn’t lift. He’d come prepared for battle, certain he was more than ready for it, and been felled by a lightning strike to his gut.
Dio.
He had to remember that without the Romanellis, peace would have come to Monterosso and Monteverde many years ago. Countless people would have lived instead of dying senseless, bloody deaths.
Paolo Romanelli had been an egomaniacal despot. His son, Dante, was certainly no better. He’d deposed his own father, after all. What kind of son did that? What kind of daughter flitted around the world, taking and discarding lovers, seemingly indifferent to her family’s excesses?
He’d
