care of with extreme sports. And punching bags.”
“And turning your back on your kingdom when it needs you.”
A laugh cracked out of his depths, loaded with astonishment and amusement. And virility. “That would be a great outlet. If I were into an eye for an eye.”
“Only it would be a limb—or a life, or even a nation’s worth of either—for an eye, in this situation.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest, revving up the itchy feeling in hers to an ache. “You think I’m that vital? Very inconsistent of you, when you already said how inconsequential I am.”
“That was a personal opinion,” she mumbled, furious with herself, with him, at the responses he kept yanking from her.
His gaze grew more baiting as he rubbed a languid hand over his chest, drawing her stare to the beauty and power of the first, the breadth and hardness of the second. “Off the record, eh?”
She did her level best to present him with her neutral look. “Do make it on. Your head must be swollen from all the butt-kissing you get. Consider my opinion a deflating agent.”
His laughter boomed again. Her heart ricocheted in her rib cage. “Ah, Phoebe, I’m having my head measured first thing in the morning.” He sobered a bit, his grin becoming an X-rated health hazard. “So why try to convince such an irredeemable egomaniac to take the reins of a kingdom?”
She swallowed. “I’m an emissary, as you said. I’m not here to put forward my convictions but rather my employer’s case.”
“Even if you suspect he’s senile and is turning the kingdom over to the one person who’ll drive it into the sea?”
“King Benedetto isn’t senile by a long shot.”
“How else do you explain his change of heart?”
“I am sure he has his reasons.”
“So he hasn’t shared them with you? You’re the little foot solider with need-to-know info you’ll never need to know?”
“One thing I do know is that his heart has always been with you. I believe having to cut you off nearly cut it out.”
He threw his awesome head back with a hoot of delight. “I didn’t see that coming.”
Her throat constricted as the rain-straight silk of his hair cascaded back to frame his head to maximum effect. “What?”
“Appealing to the insecure little boy inside me who craves his hero’s approval, his validation.”
God help her, she actually snorted. “The day I believe there’s an insecure little boy inside you is the day I believe I’ll sprout wings if I cluck hard enough.”
His laughter was louder this time, lasted longer. Spread more damage. “Ah, Phoebe, you know me too well. How about the vindictive little boy inside me, then? Who wants to see the object of his hero worship groveling, admitting how much he’s wronged him, and how the guilt of his transgressions has never given him a moment’s peace?”
She stilled. His eyes lost the crinkle of amusement as he stared back at her. And she saw it.
A groan escaped her. “I don’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t think there’s a vindictive little boy inside you, either. Whatever you have in there, I think it’s still just…just…”
“Angry? Affronted?” he offered, mock helpfully.
“Stunned.”
He went totally still. His stare lengthened. Until she was sure he’d burned a hole between her eyes.
Suddenly he was surrounding her. All her nerves gave way at once. She melted back into the couch. He followed her, still not touching her. She felt as if he’d licked her all over, with fire. When he was inches away from her lips, he rumbled, “Didn’t you notice that you haven’t done any negotiating so far?”
Each word jolted through her, coating her lungs with his scent, his potency. “If—if I’ve learned anything as a negotiator,” she gasped, “it’s how to know for certain when my…opponent has no intention whatsoever…under any persuasion…to negotiate.”
Another inch disappeared. “I’m your opponent now?”
“You’re worse. An opponent I can handle. You’re…you’re…”
“I’m…what?” He obliterated half of the last inch.
Her hand went up. To keep him away? All she knew was that her hand met the convergence of silk and steel and searing heat and stuck there like a pin to a magnet.
“Phoebe…”
Her ears rang with her name, the very sound of wonder, of hunger, with the racket of doors slamming shut in her mind. All existence was his lips. Almost there. On hers. At last. Please.
She couldn’t breathe, so she breathed him. He smelled so much better than air. Felt so much more vital. Necessary…
No. No. He wasn’t. She’d let him be that once, and…No.
She twisted away, feeling as if she’d wrenched back from a precipice. Her heart hammered inside her; her lungs burned. Somewhere an auxiliary power source kicked in, yanked her up to her feet.
Her gaze slammed around. Where is the damn door?
“Signorina?”
She swung around blindly, seeking the voice. So welcome. As always. Ernesto. Her ally. Her solace. Her secret-keeper.
He was standing at the door, holding a laden silver tray.
She took a step toward him. The second was harder. The third was too hard to finish, as if Leandro’s influence was pulling her back. Ernesto looked past her, at his master, no doubt, and gave a grudging nod. To her he gave a bolstering look. Then he retreated.
She opened her mouth to cry for him to come back, and Leandro’s drawl lodged between her shoulder blades.
“Forgetting something, Phoebe? Your mission?”
Without turning to him, she gritted words out through her teeth. “You let me come here just to settle a score, to show me it was never anything but a wild goose chase. Just as well. You’re not salvation material. In fact, you would probably be the worst thing that could happen to Castaldini right now.”
She suddenly felt as if he’d let her go. She surged forward. As it had that last time she’d been here, the door seemed to recede…
“Phoebe.”
His murmur hit her with the force of a gunshot.
“Tomorrow night. It’s still up to you.”
She felt as if she were drowning in the bass reaches of his croon. “Wh—what are you talking about now?”
Silence.
