The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Still no smile. No nod.

She turned back, registering how crowded the massive ballroom had become. It was filled with people—women—craving time with Crown Prince Antonio. That tipped her tension from anticipation to unbearable.

She didn’t want all these others to be here. She wanted to be alone with him. Fiercely, privately, intimately alone. And that wasn’t going to happen. This was only a game, only for tonight. She wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Not ever.

Her emotions crashed.

She turned, finally ready to leave. She shouldn’t have come. She should have proudly kept her distance and encouraged her customers to come to her club earlier.

She’d miscalculated completely. She took the first door out of the ballroom that she could find. So many people, beautifully dressed, lined the corridor, laughing and talking. She brushed past them, following her instinct to get away. She’d got along its length and had just turned right towards the heavy doors when she heard him.

‘Bella.’

She paused, but she didn’t turn around.

‘Second door on the left.’

It was a command. All her antagonism reared in a passion. But despite knowing better, she couldn’t resist. She opened the door he’d meant and stalked into the room. It was a comparatively small meeting room—decorated with more gilt-framed paintings and opulent over-stuffed furniture.

He didn’t slam the door behind him. But though he closed it quietly, he locked it, then stood with his back to it. Blocking her exit.

‘You shouldn’t have come here tonight.’ He glared at her, all icy-eyed handsome magnificence in that onyx-black suit.

Despite the fact that she completely agreed with him, she wasn’t about to admit it. ‘You might be the Prince but this isn’t some feudal village in the Middle Ages. There’s such a thing as freedom of movement and freedom of speech and it’s important to me to be here for my business and you can’t stop me.’ She glared at him, unable to hide her hurt or anger. ‘You were so rude when I arrived. You didn’t even say hello or nod or anything.’ It had been the most pointed, painful dismissal of her life.

‘You were the one who said it would be best if we kept this discreet,’ he argued.

‘You were the one who then kidnapped me for a night on your boat.’

‘It was still discreet.’

‘And hauling me in here is discreet?’

‘I didn’t haul you in here.’

No. He hadn’t. She hadn’t felt his hands on her at all.

‘So because I didn’t speak to you soon enough, you retaliate by parading round the ballroom in that dress.’ He gestured wildly at her body.

‘What is wrong with this dress?’ She tossed her head and glared at him. ‘It’s a beautiful dress. And, not that it matters, it’s a hell of a lot less revealing than the red one I wore at the ballet.’ And she hadn’t been parading. ‘And what would be wrong with speaking to me?’

‘I’m trying to protect you.’ His teeth snapped. ‘Do you really want those headlines—all the “The scandalous dancer and the Prince” stuff? All that rubbish they’ll print on endless pages? Your life won’t be your own if they find out.’

‘I don’t need your protection,’ she argued. ‘You think I don’t know how to handle those headlines? You think I haven’t been handling them all my life?’

‘I didn’t want you to have to handle more.’

‘No. You just didn’t want to acknowledge me at all.’ Always she was denied. As if she were somehow shameful. Not good enough.

‘I couldn’t—’ He broke off with a frustrated growl and then stepped closer, his whisper hoarse with absolute exasperation. ‘I couldn’t bear to even look at you because I cannot concentrate on anything else when you are in the room.’

‘You’re more of a man than that.’ She shook her head, even more incensed by that lame excuse. ‘You’re the head of a country and have had to perform in way more difficult challenges than—’

‘All I wanted to do is sneak you somewhere private and—’