Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife

“I don’t care what you seem to think.” Lucy raised her chin. “I won’t be forced into your bed.”

“Do you really think I would have to force you, cara?” He softly stroked her lips with his fingertip. She felt the masculine roughness of his skin against her tender mouth. Explosions of desire blossomed up and down her body like flowers.

He smiled down at her.

“If I choose to seduce you, you will be mine.”

Yes, she thought, staring up at him in a daze.

With a sudden, harsh intake of breath, she wrenched her head away.

“I will not be yours,” she bit out. “Ever.”

“A challenge. How delicious.” He stroked her cheek. “You are full of surprises.”

Her whole body ached for him to kiss her. But she had to resist. Resist, she ordered her unresponsive limbs. But she couldn’t move as he lowered his head toward her.

Then a knock sounded at the bedroom door.

“This is your last chance.” Maximo looked down at her, cupping her chin. “Sign the agreement. Or go back to your old life. At the stroke of midnight, my offer ends.”

It was nearly midnight now! Lucy glanced at the clock, then took a deep breath. Gripping the pen in her hand, she did what she knew she had to do.

She bent over the desk.

She hesitated.

Then she signed her name.

The instant she’d finished her signature, Maximo took the pen from her fingers. His expression was inscrutable. “Bene.”

She felt dirty—as if she’d just sold her soul to the devil. And for all she knew, she had.

For you,

my baby, she whispered soundlessly. Whatever happens to me, you’ll be safe.

Maximo opened the door. Two men entered the bedroom. “This is my lawyer, Stanford Walsh, and Judge Darlington, who will marry us.”

“Right now?”

“Sì.” Maximo popped his head out of the door. “Esmé, Arabella—come here, per favore.”

“Yes, Maximo?” the countess purred.

“What do you need, your highness?” the blonde cooed.

Maximo gave them his most charming smile. “Witnesses for my wedding.”

CHAPTER SIX

THE day Lucy had discovered she was pregnant, she’d started planning her dream wedding. A little white church in springtime. Flowers in bloom. A fluffy white dress. A homemade cake with white buttercream frosting. Alex next to her. And in her arms, the honorary flower girl or ring bearer—their baby.

Lucy had never imagined she would marry a stranger in a hotel, with no church, no cake and no dress. When she’d gotten ready for work that afternoon, wearing jeans, her mother’s old sweatshirt, a ponytail and no makeup—she’d never imagined she was getting dressed for her wedding.

She had no friends. No family. The only witnesses were Maximo’s thin-faced lawyer and the two gorgeous women glaring bullets into Lucy’s back.

Strangely Lucy had no difficulty promising to love, honor and obey Maximo. It was almost pathetically easy. She repeated the judge’s words, echoing Maximo’s responses, hypnotized by his gaze. His eyes pinned her, searing her, controlling her will. Burning into her with the intensity of pure blue flame.