Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife

Lucy, some exotic long-lost Italian heiress?

“No!” She pulled away. “I’m Lucy Abbott. A regular girl from Illinois. Any other claim is ridiculous!”

“Isn’t that what you called my claim to be a prince—‘ridiculous’? And you were wrong,” he whispered in her ear. “Dead wrong.”

He drew away. She realized she’d been holding her breath, and angrily exhaled. “I won’t let you pass me off as some long-lost Ferrazzi heiress. Even if I did, it wouldn’t work. If anyone digs into my records in Chicago, they’ll find out who I am!”

“Sì,” he agreed.

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His fearlessness bewildered her. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll discover the truth?”

“The truth is—” he put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her “—you are the Ferrazzi heir. And you’re the only liar in the room, with your promise to honor and obey.” He glanced back at the bed, then turned back to face her. “What will it take to make you believe I am telling you the truth?”

She trembled, looking at the enormous bed.

How many of his kisses would it take for her to lose her soul?

His first kiss had made her lose all reason.

His second kiss had made her fall into his arms, breathless and yielding in his embrace.

What next?

Two destructive kisses.

She had to make sure he never had the chance for a third.

“You can burn the prenup,” she said. “Because I’m not going to pretend to be that girl. I’d rather be out on the street!”

“Peccato.” He traced her tender bottom lip with his finger. “You’re staying here with me.”

Her lip tingled where he touched. She could feel the pressure of his kiss still reverberating through her body. She could still feel his mouth, strong and insistent, spreading hers, his tongue plundering her own. One more kiss like that might make her surrender everything she believed in. She’d done it once before, hadn’t she? And Maximo was twice the temptation that Alex had ever been.

He had twice the potential for devastation…

Turning her head, she forced him to release her. As she fought to catch her breath, her gaze fell upon a jeweled brush and comb on a silver tray, resting on the dark wood vanity.

“Those are yours, cara,” he said quietly. “Everything I have is yours. For as long as you are mine.”

“I’m not yours!”

“No,” he agreed. Standing behind her, he put his arms around her shoulders. “But you will be. Very soon.”

With a shuddering breath, she closed her eyes. She wanted so much to lean against him, to let herself go. The heat from his body seemed to come in waves, pulling her like the sea, drawing her to drown in the waves.

As if he knew her weakness, he pulled her back against his muscled chest. “The tray is all that’s left of my family’s fortune.”

“What happened to it?” she breathed, trying to gather strength to pull away.

“Someone ruined us. When I was five, we had English tutors, horses, fine cars. This villa.” He looked around the room. “By the time I was twelve, he’d taken everything. And more.”

She looked up at him in the mirror. His face was closed off, silhouetted with shadow against the last flickers of purple twilight.

“What else did he take?” she whispered.

He abruptly released her.