Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife
She was still falling. The dream had become a nightmare. He’d fled to Rome, beyond the reach of Chicago’s child support laws. For the last year, he’d returned all her letters and photographs unopened. He’d sent her one curt note, telling her he was in love with someone else. He’d suggested Chloe was not his child and that Lucy was either a delusional stalker or a gold-digging whore.
It had nearly killed her. But she was fine now. Really. She could live with a broken heart.
What she couldn’t understand was how he could deny their child. How he could live in luxury, drinking wine, taking lovers, enjoying a warm, beautiful city—when he’d left his innocent baby behind to suffer?
If Lucy went to Italy, she could ask him.
Looking up at the dark stranger, she licked her dry lips. “Let me get this straight. You…you want to take me to Italy?”
He gave her a sensual smile. “Sì. And you will never worry about money again.”
She almost couldn’t breathe. The man hadn’t been lying—it really was an offer straight out of her wildest dreams. To never have to scrimp again, wake up in a terrified panic in the middle of the night, wondering how she’d pay her bills. To know Chloe was safe and warm and secure forever.
And she could see Alex. He’d been able to ignore her letters, but he couldn’t ignore her if she showed up at his office, could he? Once she showed him a picture of Chloe, he would come to his senses. He would love their beautiful baby. Once he saw their daughter, once she was real to him, how could he do anything but love her?
Lucy accepted that he’d moved on to another woman. But she couldn’t bear for Chloe to grow up without a father, as she herself had. Without a father, Lucy’d had no one to love or protect her when her mother had died…
“So you agree?” the dark stranger said coolly.
Lucy clasped her hands behind her back to hide their trembling. “I don’t understand. Why do you want to take me to Italy? How would that hurt Alex?”
The man gave a cold smile. “He will realize how great a fool he was to let you go.”
A laugh rose in her throat, so bitter it nearly choked her. “How so?”
“He will lose something he wants. Something that rightfully belongs to me.” The man reached forward, touching her shoulder. His latent power and sensuality burned through her blue cashier’s smock, sending a current of heat pouring through her veins like lava. “We will make him pay, Lucia.” His intense eyes mesmerized her. “All you have to do is say yes.”
Yes, she thought, dazed at her own sudden change of fortune. Yes, yes, yes.
But as her lips parted to speak the words, a realization made her freeze.
She’d been through this before.
Attracted to a devastatingly handsome man who made her blood race. Who’d promised her the world. She’d naively given him her heart, her future, her faith.
And it had cost her everything.
She wrenched her shoulder away.
“Sorry,” she forced herself to say. “I’m not interested.”
He blinked.
“You’re—not interested?”
She got the impression that no woman had ever turned him down for anything. It would have been amusing, if the whole situation hadn’t infuriated her—and made her hurt all over.
Fighting back tears, she picked up her ratty handbag from the floor. “You walk in here, a total stranger. You get me fired—then expect me to blindly trust you? Are you out of your mind? Who do you think you are?”
He gave her a brief bow, elegant and fluid and ironic. The sharp cut of his coat, his blue eyes against tanned skin, reminded her of Mediterranean sun and olive groves. He was a romantic fantasy, every dream she’d ever had of exotic lands. And then he spoke.
“I am Prince Maximo d’Aquilla.”
She stared at him for a shocked moment, thinking she’d heard him wrong, that she was having a flashback to all the historical novels she’d read as a teenager. “You’re a prince?”
“Does my title impress you?” He punched numbers on his cell phone, the expression on his face hard as granite as he snapped it shut. “Va bene. Perhaps now you’ll cease your pointless resistance and accept your fate.”
Prince Maximo d’Aquilla. An exotic name. But he was more than a dream. He was a flesh-and-blood man, a Roman gladiator hard of sinew and bone, with a powerful, dangerous edge.