Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife

“Your parents and sister died? I’m so sorry.” She paused, biting her lip. “What happened?” She paused in sudden fear. “My grandfather had nothing to do with it, did he?”

Stopping the truck, he pulled the parking brake. He got out of the truck, pulling their luggage out of the back and hefting it over his back. “It’s getting late. I want to start cooking dinner before Chloe is too tired to eat.”

“You!” she gasped. “Cook dinner?”

“You said you didn’t want any servants. So I’m what you get.” His face was half concealed by shadow. “But I can still have my yacht brought from Antibes if you prefer. We’d have a staff of twenty and a full-time nanny. We could sail to the Costa Smeralda, Tunisia, Cairo. Anywhere you like. Just say the word.”

She bit her lip.

Opt for the yacht, the voice of caution whispered.

Because this snug little rose cottage by the sea was dangerous. It was everything she’d once dreamed of. All it needed was a happy family inside and it would be perfect.

This cottage tempted her to remember her lost illusions.

But even knowing this, she couldn’t resist the bright windows drawing her in from the twilight…

“Who left the lights on?” Lucy asked as she walked through the cottage with Chloe yawning in her arms. Though spare in decoration and very rustic, the house was cozy. A fire blazed in the old stone fireplace. “Who started the fire for us?”

“My aunt. She lives over the hill.” He put the suitcases down by the bedroom doors. “She wouldn’t leave Sicily, even when I offered her the Villa Uccello. So I bought all the adjoining land here instead and built her a palazzo. She has servants of her own now, but still likes to welcome me back when I come for a visit.” He gave a brief smile. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“All your women must love this house,” she said wistfully.

“My women?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “All the women you bring here.”

“I have never brought a mistress here,” he said, then looked at her. “Just you.”

She was the first woman he’d ever brought home?

Don’t be seduced, she pleaded with herself. Don’t be seduced into thinking you’re special to him!

But it still made her shiver. As he cooked them a simple dinner of pasta and steamed broccoli, with a bottle of milk for Chloe and a bottle of red wine from the nearby D’Aquilla vineyards for Lucy and Maximo, the air seemed to thicken and hum with sexual tension.

Lucy drank a glass of wine…then another…then another. She drank and ate slowly, trying to prolong the meal as long as possible. By the glint in his eyes, she knew that as soon as dinner was over and the baby was asleep, he intended to make good on his promise of seduction.

But finally, Chloe was yawning and literally falling asleep in the old wooden high chair, and Lucy had no choice but to put her to bed. She gave Chloe a quick bath, dried her with the thick cotton towel, then dressed her in soft new pajamas. For an instant, she held her close, savoring her clean baby smell.

As Maximo knelt at the stone fireplace, stoking the fire to stave off the night’s chill, Lucy carried her droopy-eyed child to the small bedroom. Lucy kissed her baby good-night, tucking her into the crib with a warm blanket.

Then, leaning against the door, she took a deep breath and practiced what she would say.

Maximo, I can’t let you seduce me.

I’m not like you. I can’t keep my heart out of it.

Our three-month marriage must be in name only.

She clenched her hands into fists, drumming up her strength. She would be firm. She would resist.

But as soon as she left the room, she saw Maximo standing in front of the fire, his blue eyes dark with need. She’d barely closed Chloe’s bedroom door before he started for her. His powerful body moved toward her like a predator, his handsome face half in shadow.

She swallowed. “Maximo,” she said, “I won’t—”

But that was as far as she got before he pulled her against his body. His arms held her tight.

And he ruthlessly kissed her.