Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife
And he was too good to be true.
She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I grow weary of this.” His eyes traced over her. “I do not have time. We both know you’re coming with me. Either do it gracefully, or—” he came closer “—I will simply take you.”
She could see at once that it was not an idle threat. He could take her—in any way he wished. And on this dark, empty, snowy night, with no cameras or weapons or customers, who would stop him?
She sucked in her breath, gathering her anger like a defensive force. She would stop him.
How dare he try to intimidate her this way! Did he think he could boss her around with his gorgeous face, his wealth, his power, his alleged royalty?
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she demanded.
“I’m starting to wonder.”
“Your story is ridiculous! You’re a prince, and you want me to run away with you to Italy and be rich and happy? What’s your scam? I get on your plane, then what—end up sold into a harem in some desert?”
“You think any sheikh would tolerate such insolence?” he said icily.
“I just know that when a handsome man makes an offer that’s too good to be true, it means he’s lying.”
His laser-blue eyes narrowed.
“First you insult my honor. Now you call me a liar?”
His voice held a quiet, dangerous edge. She trembled with fear, even as she rebelliously clenched her hands.
“If you think I’m idiotic enough to believe some fantasy about becoming wealthy and getting revenge on Alex, you’re not just a liar, you’re a fool.”
He looked down at her, and she felt scorching heat to her toes. His glance made her feel hot all over, dizzy, pummeled by a whirlwind. “If you were a man, I would make you regret those insults.”
She raised her chin defiantly. “And since I’m a woman?”
His fingers gently traced a tendril of dark hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Your punishment will be entirely different.”
There was a sudden ring at the door. It took a moment for Lucy to even realize what that meant, lost as she was in the sensation tingling up her hair, her scalp, down her spine to her toes. How was it possible that with just a single touch, he could make her whole body shake…?
A hulking man, shorter than Maximo but twice as wide, came to him with a deferential bow. “Mio principe.”
“Ermanno.” The two men spoke in Italian, one giving calm commands, the other acquiescing with a nod.
For a moment, she stared at Maximo. A gorgeous, wealthy, arrogant prince. Demanding that she go with him to Italy. Her, Lucy Abbott. A nobody.
No! she told herself fiercely. She wasn’t a nobody. She was Chloe’s mother. And she couldn’t succumb to this so-called prince’s evil scheme, whatever it might be. She wouldn’t obey. And the fact that his slightest caress made her ache to surrender only proved how dangerous he truly was.
Now. While he was distracted—this was her chance
to escape. Before he dragged her away to hell under the guise of sweet promises, and she never saw her daughter again.
Quietly she edged back toward the door.
The two men continued to talk.
Lucy took a deep breath. Then turned and ran.
“Ferma!” the dark prince roared. “Stop, Lucia!”
Outside, the blast of cold air hit her, swirling snow and making her long dark ponytail twist in the wind. Pushing up her glasses, she sprinted for her old Honda. Parked behind the gas station, it was covered by ice and snow. Her hand shook as she stuck the key in the door.