The Prodigal Prince's Seduction (Castaldini Crown 2)

It shook her. Again. The enormity of feeling that radiated from him when he mentioned his father. The first time there’d been so much anger it had thrown her. This time there was no doubt. He loved him.

It was probably the magnitude of his love that caused his feelings of betrayal to be so vast, made what he believed to be the breach of his trust so irredeemable.

She wanted to protest that he had it all wrong, as he had with her, that he didn’t have to live with disillusionment eating away at him, that he had to give his father the benefit of the doubt, even if the king couldn’t provide evidence to exonerate himself.

But she couldn’t. She’d given King Benedetto her word. And if she started that argument, Durante would notice she wasn’t just drawing parallels between his treatment of her and his father, would see her emotional investment in his father’s cause. He’d ask. And if he asked, she’d tell him. And she couldn’t.

But maybe there was some way around this, other than breaking her word. Durante was starting to talk, as she was convinced he hadn’t before. Maybe he’d purge his angst, give his father a chance, like he was willing to give one to the man who’d stabbed him. Maybe things would go where the king hoped.

Not that it made her situation any better. When she’d given her word, she’d thought there’d be nothing but business contact with Durante, that she’d be the voice of reason before she exited his life at the conclusion of the deal. Now everything had changed and she felt as if she was lying to him when she—

“Any number of millions for your thoughts.”

Durante’s deep purr short-circuited her turmoil. She breathed a nervous laugh. “You always toss around carte blanche like that?”

He sipped his drink, his gaze caressing her over his mug’s rim. “Never even in jest. Only for you. So where did you go?”

She reached for her mug, gulped the rich sweetness as if it would fortify her. “I was musing if your case is genetic.”

He took another sip, looking thoughtful. “Maybe. Probably. Still think I’d make a good example for the youths of the world?”

“I think this glitch in your system…humanizes you, makes your experience more accessible, can make young people aspire to walk in your footsteps while learning how to recognize bad habits before they take hold of their lives.”

He gave her a bedeviling smile. “As they did of mine?”

She groaned. “Believe it or not, I used to be a very suave negotiator. But don’t hold my big mouth against the project, okay? I do believe your story can change lives, and although I know there is no advance that wouldn’t make you yawn, if this is a bestseller—and I can’t imagine it won’t be—Le Roi will only keep what would float us and the rest goes to charity. All returns will be distributed for free wherever you choose.”

He frowned. “You company is in trouble?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I ran a personal background check on you. If I’d decided to talk business, I would have run the business check.”

So that was why he hadn’t brought up her company’s Castaldinian connections. He didn’t know of them. She might not be able to tell him of her connection with his father, but she had to inform him of those, before he ran that check.

He ran a tender finger down her cheek. “Tell me.”

And she told him. Everything. Everything she could.

He’d stilled when she’d mentioned Castaldini, his expression going opaque. When she fell silent, he lowered his eyes, lost in thought. Then he finally looked back at her. His eyes were glittering with wonder.

“So this is why you were interested in me originally.”

She gave a difficult nod. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. And she was not at liberty to share the rest.

“This is fate, for you to be connected to my homeland, to seek me out, to let me find you through this connection.” He rose, came around, pulled her to her feet, his hands filled with such gentleness. Thoughts scattered on his kitchen’s porcelain floor as he put a loose arm low around her waist. “But don’t worry, about anything. Everything is going to be fine, I promise.”

She blinked up at him in confusion as he walked her back through his hangar-sized penthouse. “What do you mean?”

They passed through a twenty-foot-wide arch into a sitting room with one wall made of floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the most spectacular view of Manhattan and the ocean that she’d ever seen.

“Just what I said.” He took her to the wall window, his smile the essence of reassurance. She looked down the eighty-floor sheer drop and pressed back into him. He tugged her a couple of steps back where she could get the full impact of the view without activating any twinges of acrophobia. “Everything will work out.”

And that was clearly all she’d get from him on the subject.

She stood there, unable to fracture the moment, break the meld, her body a battleground of desire and dread. Then he whispered against her temple, “I never wrote anything, let alone a book. I was the worst essay writer in my class, in any language. My essays, to borrow an Americanism, sucked. A few dry-as-tinder lines with a sledgehammer of a conclusion along the lines of ‘Own your mistakes or you’re screwed.’”

She pushed away at last, put much-needed air between them, raised an eyebrow. “As you always do?”

He took her ridicule with a grin. “I try. I’m trying now.”

She gave him a considering look. “Hmm. It’s clear you owned far more mistakes than not. In your professional life. That’s why that isn’t screwed.” He grimaced at her allusion that his personal one was. “Anyway, that sledgehammer would be perfect for the heading of a chapter. That’s the kind of succinct conclusion I want you to fill the book with. Coming from you, the epitome of phenomenal success, you have the platform and the credibility to make self-help gurus of the known universe look like they’re spouting unsupported nonsense.”

“I might have the platform and the credibility, but I also have a handicap to negate them both. I write like you sing.”

She burst out giggling. “Trust me, you can’t be that bad.”

He grinned back at her, riddling her sight with blind spots. “See, another handicap. No subtlety. I was trying and failing to hint that I’ll need help.” He pulled her to him, his hands filled with careful power as he contained her. “Lots and lots of it.”