Buch lesen: «Princess's Nine-Month Secret»

CHAPTER ONE

IN THE END it was surprisingly easy to escape. Abdul, the royal bodyguard posted by the hotel suite’s door, dozed off around ten o’clock, his head nodding onto his chest, and Halina Amari, Princess of Abkar, slipped by him on her tiptoes, holding her breath.

She’d never done anything like this before, never once tried to escape whatever narrow confines she’d been put in—although she’d certainly tested the boundaries and stretched her wings as much as she could, which was very little indeed. But tonight she wanted to fly.

This might be her last chance. The world was closing in, getting smaller and smaller thanks to her father—and Prince Zayed al bin Nur, her fiancé. The realisation of how close she’d come to being even more of a prisoner than she already was made her heart leap into her throat. And as for Olivia...

But she couldn’t think about Olivia, not now, during her one bid for an evening’s freedom. Halina hurried down the hall of the elegant luxury hotel in Rome towards the lift. Abdul stirred and she pressed herself against the wall. She could hardly believe it had been so easy, but why not? The door to their suite had been locked from the inside, the guard posted outside as a matter of form. Her mother had been trying to keep people out, not in. No one had expected her to escape. She could barely believe it herself.

The doors whooshed open and Halina stepped into the lift, her heart pounding, her palms slick. What was she doing? She’d spent every one of her twenty-two years hidden behind high walls—the palace, the convent school in Italy and then the palace again. Waiting, always waiting, for the fiancé she’d never met to regain his throne and become a suitable suitor. Waiting for her life to begin, or at least something to happen.

Three days ago, Zayed al bin Nur had mistakenly kidnapped Olivia Taylor, her sisters’ governess and her school friend, thinking she was Halina herself.

Rumour was he’d married Olivia out in the desert before realising his grievous error. Zayed had sent a message to her father, assuring him that he had not in any way harmed Olivia, for which Halina was heartily relieved. But the whole episode had made her realise how precarious her own position was. How limited her own freedom. And it had infuriated her father, Sultan Hassan, who had sent Halina to Italy with her mother, away from Zayed’s clutches.

Halina was glad for the escape; she’d never wanted to marry Zayed, a man she’d never even met, and she certainly didn’t want to be kidnapped—although she doubted her fiancé was fool enough to try the same trick twice. But the walls around her were closing in.

After this, her father would make sure she was even more restricted, more guarded, than she already was. And that was something Halina could not stand. After twenty-two years of waiting, she wanted to live...even if just for a night.

The lift doors opened and from the hotel’s opulent ballroom she heard the tinkling sound of piano music and crystal, the low murmur of cultured voices. When she and her mother had arrived that afternoon, she’d seen the notice in the hotel’s lobby about the private party, a charity function hosted by some CEO, a glittering event for all of Italy’s richest and finest. Her mother had given Halina a sympathetic smile.

‘One day, such parties will be for you,’ she’d said, steering Halina towards the lift. ‘When you are wed. But as for tonight, a quiet night in while we wait for your father’s further instructions.’

Halina had never been to a proper party. Since she’d turned eighteen she’d attended a few dire state functions, endless banquets with fussy old dignitaries, but never a party. She’d never worn a cocktail dress, flirted or drunk champagne. And that was what she wanted to do tonight—to be normal just for a little while, a young woman having fun, enjoying life.

Of course, there were a few obstacles to be overcome. She’d managed the first—escaping her room. She’d pleaded a headache and hidden in her room until her mother had gone to have a bath before making her getaway.

The second obstacle was clothes. She didn’t have anything appropriate to wear. Fortunately the hotel had an upscale boutique, and after hurrying across the lobby Halina slipped into the elegant shop and picked the first suitable dress she saw—a knee-length sheath in black satin, simple, stark and very sexy. She found sheer stockings and high heels as well, and charged it all to her hotel room. She’d think about the repercussions later. Hopefully her mother would never look at the bill.

Holding the elegant bag with its embossed silver logo and thick cord handles, Halina snuck into the bathroom off the hotel’s foyer and changed in a stall, her hands shaking as she stuffed her plain shift dress into the bag from the boutique. Was she really doing this? Was she crazy?

She’d always enjoyed pranks and dares, and had forever got into good-natured trouble at school. But this...this was something else entirely. If her mother discovered her...if her father found out... Halina trembled to think of their disappointment and wrath. Her parents were both genial, but they’d never had to deal with such direct defiance from her or her sisters. Still, she had to try. She’d just have to live with the potential consequences, whatever they were.

The door to the bathroom opened and Halina held her breath, one hand on the latch of her stall, fingers near to trembling. She couldn’t be discovered now, not when her evening was just about to begin.

She heard the click of heels and from beneath the stall she saw the stiletto-shod feet of two women as they stood in front of the bank of sinks.

‘Did you see him?’ one of the women asked in Italian, in which Halina was fluent, as the other unzipped her make-up bag. Halina peered through the crack in the stall’s door and saw the women, sleek and elegant, their lips pursed and eyes narrowed as they gazed at their glossy reflections.

‘Falcone? Yes, he’s just arrived,’ the other woman answered with a toss of her head. ‘The man’s cold. Sexy as anything, but with a heart of ice. He’s finished with his latest mistress, you know. Gave her the usual diamond bracelet as a payoff and now he’s completely blanking her. She was crying her eyes out by the buffet.’

‘That French supermodel? She didn’t last more than a week.’

‘They never do.’ The other woman capped her lipstick in one decisive movement. ‘Would you fancy him?’

‘Everyone fancies him. But would I go for him?’ The woman tilted her head, considering. ‘He must be fabulous in bed, based on everything I’ve heard, but I don’t think I could warm up to someone that cold. One of his mistresses said that afterwards he always asks the woman to leave. And I mean, right afterwards. He’s booting them out only seconds later.’

‘There could be worse things.’

‘And he insists on no personal questions at all. No asking, no answering, nothing. He just doesn’t care.’

‘But as long as you know that...’

‘So it really would just be sex,’ the woman finished with a sigh. ‘And apparently that is amazing. That supermodel said she’s been ruined for life, and it’s only been a week.’

Halina’s head whirled at the kind of gossip she’d never heard before. Whoever Falcone was, he sounded both appalling—and intriguing. Fabulous sex? She’d never even been kissed.

‘Oh, well,’ the first woman said as she zipped her bag up. ‘Someone said he’s already looking for his next mistress tonight—he doesn’t like to have long in between paramours.’

‘Mere minutes, it seems,’ the other woman quipped. ‘Well, it won’t be me.’ She sounded glum rather than determined.

With a swish of skirts and a click of heels the two women left the bathroom. Halina exhaled a huge sigh of relief. She was alone again—and it was time to make her own exit. She stuffed the bag with her own shift dress behind the toilet, hoping it would stay hidden for the evening until she was ready to return to her suite.

She hadn’t quite figured out how she was going to return—would Abdul, her guard, still be asleep? And, if he wasn’t, could she make something up about having taken a walk, gone for some fresh air? She’d just have to and hope Abdul—and her mother—bought her lie. This was her one night to shine, or at least twinkle a little.

Halina stepped out of the stall, her eyes widening at the sight of her reflection. The dress hugged her curvy figure, leaving little to the imagination. She’d never, ever worn something so flagrantly sexy. She’d never worn a dress so beautiful, so bare. She felt practically naked. The sheer stocking made her legs look long and slim, as did the sparkly black heels. She had no jewellery or make-up, and she’d have to leave her hair down, tumbled about her shoulders. She wouldn’t look nearly as sophisticated as the women she’d just been spying on, but it would have to do.

One night. An hour, even. All she wanted to do was circulate among people, drink champagne, chat and maybe, maybe, flirt a little. And then she’d creep back to her bed. But for an hour—or two—she’d have fun. She’d live.

With her head held high, Halina walked out of the bathroom. She wasn’t used to the heels and she stumbled for the first few steps before she got the hang of it, swinging her hips, sashaying a little. It buoyed her confidence, as did the admiring look from the man behind the concierge desk. She didn’t even think he recognised her from when they’d checked in earlier in the day.

She followed the signs for the party and then paused as she saw a man on the door checking a guest list. She hadn’t thought of that. The prospect of being turned away before she’d even put a toe inside the opulent ballroom made everything inside her shrivel with dismay and disappointment. She couldn’t let that happen.

A couple glided past her, pausing in front of the man. Halina watched, nibbling her lip as they gave their names and he ticked them off his list. Another couple came by, and Halina watched as they followed the same procedure before going in.

Could she sweet talk her way in? She had a flair for the dramatic, but only in the safety of home or school. She’d never tried to charm a stranger, but she supposed she’d have to try.

Just then the man with the guest list caught her eye. He raised his eyebrows, managing to look both inquiring and a bit disdainful. ‘May I help you, miss?’

Halina opened her mouth, her heart beating hard. ‘Well...’ she began, trying desperately to think of some credible reason why her name wasn’t on the list but why she should still be allowed entrance to the party. ‘As a matter of fact...’

The man’s polite smile started to turn cool. ‘Are you a guest tonight, miss...?’

Halina stared at him wretchedly. It was going to be over before it had even begun. Then she heard a voice from behind her, low and dark and rich.

‘Yes, she is,’ the man said. ‘She’s with me.’

* * *

Rico Falcone was looking for a woman, and he knew from the tightening in his gut that he’d found her. A startled gasp escaped the woman in question, her rosy lips parting as she whirled around to face him, dark hair flying about her shoulders in luxuriant waves and curls.

He’d caught a glimpse of her as he’d walked down the hall and his attention had been snagged immediately. A lush, curvy figure poured into a tight silk dress. Long, tumbling dark hair that she’d left loose and wild, like an open invitation. When she turned he saw dark-brown eyes widen, the colour of mahogany extravagantly fringed with soot-dark lashes.

‘I...’ she began in a breathy voice.

‘Cara,’ Rico purred, sliding a hand around her waist and enjoying the feel of his hip bumping hers. ‘It was so good of you to wait for me.’

‘I... I...’ she stuttered again, looking shocked. Was she playing the innocent or was she just slow? She was obviously a gate crasher, so Rico would have expected her to play her part in this charade with a bit more alacrity. Never mind. He didn’t bed women for their brains.

‘Very good, Signor Falcone,’ the man said, and ticked his name off the list, officious little nobody that he was. Rico moved into the room, his arm still around the woman’s waist. She didn’t resist, he noticed.

‘Champagne, I think,’ he murmured, and snapped his fingers. A waiter hurried forward and Rico plucked two glasses from the proffered tray before handing one to his next mistress. He’d already decided on that, although he didn’t think she’d last too long. They never did. ‘So. You obviously don’t have an invitation to this party, but what is your name?’ It was just about the only information he required of her.

‘H—Lina,’ she said, her fingers clenched tight around the stem of her glass.

‘Lina?’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘You sounded as if you were going to say something else.’

She smiled sweetly, her eyes flashing dark fire, intriguing him. ‘Lina will do for you.’ So she had some spirit. He liked that, as long as she didn’t start getting notions, thinking she could control him. Make him care. A few of the women he’d bedded had made that error, and it had been very tedious indeed. He’d had to make short work of them, when he would have enjoyed their attentions for a little bit longer.

‘Lina,’ he repeated, letting the syllables slide around in his mouth. ‘And why were you so desperate to attend a party that you weren’t invited to?’

She cocked her head, her smile teasing, her eyes alight, although he sensed a surprising nervousness underneath. ‘What girl doesn’t want to have fun?’

‘Right answer,’ he murmured, and clinked her glass. Her smile deepened, revealing a delightful dimple in one cheek, and she took a sip of her champagne.

‘Oh, it’s delicious!’ she exclaimed, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

‘You almost sound as if you haven’t tasted champagne before.’

She gave him a haughty look. ‘Of course I have,’ she said, and then, as if to prove the point, she drained her glass.

‘Time for another, I think,’ Rico said, and summoned a waiter with one imperious gesture. This woman, this Lina, was fascinating. Gate-crasher, definitely. Gold-digger as well, he was quite sure. He didn’t mind, though; as long as women were upfront about what they wanted—as he was about what he didn’t—the arrangement was usually satisfactory. He felt the tingle through his body of attraction and, yes, desire as he looked at her. Tonight, he hoped, was going to be very satisfactory.

She was certainly lovely, and unabashedly sexual with her tight dress and tumbled hair. She hadn’t bothered with make-up or jewellery, as if she had no need for extra frippery for what was, after all, a very basic transaction. She’d come to this party looking for fun, and quite possibly a protector. Rico intended it to be him, at least for a short while.

He took another flute of champagne from the proffered tray and handed it to her. ‘Cin cin,’ he murmured, and she smiled.

‘Cin cin.’ They’d been speaking Italian, and hers was flawless, although Rico suspected it was not her first language. He wondered what was. There was a faintly exotic cast to her features, her slightly tilted eyes and golden skin. He had no intention of or interest in asking her such questions or learning more about her. He’d long ago found that women started expecting things, emotional things, when he asked them even the most basic of questions. So he didn’t. And he made sure they didn’t ask any of him, either.

‘Lina,’ he said. ‘This party bores me. Do you want to go upstairs?’

Surprise flashed through her eyes and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, causing another painful arrow of desire to knife through him. ‘Upstairs?’

‘Yes, upstairs. I have the penthouse suite.’ He let his mouth curve in a lazy smile. ‘I think it would be a great deal more comfortable up there, and the champagne is of a far better vintage.’

‘I don’t even know your name,’ she protested, her cheeks flushing. She looked uncertain but also excited. Perhaps he’d been a bit too abrupt. He was getting tired of the same old niceties.

‘Rico,’ he said, although he was quite sure she knew who he was. Everyone here did. ‘I’m the CEO of Falcone Enterprises.’

‘Falcone...’ Recognition flashed in her eyes.

‘You’ve heard of me, then.’

‘Yes, in the bathroom just now.’ Lina bit her lip, looking both guilty and amused. ‘Two women were talking about you.’

‘Were they?’ Rico arched an eyebrow. ‘Women’s gossip in a bathroom—I can imagine what they said, and I assure you, it’s all true.’

Her eyes rounded. ‘All of it?’

Rico didn’t even hesitate. ‘All of it,’ he drawled, and Lina let out a hiccupping laugh. She had, he noticed, already finished her second glass of champagne.

‘They said you were cold. A heart of ice...’

‘Pejorative, but essentially true.’

‘Oh?’ Lina tilted her head, her eyes sparkling, a small smile curving her lush mouth. ‘How are you so cold, then?’

Rico took a sip of champagne, considering. ‘I’m matter-of-fact,’ he stated, deciding as always that bold honesty was by far the best policy. ‘I don’t dress up what is essentially a physical and very satisfying transaction.’ He met her curious and impish gaze with a direct challenge in his own eyes, and he watched with pleasure as colour flared in her cheeks and her lips parted soundlessly.

‘Do you mean...?’ she began, and Rico cut her off.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do mean.’

She shook her head slowly, her pupils dilated, her cheeks still wonderfully pink. ‘They said something else in the bathroom.’

‘Did they?’ Although he affected a bored drawl he realised he was interested. He wanted to know what Lina had heard, what preconceptions she might have of him.

‘They said...they said...’ She licked her lips, making his libido take a little leap. ‘They said you were fabulous at sex.’ She let out a little laugh, seeming almost incredulous that she’d admitted such a thing. Rico’s mouth curved into a wicked smile.

‘Also true.’

She laughed again, shaking her head, seeming embarrassed, almost shy. Was it an act, a rather obvious and unneeded attempt to snag his interest? A woman didn’t pour herself into a sexy dress and try to gate-crash the party of the year without having some brash confidence and bold hopes.

‘So?’ Rico demanded in a low, sensual voice. He was tired of chitchat, of waiting. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’

‘Upstairs...’

‘To my suite. A bottle of champagne is waiting.’ It always was.

‘I... I don’t...’

Annoyance flickered through him. He didn’t have time for this. Rico stretched out one hand and slid his fingers through hers, enjoying the shower of sparks that fired through him at that slight touch. He’d made the right choice, he was sure of it. ‘Well?’ he murmured. ‘Are you coming...or not?’