Italian Prince, Wedlocked Wife

“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.

But the lock was frozen!

Panicking, she glanced over her shoulder.

Prince Maximo was striding toward her like a bull, his dark eyes cold and furious. Desperate, she turned it harder.

The key broke off in her hand.

She had no car. No escape.

With a gasp, she turned and stumbled through the snow, crossing the street toward the deserted city park. On the other side of the vast, empty darkness she could see lights and the twinkle of traffic. But she’d barely reached the edge of the park before he caught up with her.

He knocked her into the soft powder, his large, muscled body pressing her into the snow. Grabbing her wrists, he turned her over beneath him. She struggled, but he used his weight against her.

She looked up at his face, so close to hers. With his body so hard and warm against her own, she could barely feel the cold snow beneath her.

“Basta! I told you to stop!” He tightened his hands, shackling her wrists. “You must learn to obey.”

The trees were dark over his head, their snowy branches waving like claws against the gray sky. Scattered moonlight sifted through the clouds, leaving his dark hair in a halo of light.

“I’ll never obey you,” she cried. “Never!”

“We’ll see.” His glance touched her lips, and she suddenly knew he was going to kiss her. In the dark winter wonderland of the park, they were utterly alone. Surrounded by snow and cold, she felt fire in her veins at his touch, and she was helpless to move, helpless to fight.

But she had to fight. Without a mother to protect her, her baby would be vulnerable and alone, tossed into foster care as Lucy herself once had been. She couldn’t give in.

She would fight to protect Chloe to her last breath…

“Let me go,” she whispered. “Please. If you have any decency at all—if you’ve ever loved anyone and lost them—I’m begging you. Let me go.”

Her quiet voice reverberated against the snow, muffled in the thick silence of the night.

He stared down at her with sudden pain in his eyes.

Abruptly he released her wrists and rose to his feet.

“As you wish, cara mia,” he said, sounding almost bored. “Stay here if you wish. I am returning to my hotel.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you, she thought fervently. She scrambled to her feet, turning on her heel, ready to run.

“After all,” he mused behind her, “I want to make sure your baby is sleeping comfortably. And she hasn’t lost that little purple hippo she carries everywhere.”

Her heart stopped in her chest.

Wide-eyed with fear, she whirled back to face him. “What?”

He looked at her with cool disdain. “Oh, did I not tell you? My men picked up your daughter an hour ago.”

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU aren’t going to get away with this,” Lucy ground out for the tenth time as he drove them into downtown Chicago.

Unmoved, Maximo parked his sleek black Mercedes beneath the grand marquee of the Drake Hotel. “You have no idea what I can get away with.”

Furious, she ripped off her blue cashier’s smock, balling it up in her hands and tossing it to the floor. “I don’t know what the laws are like in Italy, but in Chicago, you can’t just kidnap someone—”

“There are laws against kidnapping in Italy, as well.” He abruptly stopped the car. “They do not apply in this case. I did not kidnap your daughter.”

“What do you call it then?”

“I knew you would accept my offer. I simply expedited our departure.”

Leaving the engine idling, he undid his seat belt and stepped out of the black SUV. Her eyes widened as she saw him carelessly hand a hundred-dollar bill to the waiting valet.

“Thank you, your highness,” the young man breathed, and hurried to open the passenger-side door for Lucy. She nearly tripped over her own feet running after Maximo. With his long stride, he was already to the main door.

“Welcome back, your highness.” The brawny doorman touched his cap with deep respect. “Happy New Year to you, sir.”

“Grazie,” Maximo replied with a brief smile. “To you, as well.”

Just inside the revolving door, Lucy caught up with him on the wide flight of stairs leading up to the lobby. She grabbed his arm. “You have them all fooled, don’t you?” she snapped. “Some prince. They think you’re respectable—honorable—but I know the truth. You’re nothing but a…”

He looked at her hand, then back up. His blue eyes were icier than Lake Michigan in winter. “I’m what?”

Fury pounded through her, making her reckless. “A thief. A blackmailer. A kidnapper of children—”

He grabbed her shoulders. She felt the strength of his touch. He looked down, towering over her. His handsome face was as cold and hard as ever; there was something new beneath his eyes—something ferocious and angry, held back by the sheerest force of will.

Looking up into his face, she was suddenly afraid.

His voice was low. “Be careful how you provoke me.”

She swallowed, remembering his earlier promise to punish her like a woman deserved. “I’m not scared of you,” she lied. “And if you think taking me to your hotel room—forcing me into bed—will hurt Alexander, you’re dead wrong.”

He abruptly released her.

“I’ve never forced any woman into my bed,” he said coolly. His eyes traced her face, then up and down the length of her body. “If I ever decide I want you, cara, you’ll come to me willingly.”

The colossal arrogance of the man! A hot flush suffused her cheeks. “How dare you—”

“Fortunately you are not my type,” he said. “You are far too plain, too badly dressed, too young—”

“Oh,” she gasped, humiliated to the core.

“You are not a woman to me,” he said coldly. “You are a weapon.”

A weapon? She sucked in her breath. “What do you intend to do to Alex?”

“Why do you care? Unless you’re still in love with him.”

She shook her head. “Of course not! But he’s my baby’s father!”

“Don’t worry.” His lip curled into a sneer. “He will merely be forced to admit that he has a daughter. Surely you have no objection to that?”

Alex had been keeping Chloe a secret? “No,” she muttered. “I’ve no objection.”

“And he will lose his bid for a company. Someone else—someone you don’t know—will also lose.”

“How many enemies do you have, anyway?” Lucy demanded, then shook her head. “Hundreds. Thousands. Everyone who’s ever met you, I imagine! I don’t care. Just take me to my daughter. If you’ve hurt or frightened her, I swear I’ll—”

“I would never hurt a child, signorina. Just as I would never hurt a woman.” His lip curled as he added under his breath, “Although you tempt me.”

She followed him up the steps to the elegant 1920s-style lobby. The soaring ceiling sparkled with enormous chandeliers. Beneath them, wealthy revelers crowded together, some wearing diamonds and fur coats, celebrating the advent of the new year with a half-drunken chorus of “Auld Lang Syne.”

Maximo led her past the well-heeled guests to the golden elevators behind the lobby. When they were alone behind the closed doors, he hit the button for the tenth floor.

Lucy repeated in a low voice, “I don’t even know you. So I don’t understand why you’ve done this. Kidnapped my daughter. Gotten me fired. Turned my life upside down—”

He turned to face her. “Don’t you want to be rich, Lucia?” he demanded. “To buy clothes, cars, jewelry? Don’t you wish to spend time with your daughter and buy her everything her heart desires?”

She stared at him, heart pounding in her chest. “Are you crazy? Of course I do! But strangers don’t just fall out of the sky and offer money. I’m trying to figure out your angle!”

“No angle. I’m offering a lifetime of wealth and luxury for you and your daughter. And the chance to repay the man who abandoned you both.”

“But there’s a catch,” she said.

“What makes you so sure?”

“There’s always a catch.”

“Perhaps.” He looked at her. “Does it matter?”

The elevator doors opened, and he strode out. Feeling as if she were Alice who’d just fallen through the looking glass, Lucy followed him down the maroon carpet of the hallway. The wainscoted walls were yellow-gold, illuminated by glistening chandeliers at every corner. He stopped at a door.

Mrs. Plotzky opened to his knock. Her hair was in curlers and she was wearing a luxurious white robe and cushy hotel slippers. The television was blaring softly behind her in the elegant living room. She beamed at sight of Lucy.

“Oh my dear! Such a wonderful day! I’m so happy for you. When Prince Maximo’s bodyguards explained he was taking you both to Italy, I—”

“Where’s Chloe?” Lucy bit out, angry that her babysitter had been so gullible.

Taken aback, the elderly woman pointed to a door inside the suite. Mrs. Plotzky sat back down on the gold sofa with her knitting while Lucy went to the adjacent door.

She stood in the doorway of the darkened bedroom, listening to her daughter’s deep, even breathing. When Lucy’s eyes had adjusted, she saw a small lump in the center of the enormous bed surrounded by pillows. Her baby. The light from the doorway scattered across Chloe’s plump cheeks. The baby was clutching her tattered purple hippo to her chest.

Lucy crept closer. She stroked Chloe’s hair, tenderly tucking the blankets beneath her chubby legs. The linens made her pause. They were soft against Lucy’s fingers. Luxurious and white, not stained and threadbare from a thousand washings at the quarter Laundromat.

Slowly she looked around the palatial bedroom. From the windows overlooking Lake Michigan, to the plush, pristine carpet, the room had every luxury and comfort.

Not like their tiny apartment, where the windows rattled every time the El train went by. Where Chloe’s crib was crammed against Lucy’s bed, which was jammed up against the kitchen counter. Where it was cold all winter, no matter how high Lucy turned up the thermostat. Where spiders and mice kept turning up, no matter how hard or often Lucy cleaned in the middle of the night.

Chloe turned over in her sleep, stretching in the luxurious bed with a contented sigh. Lucy’s heart went to her throat.

Her baby deserved a life like this.

Don’t you want to be rich? she heard Maximo’s voice say. Don’t you wish to spend time with your daughter and buy her everything her heart desires?

Stroking Chloe’s soft downy hair, Lucy saw the worn-out elbows of her baby’s pajamas, and her throat started to hurt.

Alex had told her he loved her. He’d proposed marriage. He’d begged Lucy to have his baby. He’d refused to use a condom, laughing at her fears, seducing her, reassuring her. Older than her, with a high-status job, he’d promised to give them both security and comfort and love—forever.

Against her better judgment, she’d let herself love him. Let herself believe.

Then she’d come home on Christmas Eve last year. Heavily pregnant, weighed down with grocery bags of fresh cranberries and canned pumpkin, she’d been singing “Deck the Halls” when she pushed open the door with her hip. She’d found her apartment empty and dark. All his clothes were gone. His toothbrush. His briefcase. His computer. Even the three-carat engagement ring she’d left lovingly in the velvet box on her dresser, because it no longer fit her pregnancy-bloated finger.

Everything. Gone.

A year later, and Lucy still couldn’t hear “Deck the Halls” on the radio without feeling sick.

He’d left her, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that he’d left his own child to starve. He’d even tried to deny Chloe was his.

Lucy would never forgive him for that.

Just as she would never forgive herself for trusting his easy charm. She could still hear his whisper sometimes at night. “I love ya, Luce. I’ll always take care of you.”

Liar, she thought, then looked down at her daughter. Alex had lost more than he would ever know.

But so had Chloe. She had no father.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. If she could just see Alex, she could break through his selfish stupor and he would realize what he’d done. He would realize that he loved his daughter. He would act like a decent father, and her daughter would be safe and warm, with two parents to protect her.

Lucy could still give her precious baby the life she deserved.

Whatever it took.

Whatever the catch.

To give her baby a good life, Lucy would do anything—work herself to exhaustion. Sell her body. Even risk her soul.

In sudden decision, Lucy softly kissed Chloe good-night. She spoke briefly with Mrs. Plotzky before leaving the elderly babysitter knitting in front of her game show.

Every step Lucy took was deliberate. Determined.

She found Maximo in the gold-and-cream hallway, leaning against the wall.

“Well?” he asked quietly. “What is your decision?”

She raised her chin. “My daughter will never worry about money again? She’ll have food and a warm house and be happy and safe?”

“Correct.”

“And I will be able to speak with Alex in person?”

His blue eyes glittered. “Oh, yes.”

“I accept your offer.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“VA BENE.” Maximo looked down at her with a strange light in his eyes. “Come with me.”

He took her hand, and she felt the same electricity, the same high-voltage shock. He pulled her back down the hallway and into the elevator. He was Heathcliff carrying her across the moors. He was Mr. Rochester demanding what he had no right to possess…

He was Prince Maximo d’Aquilla, taking her to his hotel room.

He stood behind her in the elevator, his hands possessively on her shoulders. Against her will, she closed her eyes. The weight of his hands felt like gold against her skin. Satiny-smooth, gleaming, heavy—forbidden.

Except Maximo wasn’t Heathcliff. Heathcliff had wanted Cathy so much that he’d been willing to kill for her, die for her. He’d been driven half-mad when he’d lost her.

The Italian prince standing behind her now, so close that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, didn’t even see her as a woman.

You’re not my type. You’re too plain. Too badly dressed. Too young.

That’s wonderful, she told herself fiercely. She was done with men. Done with love. All she cared about now was Chloe, and giving her a good life at any cost.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and Maximo led her to the end of a hall. She heard laughter, the chiming of crystal glasses, voices speaking in English and Italian over the sounds of violins. He pushed open the door to his suite.

Lucy stopped, her mouth agape.

In the far corner, a string quartet performed Vivaldi’s “Winter.” She recognized two Hollywood celebrities, a senator. Money and power poured from the suite like music.

She’d expected a hotel suite, but…

“This is a palace!”

“I don’t have any palaces in this particular country.” Looking utterly at ease, Maximo took off his coat and tossed it on the upholstered settee beneath the mirrored foyer. “This is just the presidential suite.”

Just the presidential suite. One night here would probably cost a year of her rent. “You’re having a New Year’s Eve party?”

He glanced at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, sensual. “I will soon celebrate far more than that. Stay here.”

Glamorous people were turning to stare. Two women in particular, a blonde and a brunette, whispered to each other as they looked Lucy up and down. She licked her lips nervously. “Perhaps I should wait for you outside—”

“You will wait here.” His voice rang with authority, demanding immediate obedience. “If anyone speaks to you, you will not explain your presence.”

“No problem,” she muttered. How could she explain it, when even she didn’t understand?

She watched him make his way toward the bar across the suite, frequently stopped by his guests. Every woman in the suite, young and old, married and single, seemed determined to get his attention.

Except for the two gorgeous, elegant women who’d seen her arrive with Maximo. They sashayed toward Lucy like vultures.

The pretty blonde in a tight red dress looked at her scornfully, and Lucy was suddenly aware of her scuffed tennis shoes, her messy ponytail, her old clothes. The blonde’s lips twisted. “Nice outfit.”

Lucy flushed. She knew her sweatshirt was not fashionable, but it had once been her mother’s. Working the night shift, that made her feel watched over; plus, the kitten on its front always made Chloe laugh.

“I’ve heard of slumming,” the blonde drawled, “but this is ridiculous, isn’t it, Esmé?”

“Now, Arabella. You should be more kind.” The chic brunette gave Lucy a patronizing stare. “She’s probably here to clean the bathrooms.”

Lucy froze, reminded of the way she’d been teased as a child. Her mom had moved them around so much, Lucy had always been the new kid in school. With her thick glasses and secondhand clothes, she’d been an easy target. And after her mother died, it had been worse. She’d spent countless hours in the school library with books her only real friends.…

“Esmé. Arabella.” Maximo suddenly appeared at Lucy’s shoulder. He leaned forward to kiss the cheeks of the brunette, then the blonde. At his attention, the women preened and tossed their hair, like flowers reaching for the sun.

He drew back, putting his hand on Lucy’s arm. “I see you’ve met Lucia.”

Esmé tossed Lucy a cold glare, then pretended to give a little laugh. “Oh. Is she your friend? I thought she was the maid. How very eccentric of you, Maximo. Why go out for a common drive-through hamburger when you could enjoy foie gras in the comfort of your suite?”

She obviously wasn’t talking about food.

For Lucy, it was the last straw in a stressful night.

“Foie gras is outlawed in Chicago, Esmé,” Lucy replied sweetly. “I can’t imagine why anyone would find mashed duck liver appealing, anyway.” She looked the brunette over from her supershort minidress to her platform heels, “It’s so greasy and nasty.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why, you little—”

“Excuse us,” Maximo said, hiding a smile as he pressed Lucy away.

“It’s almost midnight, Maximo,” Esmé called after them as they reached the bedroom doorway. “Don’t forget our New Year’s kiss!”

“No!” the blonde cried. “He’s going to kiss me!”

Maximo closed the door solidly behind them, and just like that, all the noise of the party fell away. They were alone in the bedroom.

Lucy rubbed her wrist.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, although she really wasn’t.

“Sorry? For what?”

“For being rude to your mistress.”

He stared at her, then snorted. “Do you mean Lady Arabella? Or the Countess of Bedingford?”

Lady? Countess? Apparently royal titles were as common in Maximo’s world as Mr. or Mrs. “Take your pick.”

He shrugged. “I hardly think a meaningless fling qualifies any woman to claim the title of mistress.”

“Meaning you’ve slept with both of them?” Her shocked voice ended with a squeak.

His sensual mouth curved into a smile. “There have been many women in my life. But as for details—a gentleman can hardly be expected to kiss and tell.”

“Some gentleman,” she huffed. “Can’t you tell that they’re in love with you?”

“I doubt that very much.”

“They were ready to scratch my eyes out just for being with you!”

“You exaggerate. And in any case—” his blue eyes caressed hers “—if any woman chooses to love me, she has only herself to blame. I am always very clear. I am not a man to settle down or give my heart to just one woman. I am faithful to only three things.”

“Those are?” she spat out, folding her arms.

“Justice for my family. My own freedom.” He held out a crystal flute of champagne. “And the success of my company.”

She stared at the champagne he was holding out to her. As a college student, she’d been too focused on her studies to bother with alcohol; as a single mother, she hadn’t had the money or inclination. “Look, I know it’s New Year’s and everything, but I’m just not in the mood. If you want to celebrate, why don’t you ask one of the princesses outside?”

His dark eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Surely you’re not jealous?”

She looked away. “I just feel sorry for them, that’s all.”

“Esmé and Arabella have influence in certain circles, and though I’ve lost personal interest I see no reason to cut off ties with them. I trade in luxury. And that is what I celebrate. The takeover of a small leather-goods company for my conglomerate. I have desired this company for many years,” he said softly. “And it will be mine within the hour. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. Ferrazzi.”

He watched her from beneath heavily-lidded eyes.

Ferrazzi. She’d admired their three-thousand-dollar handbags, even sold a few of them to wealthy customers. They were lovely bags, impossibly stylish, with leather as soft as cashmere and hardy as steel.

But worth that price? The bags weren’t big enough to live in, nor did they magically mop her floor, cook her dinner or wash her clothes. Three thousand dollars for a handbag? That was insane!

But Maximo seemed to be waiting for a response, and it seemed rude to criticize the company he would soon own. She cleared her throat, struggling to be polite. “Ferrazzi. Yes.”

His large hand tightened around his delicate champagne flute. “What do you know about it?”

“Um.” She bit her lip—literally—then finally said with a sigh, “I once worked in the accessories department at Neiman Marcus. Of course I know Ferrazzi handbags. That’s like asking me if I’ve ever heard of Chanel or Prada. You’re buying the company?”

“Sì.”

“But it must cost millions!”

He gave her a cold smile. “Hundreds of millions.”

She gaped at him, then snapped her mouth closed, muttering, “You obviously have more money than sense.”

“And you obviously have greater regard for truth than tact. Here.” At a discreet knock on the door, he pushed the flute into her hand. Swiftly downing his own champagne, Maximo answered the door. A slender man in a suit handed him a folder.

“What is it?” she asked, taking a tentative sip of champagne. Not bad, she thought in surprise. It was a bit sweet and fizzy like soda.

Closing the door behind him, Maximo opened the folder and glanced over the papers. He handed her the folder. “This if for you to sign.”

Setting the champagne flute down on a glass table, she opened it with a puzzled frown. “What is it?”