Holiday Royale

“Would you like that?” he whispered, his smooth, low voice playing a lovely tune all along her nerve endings.

She couldn’t stifle the soft, eager sound that came from her throat. “Oh, that would be fabulous. Yes.”

“Are you sure? The paparazzi are watching. A kiss would definitely make the tabloids.”

She couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Oh, come on.” She opened her eyes a little and saw that he was smiling down at her, a tender sort of smile that made her tummy more fluttery than ever. “It’s too late to back out now.”

“Luce, you are so innocent—and yet so delightfully bold.”

“Bold. Good. I like that a lot. As a matter of fact, I...”

There was more she’d meant to say. But at that moment, the ability to form words deserted her.

His warm, soft, wonderful mouth settled, gentle as a breath, on hers.

Chapter Three

Kissing Luce.

And not on the cheek. Not a swift brush across the mouth in passing. Not on the forehead or the tip of her cute nose.

Kissing Luce in the real way.

Damien hadn’t actually planned to do that.

But her sweet pink lips were tipped up to him and her bright brown eyes were halfway shut and she managed to look so very inviting in her adorable clean-scrubbed, cheerfully angelic sort of way.

Plus there had been the joy of the day with her—and really, there was no other word for it. Joy. Lucy Cordell was a joy. The world through her eyes was a magical place. A good and generous place, a place of endless wonder and simple, perfect pleasures. To see the world with her, through her eyes, was a fine and satisfying experience indeed.

But he’d already known that. Every time he saw her, it was like that. The world was fresh and new again and he would do anything to hear her laugh, to watch her smile.

However, the kiss?

No. The kiss had not been in his clever plan to enjoy the weekend with her, to offer her his company and a large helping of Montedoran tradition and then send her back to New York as innocent as ever.

Kisses, real kisses, didn’t fit in the plan.

But in the end, how could he resist?

His mouth touched hers and she let out the tiniest, most tender of sighs. Her sweetness flowed into him.

And it was...

More.

Much more than he had expected. Far beyond the boundaries of what he’d intended.

It was a light kiss, a gentle kiss. His mouth against hers, but chastely. Not in any way a soul kiss.

And yet, still, a revelation.

He breathed in the scent of cherries and he saw, all at once, what he had been able to keep from himself before. He saw that she was sweet and innocent, yes.

But she was not a child.

And now that he’d done it, now that he’d felt her lips against his, breathed in her breath, listened to her tiny sigh, he wasn’t going to be able to unring that bell. The spilled milk would not flow back into the bottle. The cat was out and was prowling around now, thoroughly unwilling to go back in the bag.

Henceforth and forever, when he looked at Lucy, he would see a grown woman. A grown woman he could so easily desire.

The temptation tugged at him to reach out and gather her closer, to deepen the kiss, to explore this new Lucy, the one he hadn’t let himself see before. And why not? He’d never been a man who put much store in resisting temptation. What was the point? Better to give in. Life was too short and pleasure too...pleasurable.

But somehow and for some reason he didn’t even understand, he kept his hands to himself. He lifted his head and she opened her eyes and he felt absurdly, ridiculously proud of himself.

“Oh, Dami,” she whispered happily, searching his face.

He touched her neat little chin again, because he could. Her skin was poreless, creamy, fresh. “It was only a kiss,” he shamelessly lied.

She corrected him with a glowing smile, “An absolutely perfect kiss.”

He offered his arm. She took it. Together they turned for the car that waited to take them back to the palace.

* * *

Thanksgiving dinner at the Prince’s Palace was a family affair. A very large family affair. Large enough to be held in the ornate formal dining room of the State Apartments. It was to be dressy but not formal.

Lucy wore a plum-colored lace creation of her own with little satin straps over the shoulders and a skirt that came to just above her knees. Her deep purple satin pumps had big satin bows at the heels. The dress showed enough skin that she didn’t look too innocent, but the cut was more youthful than clingy and that made it nice for a family affair.

At first they all gathered in the Blue Room next to the dining room. Drinks were served. She didn’t spot Dami right away, but she did see Noah and Alice on the far side of the room talking to another couple Lucy didn’t recognize. Alice wore a gorgeous copper-colored dress and held Noah’s arm and he smiled down at her with such a look of love and contentment Lucy found herself grinning in satisfaction at the sight.

But then she got worried that Noah might see her and wave at her to join them. She did love her big brother, but the last thing she needed was him hovering over her. He could be like some fussy old mother hen with her.

Objectively, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to look after her. They’d lost both their parents way too soon and he had a deep-rooted fear that something awful would happen to her. She’d been ill so much growing up that his fear only intensified. Any number of times, Noah had found just the right specialist to save her at the last minute when she was at death’s door. She loved him, she did. He was the best big brother in the world. And he kept promising he understood that she was ready to run her own life now. Sometimes she believed him. And sometimes she wondered if he was ever going to get off her case.

She circled away to another side of the room, putting a large gold-veined Ionic column between her and Noah. Perfect. Now she was completely out of his line of sight.

“Your dress is adorable and your shoes are very naughty.” The deep, smooth voice came from directly behind her.

She turned. “Dami. There you are.” He wore a beautiful dark suit and he was hands down the best-looking man in the room, which was really saying something, since all the Bravo-Calabretti princes were totally sigh-worthy, including Dami’s father, Evan, the prince consort.

He handed her a crystal flute. “Champagne?”

She took it. They raised their glasses and she took a fizzy sip. “Yum.”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

She watched his mouth move and a little shiver slid through her. Her lips kind of tingled. It might have been a few leftover bubbles from the champagne—or it might have been that she couldn’t help remembering the kiss that afternoon.

How could a simple soft press of his mouth to hers be so very exciting? She might not be all that experienced, but everyone knew that an intimate, sexy kiss was wet and usually involved tongues. The kiss by the Promenade had been nothing like that.

And yet, somehow, everything like that.

She had to keep reminding herself not to get her hopes up, that Damien’s kindness and generosity to her during this special weekend meant he cherished her friendship—and nothing more.

“Come.” He took her bare arm, causing havoc beneath her skin, a sensation equally exquisite and disorienting. “I must introduce you to my parents, who will soon be your brother’s in-laws.”

She ordered her feet in their high satin heels to go where he took her.

Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne of Montedoro and her prince consort, Evan, were every bit as gracious and friendly as Dami and Alice. Adrienne, who had to be at least in her mid-fifties but looked forty at the most, said she’d heard so much about Noah’s sister and was pleased to get to meet her at last. She knew of Lucy’s ambition to work in fashion and she complimented Lucy’s dress and got her to confess that, yes, it was her own design. Evan asked about when her first semester at the Fashion Institute of New York would begin.

“Right after New Year’s,” she said. Her feet hardly seemed to touch the inlaid marble floor as Dami led her into the dining room. “They’re amazing, your parents.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with you.”

“I can’t believe they knew so much about me—let alone remembered what they’d heard.”

“Luce. They’re not young, but they’re hardly to the age where the memory starts to fail.”

“Oh, stop. You know what I mean. Your mother rules this country and has nine children and their spouses and their children to keep up with. And yet she still manages to recall that her future son-in-law’s little sister, whom she’s never met, wants to be a fashion designer.”

“Yes, she’s a marvel,” he agreed matter-of-factly. “Everyone says so—and here we are.” He pulled back a gilded chair with a blue damask seat.

She sat down and he took the chair beside her. There were place cards, creamy white, lettered in flowing black script. “It’s so nice that we somehow ended up seated together.”

He took the chair beside her and leaned close. “I’m on excellent terms with the staff.”

She faked a disapproving glance. “You got someone to mess with the seating chart.”

“I requested a slight rearrangement.”

With a laugh, she leaned closer. “And I’m so glad you did.”

The woman seated on his other side spoke to him and he turned to answer her. Lucy took that moment to soak up the wonders around her. The dining room was as beautiful as the Blue Room. The walls here were scrolled and sculpted in plaster, blue and white, with more of those gold-veined Ionic pillars marching down one wall, interspersed with mirrors. The floor was gold-and-white inlaid marble in star and sun patterns, the coffered ceiling a wonder in gold and brown, turquoise and cream. Giant turquoise, gold and crystal Empire-style chandeliers cast a magical light over everything.

The long dining table with its endless snowy cloth, gold candlesticks and gold-rimmed monogrammed china seated thirty. Every seat was occupied.

Including the one five seats down across the table, where her brother, Noah, sat next to Alice.

Of course, Noah was looking right at Lucy. And frowning. When he saw that she’d noticed him, he slid a glance at Dami and then back to her, making it all too clear he didn’t like her choice of a dinner companion.

Which was totally crappy and hypocritical of him. After all, he and Dami had been friends first, bonding a little more than two years ago now over their mutual interest in spectacular cars and fabulous women. Noah seemed to have some idea that Dami wasn’t really her friend, that Dami was only out to make her another notch on his bedpost.

Which just made her want to laugh. Because hadn’t she tried to convince Dami to do just what Noah was so afraid he would do? And hadn’t Dami been a complete sweetheart about it, letting her down so easy she was still floating several inches above the inlaid floor?

The older gentleman on Lucy’s other side spoke to her. “What a positively charming frock.”

She put Noah firmly from her mind and turned to the old guy with a friendly smile and a soft, “Thank you.”

He had thick white hair, wore a smoking jacket and sported a Colonel Sanders goatee. “Count Dietrich VonDelft,” he said. “Her Highness Adrienne is my second cousin once removed.”

She gave the old fellow her name, explained her relationship to the Bravo-Calabretti family and told him how much she was enjoying her holiday weekend in Montedoro. He said she was very lovely, a breath of fresh air—at which point she started suspecting he might be putting a move on her.

On her other side, Dami chuckled. That gave her an excuse to turn to him. The gleam in his eyes told her he knew exactly what the count had been up to. She chatted with Dami about nothing in particular for a few minutes. And then the first course was served.

Through the meal, she tried not to look at her brother and not to get too involved in any conversations with “Richie,” as the count insisted she call him. He actually was kind of sweet, but he leaned too close and he looked at her as though he wouldn’t mind helping her out of her so-charming “frock.” It was kind of flattering, if also a bit creepy. She did want to learn about lovemaking, but not from a guy old enough to be her grandfather.

After the meal, they all returned to the Blue Room, where after-dinner drinks were served and Prince Evan gave a nice speech about how wonderful it was to have his family around him on Thanksgiving night. There was music, a pianist and a singer who performed Broadway standards and holiday tunes, but not very loud, so everyone could visit. Lucy met more Bravo-Calabrettis. She managed to steer clear of her big brother, which was great. But then there was Count Richie. He seemed to constantly pop up out of nowhere, grinning flirtatiously through his goatee, every time she turned around. She treated him politely every time and then slipped away at the first opportunity.

Around eleven-thirty the party began to break up. Princess Adrienne reminded them that the annual Thanksgiving Candlelight Mass would be held at midnight in the St. Catherine of Sienna Chapel in the palace courtyard.

Dami took her hand and wrapped it around his arm and they followed along with the others, outside and down the wide stone stairs to the chapel. It was a beautiful service, though Lucy hardly understood a word of it. She enjoyed the flowing beauty of the priests’ robes, the spicy smell of the incense, the glow of all the candles and the beautiful voices of the men and women in the choir.

When it was over, Dami led her back to the Blue Room, where more refreshments were served. They lingered for a while, visiting with his two youngest sisters, Genevra and Rory.

Finally, at about one-thirty, he walked her upstairs.

* * *

Damien stood with Lucy at the door to her room.

The hallway, narrower than the one outside his apartment, was lit by wall sconces turned down to a soft glow.

“I don’t want you to go,” Lucy said in that enchanting way she had of simply saying whatever popped into her mind.

He felt the same, reluctant to leave her, and that struck him as odd. He would see her in the morning after all. She still had her hand wrapped snugly around his arm. She let go—but then she caught his fingers. Her touch was cool and somehow wonderful. “Come in. Please. Just for a moment.”

He knew what waited on the other side of the door. A single room with a bed, a chair or two, an armoire and maybe a small desk. It seemed inappropriate for him to go in there with her, and he found his reluctance absurd. Just because there was a bed didn’t mean they had to use it.

He said, though he did know that he shouldn’t, “Just for a minute or two—why not?”

“Yes!” She pulled him in.

It was just as he’d pictured it. Her bags and packages from the Thanksgiving Bazaar were piled atop the armoire. The maid had been in and turned down the bed.

She stood on the rug in the center of the room, her hands behind her, looking very young. “I should have something to offer you....”

He gave her a sideways look and a half smile. “How about a chair?”

Both hands appeared from behind her and waved around a bit. “Take your choice.” He chose the one under the small window. She sat in the other, crossed her slim legs and smoothed her lacy skirt. “I had an amazing time tonight.”

“You always have an amazing time.”

She tipped her head from side to side as though reciting some rhyming verse in her head. “You’re right. I do. I can’t help it. Especially now, here in Montedoro, where I feel like I’m living in my own private fairy tale.”

“Complete with a lecherous old aristocrat in an ancient smoking jacket.”

She laughed, a happy little sound. He thought of V for some reason. Of the differences between Luce and V. V would have been brassed off to have some old man following her around trying to flirt with her. Not Lucy. Lucy had been patient with Richie. Patient and kind. “He was actually very sweet. But a little bit...relentless.”

“A little bit?”

“Okay, a lot. But I liked him, though, and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“I know you didn’t.” His own voice surprised him. Too low. Too...intimate.

She almost smiled, her soft lips pursing just the slightest bit, so the dimple in her left cheek started to happen but then didn’t quite. He stared at the white flesh of her throat and wondered what it would feel like to kiss her there, to scrape that softness lightly with his teeth.

And that was when he knew he needed to get out. Now. He stood.

A tender little “Oh!” escaped her and she jumped up, as well. “You’re going already?”

“I really should.” Something was the matter with him. He seemed unable to master his own voice. First too low, now too stiff.

“But I...” She hesitated.

“What?” Now he sounded ridiculously hopeful. What was this? He hardly knew himself—his voice not his own, his heart pounding away in the cage of his chest as though hoping somehow to break free. You’d think he was twelve again, surviving his first crush.

She settled back onto the heels of those naughty satin shoes. “You’re right. I have to let you go.” Regretful. Resigned. And then she smiled, her gamine face lighting up from within. “I mean, you’ve been amazing and there’s always tomorrow.”

His shoes were moving, carrying him with them. Suddenly he was standing an inch away from her. She gazed up at him and he saw there were gold and green striations caught in the velvet brown of her eyes. “Yes,” he heard himself say, “tomorrow...”

And then he was doing what he had no intention of doing, lifting a hand, brushing a finger down the side of that white throat, bending close to her, capturing that soft, slightly parted mouth.

So good. Her breath tasted of apples, fresh. Sweet. He touched her lower lip with his tongue, testing the warmth and the wonderful softness.

She let out a throaty little sound.

And then she lifted her slim arms and wrapped them around his neck. He followed suit, sliding his hands over the dusky, soft lace in the curve of her waist, gathering her in, deepening the kiss that was not supposed to happen.

Her body fit against him, slim and warm and soft. Her breasts pressed into his chest.

So good. Too good.

He felt what he wasn’t ever going to feel with her: heat. Tightness. He was starting to grow hard.

That did it. Arousal woke him from the trance that had somehow settled over him. Slowly, gently, with great care, he clasped her slender waist again, lifted his mouth from hers and pushed back from her just enough that she wouldn’t feel him growing thicker and harder against her belly.

She gazed up at him, eyes dreamy, still smiling. “Um. Good night,” she whispered.

“Night, Luce.” Miraculously, he had regained command of his own voice. He sounded so calm, completely relaxed, in full command of himself, though he was none of those things at that moment.

He let her go and turned for the door, and he didn’t stop moving until he was on the other side of it and it was firmly shut behind him.

* * *

Alone in his apartment, Damien poured himself a last brandy.

His cell phone vibrated. He took it out of his pocket and saw it was V. He didn’t answer. There was no point in talking to her. She would only yammer at him as usual, saying all the things he’d heard a thousand times before. It was an endless loop with V, a train on a circular track going round and round. He refused to get back on that train. How clear could he make it? He was off the train and staying off.

But he did check his voice mail: three messages. All from V. He deleted each one before she got out more than a few annoyed, impatient words.

And then he set the phone on a side table and drank his brandy and told himself the weekend with Lucy needed to stop. He couldn’t afford to spend tomorrow and the next day with her. He would have to back out of the rest of their time together.

Somehow.

It had been a giant mistake, his clever plan to turn her down without hurting her tender feelings. It had become a trap for him, a trap of his own making. It was the problem of the bell that couldn’t be unrung, the cat out of the bag, the milk spilled on the ground.

She had started it, started the change in the way he thought of her. She’d done it when she’d asked him to make love to her. She’d put that impossible idea into his head and before he knew it, he was starting to see her in a whole different light. And now he couldn’t stop thinking of doing exactly what she’d asked him to do.

Now all of the things he liked best about her—the easy charm, the pleasure she took in every smallest thing, the complete lack of drama, her authenticity and straightforwardness, her kindness to old Dietrich—all those things worked as a snare for him.

She enchanted him.

Thoroughly.

He hadn’t missed the cold glances Noah kept giving him during dinner—and afterward. Noah did not approve of Damien spending so much time with his sweet baby sister.

Damien got that. And now that he’d started to see Lucy as a potential lover, he didn’t much approve of it, either. It wasn’t a good idea. If Dami and Lucy did end up in bed together, well, what then? Would a sweet, naive girl like Luce really be ready to simply enjoy the experience and then move on?

No. He couldn’t see it. And that meant that he had no right to keep on with this.

Somehow, tomorrow he had to find a way to let her know that their long weekend together was over after just one day.

* * *

Something wasn’t right with Damien, Lucy kept thinking after he left her room.

He’d acted so strangely. Jumping to his feet out of nowhere, telling her he had to go—and then stepping right up close and kissing her, a beautiful, sexy, romantic kiss. And then racing off as though he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

Talk about mixed signals. Just when he started acting as if maybe he could see her in a man/woman way after all, he’d yanked open the door and left her standing there with her lips all tingly from his kiss and her yearning arms empty. Something had definitely spooked him.

And come on, wasn’t it obvious what?

Noah.

Had to be. Those dark looks Noah had been sending her? No doubt he’d been sending them to Dami, too. Those looks must have gotten to Dami.

It wasn’t right. And Lucy was not putting up with it. She needed to fix the problem. And the more she considered the situation, the more it seemed clear that she needed to fix it tonight.

So she changed into jeans, a slouchy sweater and her favorite Chuck Taylor high-tops, and off she went, along one corridor and then another, down a couple of flights of stairs and yet another hallway to a side entrance where a uniformed guard took her name and entered it into his handheld device. Then, with a brisk bow, he opened the door for her and out she went into the middle of the Montedoran night.

It wasn’t that far of a walk to Alice’s villa in the adjacent ward of Monagalla. And she was moving fast, wanting to get there and get the confrontation over with. It wasn’t fun having it out with Noah. He was a great guy, but he had that little problem of being so sure he knew it all—including what was good for Lucy—even when he didn’t. There could be shouting.

Too bad. She’d fought long and hard for her independence and her big brother could not take it back from her now.

She found Alice’s villa easily enough. Her high-tops made no noise on the cobbled street. Lucy ran up the stone steps and stood in the glow from the iron fixture above the door, ringing the bell.

Nobody answered at first. Probably because it was after two in the morning. But she knew they were in there. Where else would they be?

Finally, after five rings, the door was drawn back. Michelle Thierry, Alice’s assistant and housekeeper, stood on the other side clutching her plain blue robe at the neck, her pale hair flattened on one side, looking half asleep.