A Night Of Royal Consequences

It was no use dwelling on it. She was determined to make a go of the rest of her life, which meant that decisions had to be made. She wasn’t going to sit around in the hotel doing nothing for the rest of her stay. Nor was she going to monopolise Marco and risk bumping into the man with the devastating smile again. Luca was out of her league, the stuff of fairy tales. She had wracked her brains to try to find a film star or a celebrity who could eclipse him and had come up short. There was no one. It wasn’t just that Luca was better looking, or had presence to spare, but the fact that he was so down to earth and made her laugh. And thrill. She liked him so much it frightened her, because that wasn’t normal, surely? You couldn’t just meet a man in a bar and never stop thinking about him...imagining his arms around her, his lips pressed to hers...body pressed to hers... That was ridiculous! She was being ridiculous, Callie concluded, pulling away from the window to retreat into the airy room. She could fantasise about Luca all she liked—well, had done for most of the night, but she had enough sense to stay well away.

‘Room service...’

She turned and hurried across the room to answer the door. ‘Sorry I took so long. I slept in today.’

‘I can come back,’ the young maid offered.

‘No. Please,’ Callie exclaimed. ‘Your English is very good. Can I ask you something before you go?’

‘Of course. My name is Maria,’ the young woman supplied in answer to Callie’s enquiring look. ‘If I can help you, I will.’

Maria wasn’t much older than Callie. Her long dark hair was neatly drawn back, but her black eyes were mischievous, and she had the warmth of Italy about her that Callie was fast becoming used to. ‘If you wanted to work outside in the sunshine, Maria—we don’t get very much where I come from,’ Callie explained ruefully. ‘Where would you look for a job?’

‘Oh, that’s easy.’ Maria’s face brightened. ‘This is the start of the lemon-picking season when the demand for casual labour is at its highest. There’s a big estate belonging to the Prince just outside town. They’re always looking for temporary staff at this time of year.’

‘The Prince’s estate?’ Callie exclaimed. ‘That sounds grand.’

‘It’s very friendly,’ Maria assured her. ‘It must be for the same people to come back year after year.’

‘Do you think I could get a job there?’

‘Why not?’ Maria frowned. ‘But why would you want to work as a picker?’

Callie could see that it must seem odd for her to be staying at a five-star hotel, yet jumping at the chance to work in the fields. ‘I need a change,’ she admitted, ‘and I’d love to work in the open air.’

‘I can understand that,’ Maria agreed. ‘I’d go today if I were you, so you don’t miss the party.’

‘The party?’ Callie queried.

‘There’s always a party at the beginning of the season,’ Maria explained, ‘as well as at the end. Apart from exporting lemons around the world, they make the famous liquor Limoncello on the Prince’s estate, and his parties are always the best.’

‘Is the Prince very old?’

Maria snorted a laugh. ‘Old? He’s the hottest man around.’

Two of the best-looking men in one town seemed impossible, but as she wasn’t likely to bump into the Prince, and was determined to avoid Luca, her heart could slow down and take a rest. ‘I can’t thank you enough for this information,’ she told Maria.

‘If there’s anything else you need, anything at all, Signorina—’

‘Call me Callie. You never know when we’ll meet again,’ Callie added, thrilled at the prospect of having a real goal to aim for.

‘In the lemon groves, maybe,’ Maria suggested.

‘In the lemon groves,’ Callie agreed, feeling excited already at the thought of working in lemon groves that she’d only seen in a photograph before.

She was excited and couldn’t wait to embark on her new plan, Callie mused as she took her shower. She wouldn’t be Callie from the docks for much longer, she’d be Callie from the lemon groves, and that had a much better ring to it.

* * *

This was his favourite place in the world, Luca concluded as he swung a stack of crates onto the back of a truck. Hard, physical labour beneath a blazing sun, surrounded by people he loved, who couldn’t have cared less if he were a prince or a pauper. Max had been dealt with for now, and was cooling off after his drunken rampage in the local jail, Luca’s royal council had informed him. He should take this last chance to celebrate at the party tonight, his most trusted aide Michel had insisted. ‘I’ll come back right away, if you need me,’ he’d told Michel. Luca had never resented the shackles of royal duty. He felt humbled by them, and honoured that the late Prince had trusted him with the responsibility of caring for a country and its people. The only downside was picking a princess to sit at his side, when so far none of the candidates had appealed to him.

To lie at his side, to lie beneath him, to give him children.

He ground his jaw and thought about Callista. She could lie at his side and lie beneath him, though he doubted she’d remain calm or accepting for long. If he were any judge, she’d want to ride him as vigorously as he thought about riding her, with pleasurable thoroughness and for the longest possible time. Callista had more spirit in her little finger than all the available princesses put together possessed in their limp and unappealing bodies. But the fact remained: he had to choose a wife soon. His father’s elderly retainer, Michel, had point-blank refused to retire until Luca took a wife. ‘I promised your father I’d watch over you,’ Michel had said. ‘What this country needs is a young family to inject life and vitality into Fabrizio, to lead the country forward into the future.’

He’d sort it, Luca concluded. He always did. The buzz of interest surrounding him at his father’s funeral suggested suitable breeding stock wouldn’t be too hard to find. A very agreeable image of Callista chose that moment to flash into his mind. Callista naked. Giving as good as she got, verbally, as well as in every other way. She might be young and inexperienced, but her down-to-earth manner promised the type of robust pleasure that an insipid princess would be incapable of providing.

And how does this advance my hunt for a wife?

Loading the last crate of lemons, he groaned as he remembered Michel’s words: ‘Yours will be a bountiful reign with a harvest of children as abundant as the lemons on your estate,’ Michel had assured him. Right now it was Luca’s face that looked as if he’d sucked a lemon when he contemplated the current selection of brides.

Work over, he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and eased his shoulders, grimacing as he thought about the stack of neglected folders on his desk. Leafing through them had confirmed his worst fears. All the princesses were excellent contenders for the role of his wife, but not one of them excited him.

What would Callista be doing now? She’d better not be sitting at that bar. He’d drag her out, and—

Really? He grinned, imagining her reaction to that. There was nothing insipid about Callista. She wouldn’t fall into line, or be content to bask mindlessly in luxury while working dutifully on creating an heir and a spare. Even Michel would find Callista difficult to lure into the royal fold.

Grazie a Dio! The last thing he needed was a headstrong woman fighting him every step of the way!

But a bolt of pure lust crashed through him as he imagined her in his arms. Finding a suitable princess could wait a few days.

* * *

Callie stared up in wonder at the royal gates marking the boundary of the Prince’s estate. They were everything she’d expected and more. They were regal and imposing with gilt-tipped spears crowning their impressive height, while lions, teeth bared, grinned down at her. ‘Hello,’ she murmured, giving them a wink. The lions scowled back.

‘Very welcoming,’ she managed on a dry throat. Should she be using another entrance? Was there a back entrance? Well, it was too late now. She was here. And then she spotted a notice. It was only about twelve feet high. ‘Numbskull,’ she muttered. Turning in the direction indicated by the bright red arrow, she walked over to a disappointingly modern control box attached to the far side of the gate. Pressing the button, she jumped with surprise when a metallic voice barked, ‘Sollevare la testa, si prega.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Italian very well...’

‘Look up, please,’ the same metallic voice instructed.

She stared at the sky.

‘At the camera.’

Okay, numbskull squared, that small round lens just in front of me is a camera!

The metallic voice hadn’t shown any emotion, but Callie could imagine the person behind it rolling their eyes. Finally, she did as instructed.

‘The photograph is for security reasons,’ the metallic voice grated out. ‘If you don’t wish to enter the estate, please step back now.’

‘No—I do. I mean, yes. I’m here to apply for a job. I’m sorry if I should have used another entrance...’ Her mouth slammed shut as the massive gates swung open.

‘Report to the foreman in the first barn you come to.’

‘Yes, signor...um...signora?’ The sex of The Voice would remain a mystery for ever, Callie thought as she stepped into a very different world.

This was a world of control and order, Callie concluded, as well as extreme magnificence on every level. Awestruck, she stared down the length of an incredible avenue composed of a carpet of glistening, white marble beads. At the end of this lay a pink stone edifice, bleached almost white by the midday sun. Both elegant and enormous, the palazzo boasted turrets and towers that could have come straight from a book of fairy tales. Cinderella’s castle, she mused wryly. The driveway leading up to the palace was broad and long, with stately cypress trees lining the route like sentries. Butterflies darted amongst the colourful flowerbeds lining her way, and birds trilled a welcome as she walked along, but there was no sign of the barn The Voice had referred to.

‘Hey! Per di qua! This way!’

She turned at the sound of friendly voices to see more pickers following her into the palace grounds. They’d halted at what she could now see was the shrubbery-concealed entrance to a pathway.

Callie scolded herself as she hurried to join them. There was another sign, and it was a huge one, but she’d missed it completely, being too busy ogling her surroundings. The sign read, ‘Benvenuto ai nostro personale stagionale!’ Even she knew what that meant. ‘Welcome to our temporary staff!’

It was certainly a warmer greeting than the stained sheet of lined paper pinned up on the noticeboard outside the pub, which warned staff to use the back door not the front, on pain of immediate dismissal.

The pickers had waited for her and were all in high spirits. She blended right in with denim shorts and a loose cotton top, teamed with a pair of market-find trainers. She was ready and excited for whatever lay ahead. This was an adventure. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was something to tell the Browns.

It was good news to hear she could start right away and be paid in cash if she wanted. That suited Callie. She planned to check out of the posh hotel and move to a small bed and breakfast in town to extend her stay. She’d already called to confirm the B & B had rooms. She wanted to get to know the real Italy, and, with her father’s example behind her, she knew better than to fritter her money away. She’d tasted the high life, and was glad to have done so, but had come away feeling slightly let down. This was so much better, she concluded as she trooped out of the barn with the other pickers. There were no airs and graces here, and, more significantly, no need to wear those excruciatingly painful high-heeled shoes.

The Prince’s estate was like a small town. She hadn’t guessed how big it was from the road. There were dozens of gangs of pickers working throughout the spectacular lemon groves. This was heaven, Callie thought as she straightened up and paused for breath. Yes, the work was hard, but the sun was warm, the scent of lemons was intoxicating. She had thick gloves to protect her hands and a tool to pick the lemons that were out of reach. The camaraderie was incredible. Everyone wanted to help the newcomers. The party Maria had told her about at the hotel was definitely on tonight, and all the pickers were invited. What could possibly be better than this?

She soon returned to the rhythm of picking. With a lightweight bucket tied around her waist, dropping fruit into it as she went, she loaded the lemon gold into crates that were taken away on gleaming tractors. By the time the blazing sun had mellowed into the amber glow of early evening, she felt as if she’d been working there all her life.

She’d even made a new friend called Anita, a big, bonnie woman, as Ma Brown would have called her, with a ready smile as big as Texas. Anita came from the north of England each year to pick lemons, to feel the sun on her face, to prepare her for the long, cold winter, Anita said. ‘I’m on my own,’ she’d explained to Callie, ‘but when I come here, I have a ready-made family.’

That was when Callie told Anita about the Browns. ‘It’s people that make things special, isn’t it?’ she’d asked.

This wasn’t just a great way to extend her stay in Italy, Callie concluded as Anita offered to show her the way to the cookhouse, this was an entirely new slant on life, if she had the courage to seize it.

Seize it she would, Callie determined. Her limbs might be aching from all the unaccustomed exercise, but she felt exhilarated for the first time in years. This, this was freedom.

CHAPTER THREE

HER ADVENTURE HAD only just begun, Callie realised as excitement for the upcoming party built inside her. Anita had shown her to one of the many well-groomed courtyards surrounding the palace where the celebration was to be held. She couldn’t help glancing through the brilliantly lit windows of the palace, to see if she could spot the Prince. Of course, there was no one who looked remotely like a prince, and there was no special buzz in the crowd, so he probably wasn’t here. Anita and she accepted a small glass of iced Limoncello from a passing waiter and started to chat. They hadn’t been talking long before Callie felt compelled to turn around. She gasped. ‘Luca?’

‘Someone you know?’ Anita asked with surprise.

‘Sort of,’ Callie admitted. She’d just caught a glimpse of him, but now there was a crowd clustering round, so she could only see the top of his head. She wasn’t surprised by all the interest. It was his magnetism that had first gripped her. ‘He didn’t tell me he worked here,’ she told Anita.

‘He’s a regular—are you all right?’ Anita had been about to say something else about Luca, but was responding to the look on Callie’s face.

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ Callie insisted on a dry mouth. Which was an absolute lie. She had to put her glass down and cross her arms over her chest to hide her arousal as Luca looked at her. And he didn’t just glance her way. Their stares locked and held.

‘Uh-oh. He’s coming over,’ Anita warned. ‘I predict things are about to change for you,’ Anita commented sagely. She had to nudge Callie, who was as good as in a trance. ‘Better make myself scarce...’

‘No, Anita! Stay—’ Too late. Anita had already disappeared into the crowd.

Luca saluted Callie with a bottle of beer, and his slanting smile of recognition was infectious and made her smile too. Her heart raced out of control. It was so exciting to see him again. Too exciting. She should follow Anita. What was she thinking of, standing here, waiting for a man who looked as if he ate brass tacks for breakfast with a virgin on the side?

Quite simple, Callie concluded, lifting her chin. She didn’t run away from anything, and she wasn’t about to start now.

And he was quite a magnet. Luca looked better than ever in his banged-up work clothes. Swarthy-faced, with an unruly mop of thick black hair and an indecent amount of sharp black stubble, he was everything better avoided for those in search of a quiet life. But I’m here in search of adventure, Callie reminded herself with a secret inner grin. Tousled and rugged, with scratches on his powerful forearms and hard-muscled calves, he even looked sexy when he wiped smudges of dirt from his face with the back of his arm. The bonfire behind him was throwing off flames that provided the perfect showcase for a man who looked like a dark angel from hell come to wreak havoc on novice flirters.

‘Luca,’ she said pleasantly as he came over, acting as if her senses weren’t reeling.

‘Signorina Callista Smith,’ he countered with a slanting grin. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’

‘You know my name?’ He must have been talking to Marco the barman, Callie realised. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being discussed by the two men.

‘You can’t expect to be ignored, signorina.’

As Luca made a mock bow, she tried not to notice they’d become the centre of attention. She didn’t flatter herself that he’d picked her out for any particular reason. If he was a regular as Anita had suggested, she was fresh meat.

His top was tight and skimmed the waistband of his low-slung shorts. It was impossible not to notice the arrow of dark hair that swooped beneath his zipper, or indeed the quite preposterous bulge that lay beneath. To say he looked amazing was an understatement. Even when she tried to focus on something harmless, like his tanned feet in simple thonged sandals, she realised they were sexy too. Her interest travelled up his legs to powerful calves, and on again to where she definitely shouldn’t be looking. She had to stop this right now, and concentrate!

No! Not there!

She was about to meet a very challenging man for the second time, and she’d better be ready for it, Callie warned herself firmly. Fixing her gaze on Luca’s darkly amused face, she determined not to let her gaze wander, but then thought, why not stare? Luca had never been shy about staring at her, and interest wasn’t a one-way street. His bronzed and muscular torso, barely covered by the ripped and faded top, invited attention. He was an outstanding specimen. A statue should be raised in the town square for everyone to admire.

‘Nice to see you at the party,’ he said, smiling in that faint way he had that made her body burn. ‘I hope they’re serving nuts tonight.’

She gave him a look, half smile, half scolding. He’d stopped within touching distance. His heat enveloped her. And that voice. Dark chocolate tones strummed her senses until they were clamouring for the sort of pleasure she guessed Luca knew only too much about. He towered over her in a way that blocked out the light, which was enough to warn her to be careful. She didn’t stand in anyone’s shadow. ‘Are you here on your own?’ she asked, diplomatically stepping away.

‘I am,’ he confirmed.

His voice curled around her, making her skin tingle. ‘No one waiting for you back home?’ she enquired casually.

‘My dogs, my cats and the horses,’ he said.

‘I think you know what I mean,’ she insisted.

‘Do I?’ Luca stared at her in a way that made heat curl low in her belly. ‘Do you always put people you’ve only just met through the third degree?’

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