Rebecca Winters: One Summer at The Villa: The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal

“Don’t be too sure,” he said, his voice a sensual growl that scraped over her nerve endings and left her shivering.

“I know my own mind, and I know what I don’t want. I don’t want you.”

Cristiano reached for her hand, slipped his fingers between hers and brought them to his mouth. She tried to pull away, but he held her firm. “And do you know your body , Antonella? Often, our mind and our body are at war. Did you not know that?”

Before she could formulate an answer from her scattered thoughts, he touched the tip of his tongue to the center of her palm.

Antonella sucked in a breath as rivers of sensation spilled down her spine, through her limbs, into her feminine core. Why? Why ? Men had been trying to get her into bed for as long as she could remember and she’d yet to feel anything remotely as exciting as what she felt when Cristiano touched her.

Too bad he was the wrong man. She needed to pull her hand away forcefully, needed to put distance between them and never allow herself to be alone with him again.

But she couldn’t. She was trapped, as trapped as if he’d bound her to him with iron shackles.

“Stop,” she forced out, her voice little more than a tortured whisper.

“Are you quite certain?” he murmured. “Your body says otherwise.”

“You don’t know that.”

“ Si, I do. You are flushed…”

“It’s hot.”

Cristiano laughed low in his throat, kissed her fingers and settled her hand on his shoulder before he tugged her closer. His broad fingers splayed over her hip. “And it’s about to get hotter. Why deny this attraction, hmm? We will be good together.”

“I—”

A shadow passed over them and then a voice said, “I beg your pardon.”

Antonella jerked out of Cristiano’s grip just in time to see Raúl turn around and slip back inside. Oh, God! Furious tears pressed against the back of her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She would have to go after him, would have to try and repair the damage. She’d just offered to marry him, for God’s sake. What would he think of her now?

She could repair the damage. Surely she could. She had to. For Monteverde’s future.

But not before she turned and gave the arrogant man who’d caused her so much trouble in such a short time a piece of her mind.

“You did that on purpose!” She should have listened to the voice telling her to get away from him. Because she hadn’t, because she’d been riveted by his handsome face and sizzling touch, she’d risked the future of her entire nation. And for what? A kiss? A kiss from a man she despised?

He wasn’t insane; she was.

“What makes you think so, Principessa? ” he asked coolly, his expression both smug and devilish at once.

Antonella’s hands clenched into impotent fists as her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She was a fool, a hopeless fool, still looking for some spark of feeling with a man. And he was the enemy, plain and simple. He hadn’t forgotten it for one moment, even if she had.

“Because you’re selfish, that’s why. You don’t care who you hurt or what you have to destroy to get your way.”

One corner of his mouth curled, but it could hardly be called a smile. “It seems as if we are kindred spirits, then.”

“No. I care about people’s feelings. And now I’m going to apologize to Raúl.”

“There is no need.”

“Of course there is.”

“Afraid not, Antonella. You were part of the deal.”

“Deal?” She thought her heart would stop as she waited for his answer. How could they make deals that included her? It was impossible. She’d offered herself in marriage, but it had been her choice. Neither of these men owned her, neither could make decisions for her.

“Vega Steel will be building in Monterosso. And Monteverde will supply the ore.”

“Never,” she bit out. It was unthinkable! To sell their ore to Monterosso? So the King could build more tanks and guns in his factories? So the di Savarés could slowly strangle the life from her country? It was the money Monteverde desperately needed, yes, but at what cost?

“You may wish to rethink your position.” He sounded mildly friendly, though she knew he was anything but.

Antonella thrust her chin out in answer. “I can’t see why we need to.”

“One word,” he said, his eyes now empty, flat. So cold she hugged herself to ward off a chill. “One very important word: existence.”

“THERE is a storm, Your Highness.”

Antonella blinked at the steward as he placed a breakfast tray on a table in her room. She pulled the covers up to her shoulders as she propped herself on an elbow, still groggy after too much worry and too little sleep. “A storm?”

He carefully repositioned the flowers in the small vase on the tray. “Yes, a hurricane. It has swung off track and is coming straight for Canta Paradiso. We are putting to sea very shortly. You may stay aboard if you wish, or you may transfer to the island for a flight out.”

“Where is Signor Vega?”

The steward stood at military-like attention. “He was called back to São Paulo on business. He left before day-break.”

Her heart sank. She’d known it was futile, and yet she’d hoped to speak with Raúl once more, hoped to convince him to give Monteverde a chance. Too late now.

No. She would not allow Cristiano di Savaré to defeat her so easily. There was still a very little time left before the loans came due, and she’d spent the night thinking about what Monteverde’s next move would be if Raúl would not change his mind. She’d come up with only one solution.

What if Dante went to Montebianco and asked for a loan to get them through this crisis? Their father had nearly started another war when he’d arrested the Crown Princess of that nation, but that was months ago. Would Montebianco help them now? Could she convince her brother to try? She knew he wouldn’t want to do it, but it was their last chance.

And if Dante wouldn’t approach the King, Antonella would go to Lily and beg her to ask her husband, the Crown Prince, for help. Either way, there was still a chance for them—if she acted quickly.

“Thank you,” she said to the steward. “I will go to the airport.”

He gave her a formal bow before slipping out of her cabin and closing the door. Antonella bolted from the bed and grabbed her mobile phone. She had to reach Dante. She’d tried last night, but the call wouldn’t go through. Perhaps the wind had knocked out a tower.

Or, more likely, something was wrong with Monteverde’s communications. They often had trouble with the utility companies as the infrastructure crumbled and there was no money left to repair the aging equipment.

An automated voice informed her that her call could not be completed as dialed and suggested she check the number. She snapped her phone shut and hurried to get dressed. The sooner she was on a plane home, the better.

Antonella emerged onto the top deck of the yacht, in search of someone who could arrange for a launch. She nearly stumbled when she caught sight of the man conversing with the yacht’s captain.

Cristiano di Savaré in a tuxedo had been magnificent. But Cristiano in Bermuda shorts, a crisp polo shirt, flip-flops, and Ray-Bans was downright sinful. He looked nothing like a prince and everything like some erotic fantasy of a muscled cabana boy who lived to serve the woman lucky enough to hire him.

He turned at her approach, no doubt because the captain ceased paying attention to him and watched her progress. She could see the captain’s eyes moving over her appreciatively, but it was Cristiano’s gaze she felt most keenly. Though he wore mirrored sunglasses, she was aware of the burning scrutiny behind them.