Olivia Gates - Princes of Castaldini - The Once and Future Prince

She glared at him. He managed not to lunge across the table and drag her into his arms. He grinned mockingly at her. “Disappointed I didn’t fork out an obscene amount of money to impress or misguidedly pamper you?”

Her lips twisted. “I was disappointed to think you had.”

“So no perverse disappointment now that you know I didn’t?”

“Now you’re not a spendthrift, but a chauvinist? Harping on the age-old implication that a woman says no when she really means yes?”

“I don’t think it’s female, but human for your logic and morals to clash with your need to feel valued. Criminally extravagant gestures might be abhorrent to one’s ethics, but they sure tickle one’s ego.”

And she smiled. Maledizione , she smiled .

As he tried to deal with a bout of arrhythmia, a giggle escaped her flushed lips. “You became who you are by being an expert on human nature, too, it seems. Okay, I apologize.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. This woman was out to do him some serious damage.

“I jumped to conclusions, ignored obvious explanations because I resented the hell out of you and wanted to believe the worst. And all you did was offer me the benefit of the perks you worked so hard to obtain, when you didn’t have to. When I gave you every reason not to care if I spent the night in a flea-infested motel.Your brand of hospitality may be hard to enjoy without severe pangs of conscience, but I appreciate the thought.”

He pretended to melt back in his chair in relief. He did need the support of something solid with his senses swimming as they were. “Phew. So that’s the obnoxious show-off charge taken care of. What about the unprofessional-wretch accusation?”

Her solitary dimple winked at him. “Yes, what about it?”

He guffawed at her volley, shook his head. The words came to him now, what she felt like; like the sum total of his desires.

And those were indeed fierce. More. They were all-consuming.

Which brought him back to his plan.

He would claim the crown that had once been ripped from him. If he could be convinced once more it was his destiny to wear it.

There were no ifs when it came to her. He would claim her.

If he claimed the crown, it would be on his terms. No negotiations. But in her case…this was were his plot thickened.

He’d pursued her the first time around, always coming back to her as if starved. This time, he would make her do the running. Then he’d claim her.

And when he judged the time right, he would walk away.

He signaled the staff to begin the night’s service, leaned across the table and captured the hand that kept frying his imagination with its restless movements.

“Va bene , Phoebe. Let’s get the myth of my un-profession-alism debunked, too. Let’s get down to business. You have the whole night to work…on me.”

The moment Leandro took her hand, Phoebe felt as if he’d taken her will away, infused his own inside her. She wrestled with his hypnotic gaze before snatching her hand away as if from a hot grill, pretended interest in her surroundings.

They sure warranted it, and then some. As he’d said, damn his insight, all this was one colossal ego tickle. He might have easy access to it, but that he’d put this much thought and planning into setting the scene was at once disconcerting and exciting as hell. And there was no doubt what kind of scene it was.

A seduction scene.

Oh, she’d tried to rationalize that this was the done thing, that businessmen flaunted their status and power by conducting negotiations over extravagant meals among backdrops of affluence and exclusivity, that as a businessman in a class of his own, he’d naturally gone beyond what others would.

Those rationalizations lasted for the three seconds it took her to get a load of the place.

With the eyes of experience, she could see this place as it might be on a normal business night, when its three-level interior would provide space to those who craved it, and privacy to those who preferred it. There would be partitions separating the top-level dining area from the mid-level bar and the lower-level lounge. Each would be bustling with its own clientele, feature its own menu, table and bottle service and resident DJ. Tonight the place seemed to have been designed to provide a single couple with expansive, atmospheric surroundings for an unforgettable encounter.

The décor was at once dignified and decadent, bridging borders with a dip into Latin heat in its daring, in the originality of bold yet harmonizing colors and designs. All in all this place had the ambiance of a dimension a few realities removed from the one she belonged to, one that swirled with ultra-modernism, Machiavellian suggestions and a touch of the arcane. The realm of a fallen angel where mortals suffered sensual enslavement and carnal excess. Very appropriate.

And she’d walked willingly into the Prince of Dark Temptation’s web. She’d stood at its threshold, caught in a spotlight, feeling like the subject of an experiment in human response conducted by some higher being.

Said being was sitting there, watching her, overshadowing their surroundings in a suit and shirt, sans tie, that had been sculpted around his magnificence, their darkness and textures deepening the spell that hung around him.

And he’d just invited her to get to work. On him.

The moment the parade of beautiful people dressed in red and black satin finished spreading their table with ingeniously prepared and arranged appetizers and filled their crystal glasses before leaving the bottle of Moët & Chandon in ice, Leandro leaned back in his chair, making his appraisal even more invasive.

“So, have you decided yet what you’ll do with your second shot at convincing me, Phoebe?”

She took a sip from her glass. And inhaled most of it.

After she redirected the fluid down her throat, she managed a strangled, “I’ll start with holding my tongue. How’s that?”

He mirrored her actions, bypassing the coughing-his-lungs-out bit, lids heavy as he licked the taste from his lips, making her feel as if he’d tasted hers. “Is that within your range of abilities?”

She took another sip, bent on proving that she could still manage basic stuff like swallowing. “It used to be. I was renowned for it.”

“Quella è la verità—isn’t that the truth. You had such rare reticence. Only when it came to talking, grazie a Dio . It was a trait I valued beyond measure.”

“Yeah, a woman who’s unrestrained in bed and keeps her mouth shut out of it must be every man’s dream.”

His eyes flickered. Surprised? That she’d put his innuendo into plain English? “I’m not every man, Phoebe. It wasn’t because I was interested only in bedding you that I valued your quietness.”

She plopped one of the hollandaise-covered, crab-stuffed mushrooms on her plate, cut into it. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re implying you were quiet because my attitude discouraged you from talking?”

She took a bite. Tasted nothing. “Not really. There was nothing to say. But with all you had going on then, I did get the feeling that you wouldn’t have appreciated it if there was.”

“Nothing to say, eh? Strange how there can be two entirely different perspectives on the same situation. I thought you didn’t talk much because you had this innate…understanding of me and of our situation that transcended the need for verbal expression. I thought we didn’t use words because we were on the same wavelength without them. Seems that’s another thing I was wrong about.”

She concentrated. Hard. Swallowing now could end in a real emergency. The implication of what he was saying…