Sun Chara - Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa

A melody drifted to her, a balm to her frazzled emotions. She’d been stagnating, except in the bedroom. And she wanted to be more to him than a bedroom playmate. In a desperate attempt to reclaim her life, and save her marriage, she had made a rash decision and fled.

She was playing a risky card, especially since he controlled the deck. Could she pull it off? Would he ever see her as more than a possession?

“Better question is” – he dropped a chipped martini glass on her tray, shattering her thoughts – “what’re you doing here, Ellie?”

He reached out to help her up, but she avoided his gesture and stood up on her own. It was doubtful a man like Peter, with a heritage steeped in tradition, would budge, even for her… or her father. Forgiveness was not one of his tendencies.

“Working.” She made to pass him and the broken goblets rattled precariously on the tray.

He blocked her path, his gaze gliding over her half-exposed breasts, then lower, taking in the full length of her. “So I see.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Peter.”

“What’s that?” he baited.

“That I’m— I’m—”

“Selling favors?”

“How dare you,” she snapped, raising a hand to slap him.

He intercepted it in mid-air, his fingers shackling her wrist. “How dare I?” His face was a thundercloud and his eyes bore into her. “You’re the one who deserted—”

“I did not.”

“No?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Suppose you tell me how it was, mmm?” This time he did take her elbow and led her toward the neon-lit exit.

“I can’t just leave in the middle of my shift.”

“Wanna bet?” He grabbed the tray from her hands, passed it to a waitress walking by and winked his thanks. Shrugging from his jacket, he draped it across Ellie’s shoulders and guided her through the mass of gyrating bodies.

“Hey, baby doll, how ’bout another number?” Someone called to her.

“Later.” Ellie waved. “Taking a break.”

“Cutest singin’ cocktail—”

“Trot on over, babe.” Raucous laughter.

A man staggered toward her and a camera flashed. Peter swung his arm out and knocked the camera from the snapper, sending it crashing to the floor. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he pulled out a couple of hundred-dollar bills and hurled them on the floor. “That should cover the damages, Louie,” he bit out, his eyes hard.

The loud music had muted the altercation and no one seemed to have noticed, except the three of them.

“What’s going on?” Ellie glared at Peter, then turned to the barrel-shaped man pocketing the cash and scuttling across the floor for his camera.

Taciturn, Peter wove his way through the throng and pulled her with him.

“We can do publicity shots tomorrow, Louie,” Ellie called over her shoulder.

“Sure thing, sugar.”

The familiarity of his words made Peter pause mid-stride. He flexed his hand in a fist, thought better of it, and marched her away from the crowd.

“What’re you doing?” She stopped, forcing him to turn around.

“Taking you home.”

“You have no right—”

“I have every right … wife.”

“Don’t call me—”

Murderous silence.

“Technically, I guess I am.”

Peter tightened his fingers on her arm. When she whimpered, he loosened his hold, but didn’t release her. Smoke and alcohol clung to her, but a hint of her perfume reached him, making him ache for her. She’d just kicked him in the teeth, nearly denying their relationship as husband and wife. He steeled his jaw. When he was done with her, he’d boot her out. His eyes narrowed. He’d get what he wanted, including answers to questions that had battered his brain for the last three months. He had a right to know why she had left him. And at this crucial time. Why she preferred to live like a pauper, instead of like a princess with him? Why?

Dragging her with him, he climbed the four steps from the Hollywood cellar club to street level. Behind them, the neon sign flashed, The Blue Room , both illuminating and shading her face.

“Let go, Peter.” She yanked her hand from his grasp and he allowed it. “I’m not about to run away at this time of night and in this weather.” She drew the lapels of his jacket closer about her neck, raindrops drenching her hair and trickling down her nape.

“Stand under the canopy, Ellie,” he commanded. “I’ll wave down a cab.”

From beneath her lashes, she watched him, studying him, loving him, hating— abruptly she froze, her thoughts ripping her apart. She’d wanted for nothing. He always brought her things, even during their most intimate moments. Heat infused her body and a drop of moisture slid between her breasts. All the material wealth he showered upon her couldn’t make up for the limiting lifestyle as the wealthy Italian’s wife, which made her feel more like his mistress.

She licked rain from her lips and her heart thudded. Was her husband an opportunist or simply too busy gaining wealth and power to notice her; to care that she had a dream of her own… wanted to make something of her own life?

He pushed a damp lock off his forehead with an impatient hand and stepped onto the sidewalk. He stretched out his arm to flag down a taxi, and his muscles contracted beneath his wet shirt.

Every cell of her body flared. She could easily succumb to his potent sexuality. But she had to resist the temptation. Had to resist his influence, his magnetism… him. A one-night stand with her husband would only compound the problem. Still vulnerable, she had to put distance between them, to think clearly; about their marriage, their life. Could they have a future together? She doubted it and her heart shriveled.

She drew in a breath, willed her erratic pulse to get in sync, and exhaled in a rush. Odor from the trash bins in the alley assailed the damp air, but she barely noticed. She took a step closer to him and reached out to touch him, to wrap her arms around the bulge of his biceps, to rub her cheek … feeling his strength. His security. His love.

Oh, how she wanted to, but instead she dropped her hand to her side and stepped back. She blinked raindrops from her lashes. It couldn’t be as she wanted. A gust of wind silenced the cry from her lips. To be with him, she’d have to ‘sell out’ on herself; for chasing her dream could cost him his.

Entry level into the music biz entailed gigs in questionable locales and servicing all manner of clientele. It was a highly unsuitable vocation for the wife of the ambitious intern seeking a seat on the Medical Board.

Goosebumps erupted all over her skin. Yet, his ruthless climb to fame on the global front had strangled her dream. Stifled her.

She felt cornered.

Defeated.

That’s why she’d left. Guilt gnawed her insides. Why she must slip away from him again.

Peter whistled and waved down an approaching cab. When the car screeched to a halt at the curb, tires splashing muddied water everywhere, she disappeared into the shadows of the night.

He was losing his mind. He tossed and turned on the sofa in the living room of his Beverly Hills mansion. Where had she gone? Last night, he hailed the cab and glanced behind him for Ellie, but she’d vanished again. Taking his heart, his hopes, and his future with her. He hunted for her everywhere, questioned everyone in the club, and then he spotted the paparazzo at the bar. He shoved his way through the crowded room, grabbed Louie by the shirt collar and hauled him off the stool, his feet dangling in midair.

The man shook his head, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

A camera flashed.