Defying the Prince Sarah Morgan Page 5

  Ahead of them, floodlit against the star-studded Mediterranean sky, stood the palazzo, centuries old and a vision of warm honey-coloured stone.

  Izzy thought of her room in her parents’ mock Tudor house in England and gulped. ‘This is your home?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  Because it was enormous. ‘It’s just a bit small and pokey, that’s all. I was expecting something a lot more magnificent. If you’re trying to impress the girls then you probably need to think about trading up.’ She could have sworn that his mouth finally flickered at the corners but maybe it was just wishful thinking because there was no humour in his response.

  ‘Endeavour to behave yourself in front of my staff.’

  ‘I thought you lived alone.’

  ‘I do, but I have a permanent staff of fifty.’

  ‘I hate to tell you this but a permanent staff of fifty doesn’t constitute “alone.” You seriously need fifty staff?’ She digested that fact in amazement. ‘I guessed you’d be hard work but not that much work. That’s an awful lot of people to pick up after you. You must be terribly untidy.’

  He brought the car to an abrupt halt. ‘My charity is run from here with a permanent staff of ten. I also host visiting heads of state and senior government officials in my role as advisor to the Defence Department, so I require staff for that. The rest are involved with the running of the palazzo, including a team of gardeners and an archivist. I do have a private secretary, but I “pick up” after myself. And here’s a friendly tip—while you’re here I expect you to conduct yourself with dignity and propriety.’

  ‘You use an awful lot of long words. The moment I get a signal I’m going to download a dictionary app to my phone so that I can understand you.’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Isabelle—’

  The name made her shudder. ‘Here’s a friendly tip for you—if you want me to behave myself, don’t call me Isabelle. It brings out the worst in me.’

  Before he could respond, someone opened the car door and Izzy stepped out gratefully, the platform sole of her shoe-boots crunching on the drive. The air was fresh and cool. ‘Oh, I can hear the sea. That’s nice.’

  ‘The palazzo is built on a cliff. My ancestor didn’t much trust his fellow humans so he chose a position that was easily defended. Don’t go wandering at night, especially after a drink.’

  ‘I don’t usually drink.’

  His scathing glance suggested he didn’t believe her. ‘Areas of the cliff edge are crumbling. We have a major restoration project going on but with a place this size it’s a never-ending battle.’ The prince switched to his own language to speak to his staff and Izzy wished she’d concentrated more at school because she had no clue what he was saying.

  That was another app she was going to have to download.

  Italian for beginners.

  But she didn’t need an app to see how warmly the staff greeted him. Whatever his faults, the prince was clearly loved by those around him.

  Presumably he’d delivered some sort of command because a uniformed member of the prince’s household greeted her formally. ‘If you would like to follow me, signorina.’

  ‘Absolutely. Completely on my best behaviour at all times.’ Saluting Matteo and trying desperately to walk in a straight line, Izzy staggered on her towering heels through the gilded doors and was instantly dazzled by the grandeur of the place. She stopped dead, her head tilted back as she stared at the ornate ceiling. ‘Wow. Another incredible ceiling.’

  ‘It’s called a fresco.’ Matteo’s voice came from behind her. ‘It was painted by a contemporary of Michelangelo.’

  Izzy raised her eyebrows. ‘How on earth did they do that without getting paint in their eyes? Last time I painted my bedroom wall I covered myself with the stuff. I had blue hair for weeks.’

  ‘They used scaffolding.’ The prince’s eyes lingered on her hair. ‘And the artist didn’t lie on his back, he simply tilted his head.’

  ‘And used non-drip paint. I like it.’ Izzy stared at the ceiling again, slightly alarmed to see it shifting and spinning. ‘I particularly like the way they’ve made it move.’

  With a soft curse the prince caught her as she fell and scooped her up into his arms. As one of her shoes fell to the floor, she made an abortive grab for it.

  ‘My shoe!’

  ‘Next time don’t drink so much …’ This close she could see the dark shadow of his jaw and the perfect lines of his undeniably sexy mouth.

  ‘I didn’t drink too much. I just didn’t eat enough and that’s down to your lousy hospitality. You starve your guests. I guess that’s one way of making sure they don’t outstay their welcome.’ Horribly dizzy, she let her head flop against his shoulder and gave a low moan as he strode towards the elegant staircase. ‘This time it would be great if you could walk smoothly.’

  His grip tightened on her. ‘Izzy Jackson, you are a disaster.’

  ‘I know, I know, but the tragedy is I don’t mean to be. All I wanted to do was sing,’ Izzy mumbled, her face buried in hard muscle. ‘But no one wanted to listen. Poor me.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  WONDERING how he’d come to be carrying her yet again, Matteo strode into the turret bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

  Depositing her in the centre of the bed he stepped backwards and undid the collar of his shirt, hoping to relieve the tightness in his throat.

  Izzy gave a low moan and rolled over the bed, her arms flopping above her head as she tried to focus on him.

  Matteo watched her efforts to rouse herself with barely concealed anger.

  Why the hell had he done this to himself?

  He should have let her sabotage the party. He should have left her there and just cleared up the mess afterwards. Or let Alex deal with it himself. Anything would have been better than putting himself in this situation.

  She blinked and looked around her. ‘Where am I?’

  Sleeping Beauty, Matteo thought grimly, but a thousand times more lethal.

  ‘You are in the turret bedroom.’

  ‘So you’re locking me in the tower just like the fairy tale. But how is the prince ever going to find me here? I hope he has sat nav fitted to his horse.’ Giggling, she rolled onto her side, the movement pushing her dress further up her thighs. ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair, but not if it has strawberry streaks in it because no one wants a girl with strawberry streaks.’

  Matteo tried to ignore the burn of lust that ripped through him. She had incredible legs. ‘This is our best guest suite, usually reserved for visiting royalty. It’s more than you deserve.’ Keeping one eye on her to make sure she didn’t fall off the bed, he snatched up the phone and ordered a pot of black coffee and food, well aware that his midnight order would trigger yet more speculation from his already fascinated staff.

  As someone who conducted his relationships with utmost discretion, he knew that having someone like Izzy in his home would create a huge stir.

  As he ended the call she sat up and slid shakily off the bed. She stood for a moment and wobbled slightly, testing that her legs would hold her. Bending over she pulled off her remaining shoe and almost fell. ‘Oops. Champagne really affects your balance.’

  ‘It has never affected mine.’

  ‘That’s because you’re horribly, boringly controlled.’

  Matteo gritted his teeth. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘Not a good idea. My head is spinning.’

  ‘Per meraviglia, you are incorrigible.’ He grabbed her arms to stop her falling and she swayed and flopped against him, sighing into his chest.

  ‘I like it here. You smell so good.’

  And she felt good. Soft. Fragile. Without those towering heels she was surprisingly petite. Matteo tensed his body, instinctively rejecting the effects of that knowledge because the alternative was unthinkable. ‘Behave yourself.’ He forced himself to release her, but she stayed welded to his chest and the contact sent a rush of heat across his skin.

&
nbsp; ‘If you weren’t so moody you’d be really sexy.’ She tilted her head back and those bewitching eyes fixed on his. ‘Why don’t you ever smile? Are you unhappy, Matt?’ That mass of soft hair whispered gently over his hand—the same hand he’d been fighting not to plant in the centre of her back.

  He started to withdraw, but a curl of hair wound itself around his finger like a silken noose and suddenly, instead of letting go, his hand was touching her cheek. Control was eclipsed by raw desire and Matteo captured her face in his hands, bringing his mouth down on hers. Her shock mirrored his own and then her lips parted under the demands of his, her mouth soft, sweet and unapologetically sexual as she kissed him back. As her tongue slid over his, raw sexual heat ripped through him and Matteo locked his hands on her hips and pulled her hard against him.

  They were welded together, their mouths creating a fire that devoured both of them, so wild and out of control that the next move would have been the bed behind them had it not been for the knock on the door.

  He heard it dimly, through a fog of sexual excitement and primitive need, but when he tried to lift his head she gave a low moan of protest and dug her fingers into his hair, prolonging the kiss for a few more erotic moments. Or maybe he was the one who prolonged the kiss. Either way they were still kissing when the second knock came, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob turning.

  With a supreme effort Matteo dragged his mouth from hers and disengaged himself just moments before one of the kitchen staff entered with a tray of food and a pot of coffee.

  Twice, he thought. Twice in the space of a few hours he’d lost control with this woman.

  ‘Grazie. Just leave it on the table.’

  If the girl from his kitchens was surprised by his unusually abrupt tone then she didn’t show it. Instead she simply took the cover off the sandwiches and was about to pour the coffee when Matteo dismissed her.

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  The girl scurried out of the room.

  Next to him Izzy stood, swaying slightly on her bare feet, her eyes not quite meeting his.

  She looked slightly dazed, as if she’d been struck by lightning.

  He knew exactly how she was feeling only he didn’t have alcohol as an excuse.

  ‘Eat something.’

  She stirred and looked round her. ‘What happened to my bag?’ She spied it on the bed and walked unsteadily over to it. ‘Need to write something down before I forget.’ It took her three attempts to unclip the bag and pull out a pen and a small notebook.

  Matteo watched in exasperation as she tried to focus on something she’d written.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m evaluating today. I do it every night before I go to sleep, but I’m afraid that tonight I’m going to forget, so I’m doing it now.’

  ‘Evaluating today?’

  ‘Every day should have a purpose.’ She swayed and almost lost her balance and Matteo was just stepping forward ready to catch her when she planted her hands on the bed to steady herself. The notebook fell to the floor and he retrieved it, his temper simmering.

  He was about to hand it back and make his exit when he saw the words on the page.

  Goal of the Day—Meet Moody Matteo.

  A scalding flame of anger speared his body. ‘You actually took the trouble to write it down?’

  ‘Give me that—it’s private.’ Her attempt to snatch the book from him almost sent her tumbling again. ‘And yes, I write it down. It’s like making a promise to myself. I will achieve my dream.’

  Feeling sick to his stomach, Matteo handed her the book. ‘I’m going to kill that dream of yours stone dead. Get this straight right now—I am not your goal.’ His palms were damp and the past flashed into his head with explosive force, blasting through the barriers he erected between himself and the world. ‘I am not your target.’

  She winced. ‘Could you speak in a softer voice? My head hurts. And I do think you’re slightly overreacting.’

  Matteo swore fluently in Italian and strode to the door.

  Her voice stopped him. ‘Well, this has been a very interesting evening. I think we’ve each learned something about the other, which is useful as we’re going to be related. I’ve learned that despite being so uptight on the surface, underneath you’re steaming hot and you kiss like a god. What have you learned, Your Highness?’

  He’d learned that what had happened to him years before remained embedded like shrapnel in his subconscious.

  He’d learned that his control was a much more fragile thing than he’d believed.

  He’d learned that helping his brother was going to cost him dearly.

  ‘I’ve learned never to carry a woman to bed when she’s drunk. Go and take a cold shower and sleep it off. And try not to drown. A domani.’

  Izzy woke with a crushing headache, a mouth as dry as a child’s sandbox and a clear memory of every single thing that had happened the night before. Why, oh, why, couldn’t she just have forgotten everything? Why wasn’t she one of those people who could never remember a thing that had happened? A bit of alcohol-induced amnesia would have been extremely welcome because most of the memories weren’t good ones.

  She remembered being starving-hungry. She remembered grabbing the microphone at the party and being showered by disapproving stares. And she remembered the adrenalin rush of being driven by the prince in his super sports car.

  And the kiss …

  Closing her eyes, she gave a moan.

  Oh, yes, she remembered the kiss. And she had a feeling she’d still be able to remember it when she was ninety and wrinkled. Where on earth had someone so zipped up and restrained as the Prince of Darkness learned to kiss like that? Except that he hadn’t been zipped up and restrained when he’d kissed her. One moment he’d been cold and disapproving; the next he’d been giving a crash course in the true meaning of sexual excitement. Because she knew that what they’d shared had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with hot physical chemistry.

  She’d been kissed before, but never like that—never had the feelings spread all the way through her body creating a craving so powerful she hadn’t seen the benefit in stopping. Who in their right mind would want to stop something that felt so good?

  And the craving was still there.

  Shaken by feelings she didn’t recognise, she decided that the first thing to do was fix the throb in her head. Reaching for the jug of water by the bed, she noticed a pool of scarlet sequins on the floor. She dimly remembered wriggling out of her dress and then flopping onto the bed.

  ‘Never again,’ she moaned as she poured water into a glass and drank. ‘Never again am I drinking champagne with nothing to eat.’

  Gingerly, trying not to move her head too vigorously, she squinted at her watch.

  Ten-thirty.

  She never slept in. Ever. She set her alarm for seven every morning no matter what she’d done the day before.

  Wincing, she eased herself gently off the bed and padded into the bathroom feeling like roadkill.

  Raccoon eyes stared back at her where her make-up had run, her face was horribly pale and she had a red mark on her cheek where she’d slept awkwardly. ‘No wonder he wasn’t keen to hang around.’ As she wiped away the damage, she noticed that although the palazzo was ancient and historic, there was nothing ancient or historic about her bedroom, or the luxurious bathroom with its walk-in shower.

  In fact, the palazzo was more opulent and palatial than anywhere she’d stayed in her life.

  Outside, the sun was blazing, and despite the headache her spirits lifted. The Mediterranean weather was a pleasant change from dreary, showery London.

  Determined not to have a completely wasted day, Izzy picked up her pen and scribbled on a new page of her notebook.

  Goal of the Day—Finish writing ‘Look at Me.’

  At some point her suitcase had been delivered and someone had unpacked her few clothes and hung them in the dressing room. Tr
ying not to notice how lonely her dresses looked in that enormous space, Izzy grabbed her favourite denim shorts and a pink top and dressed quickly. Then she retrieved her suitcase, hunted in one of the concealed pockets and pulled out her battered teddy bear.

  Clearing her throat, she propped him up against the pillows. ‘Right. Are you listening? I need to finish this song and you’re the nearest thing to an enthusiastic audience I’m ever going to get in this world. At least you don’t heckle.’

  She hummed, sang scales and did her usual vocal exercises to warm up her voice but today her enthusiasm for her music was seriously dented by her pounding head. Conscious that not to achieve her one simple goal was a slippery slope towards giving up, she persevered until she was reasonably satisfied with the lyrics and the melody.

  Deciding that what she needed following that was fresh air, she was about to leave the room when there was a knock on the door and a girl entered carrying a tray.

  ‘Buongiorno, signorina. His Highness thought you might be hungry as you missed breakfast.’

  Izzy’s stomach rolled. Great. When she wanted food there was none to be had, and when she didn’t … ‘Thanks.’ Not wanting to offend, she managed a weak smile. ‘That’s kind of you.’

  The girl smiled dreamily. ‘His Highness is an incredibly thoughtful person.’

  Remembering his iron grip as he’d dragged her away from the stage and his non-stop flow of sarcastic observations, Izzy begged to differ, but the girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old and obviously thought the prince walked on water.

  Who was she to shatter someone’s illusions?

  ‘He’s a gem, no doubt about that.’ And moody. And sexy. And complicated. Cold and distant one minute and scorching hot and wildly passionate the next. It was enough to give a girl emotional whiplash. ‘I’m sure he’s kind to old ladies and children.’

  The girl beamed back, delighted to welcome someone else into the Prince Matteo fan club. ‘He is. He raises so much money for charity and he knows everyone, of course. He just has to pick up the phone and the next minute a child is spending the day with their football hero.’