CHAPTER FOUR
LOTTIE WAS CONGRATULATING herself as she walked on the main beach an hour later. She could picture Lucca Chatsfield in his penthouse with a bottle of the finest French champagne in an ice bucket, the sheets on his king-size bed laid back in preparation, maybe even some rose petals scattered there. Some in-house scented candles burning on the bedside table with their scent of bergamot and sandalwood. His lean and toned body draped in a Chatsfield blue silk bathrobe with its gold embroidered C on the right breast, while he waited for her to knock on the door to attend one of his legendary scenes of seduction.
She smiled as she thought of the minutes and then the hours ticking by. His frustration building, his sense of humour souring.
One up to you, my girl.
She walked the full length of the beach, losing herself in the crowds of bathers and sunbakers who didn’t recognise her in her tracksuit and T-shirt and trainers with her hair stuffed underneath a baseball cap. She looked just like any other sporty girl out for a brisk walk along the seashore. She could have gone to one of the more private beaches on the island but she liked being amongst the people, pretending she was normal, getting a feel for how different her life would have been if she had been born a commoner. No pressure to look perfect. No one commenting on her expression or outfit. No one befriending her just because she was royal and not because of who she was inside.
Lottie was walking past the bar area at the main tourist area when she caught sight of a lean and toned male body stretched lazily out on one of the sun lounges. The glisten of sun lotion on his skin made his body look like that of a bronzed god who had just stepped off a plinth at the National Art Gallery. His abdominal muscles were like tightly rolled bands of steel, his long muscled legs with their covering of coarse hair were splayed, showing the proud heft of his masculinity beneath close-fitting black Lycra bathers. There was a colourful drink on a table by his side with one of those little paper umbrellas in it, and on the other side of him was a blonde bikini-clad girl with a tray of nibbles bending down to him with a come-and-get-me smile and a cleavage you could park a pushbike in.
Lottie blinked a couple of times. It couldn’t be. He was back in his room waiting for her to show up. She was teaching him a much-needed lesson. She was giving him a massive blow to his arrogant confidence. She was—
She frowned and peered a little more intently. Maybe it was his twin. They were identical so maybe Orsino Chatsfield had come to Preitalle and was sunning himself on the beach with blonde busty beauties waiting on him hand and foot. But then he reached for his phone as the girls screeched with excitement at the prospect of a ‘group photo.’
She ground her teeth to talcum powder.
It wasn’t his twin.
As if Lucca had sensed her looking at him he turned his dark head and smiled that gleamingly white smile. He even had the audacity to lift up his hand and give her a friendly come-and-join-me wave.
Maybe he didn’t recognise her, Lottie thought as she spun around and strode back the way she had come. Maybe he thought she was just another girl he could reel into his harem with the crook of his little finger. No one else had recognised her in this casual get-up. Why should he?
Her feet pounded the sand, faster and faster until she wasn’t walking any more but running, her breath tearing at her throat like fingernails.
She stopped at the lighthouse to check to see if he had followed her but there was no sign of him.
He was probably getting that stunning blonde to peel his grapes for him, while taking pictures of her doing so, which would no doubt end up on his Twitter feed.
Argh!
* * *
‘What have you got planned for my bachelorette party?’ Madeleine asked at breakfast the following morning.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it in hand.’
‘Have you consulted Lucca about it? I’m sure he’ll have some fun suggestions to make it an event to remember.’
Lottie scowled at her sister. ‘It’s my job as maid of honour to organise your hen party. I don’t need the input from some unscrupulous playboy whose idea of entertainment would no doubt include a male stripper jumping out of a cake or something.’
‘Sounds like fun.’ Madeleine grinned as she reached for the orange juice jug.
‘You can’t be serious!’ Lottie put down her cup of tea with a clatter against the saucer.
Her sister took the seat opposite and cradled her glass of juice in both of her perfectly manicured hands. ‘You’re always so serious about everything, Lottie. What harm would there be in having a little fun for a change?’
‘So...are you saying you want male strippers?’
‘No, I guess we can’t go that far, but neither do I want a sedate tea party with boring old cucumber sandwiches and scones. I want to have fun. I want it to be truly memorable. I’m not going to get married again so this is my last chance to kick my heels up as a single girl.’
Lottie chewed at the left side of her lower lip. She had a brunch party planned...strictly speaking she couldn’t even call it a party. She hadn’t planned on copious amounts of alcohol. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with a bunch of out-of-control girlfriends of her sister’s running amok so she’d kept things...well, sedate.
Madeleine reached for a fat buttery croissant and then pulled her hand back and sighed. ‘How do you keep your figure so trim? I’ve put on five pounds since I got engaged. At this rate I’m going to need a shoehorn to get into my wedding dress.’
‘At least you’ve got boobs,’ Lottie said with a despairing look at her own flat chest.
‘You just need a decent push-up bra. Speaking of lingerie...would you be a honey and choose my wedding night finery for me?’
Lottie frowned. ‘Why would you want me to do that for you? Isn’t that something you should be doing?’
Her sister smiled a twinkling smile. ‘I thought it would be good for you to do it. With help, of course.’
Help?
Help!
Lottie’s gaze went to paper-thin slits. ‘Whose help?’
Madeleine reached out again and this time took the croissant from the basket and tore it into bite-size pieces. ‘I’ve asked Lucca to help you. He wants to go to Monte Carlo on Wednesday on some private errand of his. I didn’t ask him the details. I got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it. He’s a bit of a dark horse, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for a reply but continued. ‘I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to go with him. You haven’t been off the island in ages and with him as an escort you won’t have to bother with having your own security guard.’
‘I’m not going anywhere with him!’
Madeleine finished chewing her mouthful of croissant before asking, ‘Why ever not?’
‘How can you ask that? I hate him! He’s a disreputable rake.’
‘What? Are you frightened he might make a move on you or something?’ She picked up another morsel of croissant and popped it into her mouth and chewed. Swallowed. ‘You should be so lucky.’
Lottie pushed her chin up in a gesture of female pride. ‘As it happens he did make a move on me.’
Madeleine’s eyes rounded with interest. ‘Do tell.’
‘He kissed me.’
‘And?’
‘He propositioned me.’
Madeleine dropped the piece of croissant she was holding, her eyes as big as the plate she was using. ‘What did you do?’
Lottie gave a little toss of her head. ‘I arranged to meet him and then I stood him up.’
Her sister sat back in her chair with a musing smile. ‘Well, well, well.’
‘Don’t get any funny ideas. He’s the last man on earth I’d ever consider having a fling with. He’s got no morals. He’s a man slut, that’s what he is. He doesn’t stay with women long enough to remember their names. You should have seen the girl he had waiting on him down on the beach. She was fawning all over him as if he was some sort of sex god. It was nauseating.’
‘Listen to you.’ Madeleine laughed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having a little fling if someone takes your fancy. It’s about time you put yourself out there again. Lucca Chatsfield would be quite a fabulous scalp to hang on your belt. I bet there are things he could show you in the bedroom that would make your hair stand up on end.’
Lottie glowered. ‘That man is nothing but a thorough nuisance. I can’t think why you agreed to such a harebrained scheme to bring him here to meddle with my plans. He’s going to ruin everything, I just know it.’
Madeleine gave her a teasing smile as she reached for another croissant. ‘I think you like him.’
Lottie sprang up from the table. ‘I hate him! I detest him! I swear to God if he was here now I would say it to his face.’
‘Save it, ma chérie.’ Madeleine wiped her fingers on a starched napkin. ‘You can tell him at dinner.’
‘Dinner?’ Her heart gave a sudden lurch. ‘Don’t tell him me you’ve invited him to dine with us. That’s taking things way too far.’
‘Not with us.’ Madeleine said. ‘You and him. Alone.’
‘What?’
‘You can consult him about the hens’ night. I’ve planned a private dinner for you both in the Green Room.’
Lottie gaped at her sister. ‘Why are you doing this? Have you gone completely mad?’
‘He’s fun loving and dashing.’
‘He’s an outrageous flirt and an arrogant devil!’
‘I know.’ Madeleine smiled again. ‘Don’t you just love that about him?’
* * *
A palace official led Lucca to a private room in the west wing of the palace. It was decorated in various shades of green with a background of cream with trimmings of gold. A small antique dining table had been set up in front of the large bay of windows that overlooked the palace gardens, and a bowl of full-headed creamy roses was on a brass-inlaid cabinet nearby, their peppery, clove-like scent filling the room. There were two deeply cushioned sofas facing each other in the middle of the room in a cream brocade fabric with an array of scatter cushions. A cherry-wood glass-fronted bookcase was against one wall with a small writing desk and chair set in front of it with a quaint lamp that was casting an incandescent glow over the room. It was a comfortable room rather than a formal one. It reminded him of a sitting room/library in a stately manor in the English countryside, not unlike his family home, Chatsfield House, in Buckinghamshire.
Thinking about home—why did he persist in calling it home when it had never been anything like one?—always made him antsy. He’d spent far too many years of his childhood yearning for a home and family like that of his schoolmates. Chatsfield House was one of the most beautiful houses in the English countryside but no one could ever call it a home. It had no heart. No warmth. No soul. And as for family...well, with his older siblings and his younger one with issues of their own and a father who sought refuge in a bottle, it was hardly what anyone could describe as a happy family life.
The official poured Lucca a drink and informed him the princess would be with him shortly before bowing politely and leaving.
He checked his phone to see he had missed a call from Orsino. He’d yet to talk to him about Giatrakos and was faintly curious to see how the Greek had attempted to co-op his brother. It was hard enough to get hold of his twin at the best of times, considering he was usually halfway up a mountain, or saving starving children in some godforsaken place, so how on earth Christos had contacted him was anyone’s guess. When Lucca dialled Orsino’s number there was no answer—typical—so he left a brief message without saying much about his situation.
Ten minutes later Lucca had paced the floor so many times he was sure he’d left a foot-deep trench in the soft carpet. Was this another game of Lottie’s? He didn’t like the tables being turned on him. He was the one who played and won. If Lottie thought she could manipulate him to walk out before the time was up she was in for a big surprise. Nothing and no one was going to make him relinquish his goal. No one.
He turned when he heard a light footstep at the door. Lottie was standing there looking very composed but he noticed she was doing that flicking thing with her finger and thumb. She was dressed in black from head to foot, which did nothing for her colouring. Her hair was scraped back in an even more severe style and she wore no cosmetics or any jewellery. There was a spark of defiance in her gaze, however, that alerted him that her choice of garb this time might well have been for his benefit. Even her shoes were something a grandmother with bunion s would wear.
‘Who died?’
Her brows met between her eyes. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He waved a hand to indicate her outfit. ‘Have you been to a funeral?’
That stubborn little chin came up. ‘I happen to like wearing black.’
‘You look terrible in it. It makes me want to rush to the nearest blood bank to order a transfusion for you.’
She walked into the room with her head high. ‘If and when I want fashion advice from you I will ask for it.’
‘I liked that tracksuit you were wearing on the beach yesterday. I almost didn’t recognise you.’
Her cheeks were pink when she turned to face him, her eyes behind their glasses—the tortoiseshell ones—brittle with resentment. ‘Did you enjoy your drink?’
‘It was very enjoyable. The view was amazing.’
Her look was brimful of dislike. ‘The beach or that blonde’s cleavage?’
He gave her a glinting smile. ‘What do you think?’
She flattened her mouth as if she didn’t trust herself to respond in a civil fashion. She stalked over to where some drinks were laid out and poured a glass of water but he suspected it had more to do with her needing something to do with her hands than actual thirst. She turned and cradled the glass without taking a sip from it. ‘How did you know I wasn’t going to go up to your penthouse?’
He studied her tense little expression for a beat or two. ‘I knew you weren’t ready.’
‘Not ready?’ she spluttered, eyes flashing at him in indignation. ‘What, you think it’s only a matter of time before I jump into bed with you?’
‘Your body wants to, it’s just your head hasn’t quite got around it.’ He took a measured sip of his whiskey and added, ‘But it will.’
Her hands around her glass tightened. ‘Your overblown confidence astounds me. I have absolutely no intention of becoming another one of your pathetically shallow conquests.’
Lucca wasn’t used to women saying no to him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. But something about Lottie’s spirit of defiance fired his blood like a shot of adrenaline. It was ironic that even dressed as she was like a nun, his desire was rampaging harder and faster than if she was standing before him in a string bikini. Or less.
He wondered why she was so determined to deny herself sensual expression. He had felt such intense passion in her kiss. But for some reason she refused to allow her passion to have free rein. He saw it in the way she held herself, that tight, almost-rigid containment, as if she was afraid of her emotions getting the better of her so had to put them under lock and key.
She didn’t kiss like a nun. She kissed like a wildcat in heat. He wanted to feel that hot little mouth again and not just on his mouth. His body stirred and stretched at the thought of her sucking him dry. Of her hands skimming over his flesh, teasing him, burning him up with feverish longing.
Sexual conquests had become a little too easy for him. He didn’t have to work very hard to get what he wanted. It had even become a little too predictable if he were to be perfectly honest with himself. He had the seduction routine down pat—a smile, a charming word or two, a drink and/or dinner and then sex. It had never failed him in the past. It hadn’t failed him that afternoon on the beach, although he hadn’t taken up the girl’s offer to meet up after her shift.
But while the blonde girl had been beautiful, she hadn’t made his flesh zap and crackle and tingle the way Lottie’s touch did. Even the unbridled dislike in her flinty green gaze turned him on. She loathed him with every ounce of her being but the chemistry that pulsed between them was undeniable.
‘Bet it wouldn’t take me long to change your mind.’ He gave her a lazy smile as he took a sip of his drink.
Her chin came up, those cat’s eyes flashing at him haughtily. ‘You’re forgetting something. I’m a princess. I don’t sleep rough.’
‘I’ll be gentle with you.’
Her cheeks pooled with colour but her mouth was set in schoolmistress reproach. ‘Is there no limit to your impropriety? We are here to discuss the business of my sister’s bachelorette party.’
‘Fine. Talk to me. What did you have in mind?’ He held up a hand. ‘No, let me guess. You’re thinking cucumber sandwiches, Earl Grey tea and scones in the conservatory, right?’
She sucked her cheeks in momentarily, bristling like a pedigree Persian cat in front of an ill-bred dog who was trying to pull off Best in Show. ‘You’re wrong. I was thinking of brunch.’
‘Same difference.’
She frowned in irritation. ‘What’s your brilliant suggestion, then? Something tastefully inappropriate, I suppose?’
His eyes gleamed with something dark and dangerous. ‘Has this draughty old castle got a dungeon?’