The Prince's Royal Concubine. Lynn Harris Raye

      He didn’t believe in lightning bolts and love at first sight, but he’d been drawn to her. The attraction between them had been strong, and he’d been certain marrying her was the right decision.

      Except that it hadn’t been. Not for her.

      The truth was that he’d done it for selfish reasons. He’d needed to marry, and he’d refused to allow his father to dictate who his bride would be. Instead, he’d chosen a bold, beautiful girl he barely knew simply because the sex was great and he liked her very much. He’d swept her off her feet, promised her the world.

      And she’d believed him. Far better if she hadn’t.

       Basta!

      He dropped a mental shield into place, slicing off his thoughts. He would be unfit for mingling with Raúl Vega’s guests if he did not do so. Those dark days were over. He’d found a purpose in their aftermath, and he would not rest until it was done.

       Monteverde.

      The princess. The reason he was here.

      “It is a beautiful night, is it not?”

      Princess Antonella Romanelli spun from her cabin door to find a man leaning against the railing, watching her. Faintly, the ocean lapped the yacht’s sides, someone laughed on another ship anchored not too far away, and the smell of jasmine hung in the air.

      But her gaze was locked on the dark form of the man. His tuxedo blended into the night, making him nothing more than a silhouette against the backdrop of Canta Paradiso’s city lights. Then he stepped forward and the light from the deck illuminated his face.

      She recognized him instantly, though they’d never met. That handsome countenance—the jet-dark hair, the sharp cheekbones, the sensual lips—belonged to only one man in the whole world. The absolute last man she should be talking to at this moment.

      Or ever.

      Antonella drew in a sharp breath, fighting for that famous detachment for which she was renowned. Dear God, why was he here? What did he want? Did he know how desperate she was?

       Of course not—don’t be silly!

      “Cat got your tongue, I see.”

      Antonella swallowed, willed her thrumming heart to beat normally. He was more beautiful in person than in the photos she’d seen. And more dangerous. Tension rolled from him, enveloping her in his dark presence. His unexpected presence. Warning bells clanged in her mind. “Not at all. You merely surprised me.”

      His gaze raked over her slowly, leaving her skin prickling in its wake. “We have not been introduced,” he said smoothly, his voice as rich and alluring as dark chocolate. “I am Cristiano di Savaré.”

      “I know who you are,” Antonella said—and then cursed herself for saying it so quickly. As if words were weapons and she could use them to push him away.

      “Yes, I imagine you do.”

      He made it sound like an insult. Antonella drew herself up with all the dignity and hauteur a princess could manage. “And why wouldn’t I recognize the name of the Crown Prince of Monterosso?”

      Her country’s bitterest rival. Though the history between the three sister-nations—Monteverde, Montebianco, and Monterosso—was tangled, it was only Monteverde and Monterosso that remained at war to this day. Antonella thought of the Monteverdian soldiers stationed on the volatile border tonight, of the razor wire fences, the landmines and tanks, and a pang of dark emotion ricocheted through her.

      They were there for her, for everyone in Monteverde. They kept her nation safe from invasion. She could not fail them—or the rest of her people—in her mission here. Would not. Her nation would not disappear off the face of this earth simply because her father was a tyrannical brute who’d bankrupted his country and driven it to the very edge of oblivion.

      “I would not expect it otherwise, Principessa,” he said with cool certainty.

      Arrogant man. She lifted her chin. Never let them see your fear, Ella, her brother always said. “What are you doing here?”

      His grin was not what she expected, a flash of impossibly white teeth in the gloom. And about as friendly as a lion’s feral growl. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

      “The same as you, I imagine. Raúl Vega is a very wealthy man, si? He could bring many jobs to a country fortunate enough to win his business.”

      Antonella’s blood froze. She needed Raúl Vega, not this…this arrogant, too-handsome man who already had all the advantages of his power and position. Monterosso was wealthy beyond compare; Monteverde needed Vega Steel to survive. It was life or death for her people. Since her father had been deposed, her brother had been holding the country together through sheer force of will. But it wouldn’t last much longer. They needed foreign investment, needed someone with the clout of Vega to come in and show other investors through example that the country was still a good bet.

      The astronomical loans her father had taken out were coming due, and they had no money to pay them. Extensions were out of the question. Though Dante and the government had acted in the nation’s best interest when they’d deposed her father, creditor nations had viewed the events with trepidation and suspicion. To them, requests for loan extensions would mean Monteverde was seeking ways to have the loans declared void.

      A commitment from Vega Steel would change that.

      If Cristiano di Savaré knew how close they were to the brink of collapse—

      No. He couldn’t know. No one could. Not yet, though her country couldn’t hide it for much longer. Soon the world would know. And Monteverde would cease to exist. The thought dripped courage into her veins, each dose stronger than the last until she was brimming with it.

      “I am surprised Monterosso cares about Vega Steel,” she said coolly. “And my interest in Signor Vega has nothing to do with business.”

      Cristiano smirked, but it was too late to take back the words. She’d meant to deflect him, but she’d opened herself up to ridicule instead. Careless.

      “Ah, yes, I have heard about this. About you.”

      Antonella pulled her silk shawl closer over the pale cream designer gown she wore. He made her feel cheap—small and dirty and insignificant—without saying one word of what he truly meant. He didn’t need to; the implication was clear.

      “If you are finished, Your Highness?” she said frostily. “I believe I am expected at dinner.”

      He moved closer, so nearly into her personal space that it must be intentional. He was tall and broad, and it took everything she had not to shrink from him. She’d spent years cowering before her father when he was in a rage; when he’d been arrested six months ago, she’d promised herself she would not cower before a man ever again.

      She stood rigid, waiting. Trembling, and hating herself for the weakness.

      “Allow me to escort you, Principessa, for I am headed in the same direction.”

      He was so close, so real. So intimidating. “I can find my own way.”

      “Of course.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

      Beneath his studied demeanor, she sensed hostility. Darkness. Emptiness.

      He continued, “But if you refuse, I might think you afraid of me.”

      Antonella swallowed, forced her throat to work. Too close to the mark. “Why on earth would I be afraid of you?”

      “Precisely.” He held out his arm, daring her to accept.

      She hesitated. But there was no way out and she would not run like a frightened child. It was a betrayal of Monteverde to be seen with him—and yet this was the Caribbean; Monteverde was thousands of miles