The Prince's Royal Concubine. Lynn Harris Raye

to let her move. Her feet may as well have been glued to the teak decking.

      “It means, bellissima Principessa, that I too have a proposition for Vega.” His gaze slid over her, and again she felt as if she’d stood too close to a lightning strike. “I am betting that my money trumps your…shall we say…obvious charms.”

      “How dare you—”

      “I believe you have said this already, yes? It grows tiring.”

      Antonella trembled with fury. The man was impossible, aggravating—and having the most incredible effect on her senses. Surely it was anger that made her flush hot and cold, that made her skin tingle. He was threatening to ruin all her hard work, to turn Vega away before she’d managed to hook him. She had to get those steel mills for Monteverde. Had to.

      And in order to do it, she needed to focus. Needed to will her heightened senses to calm. Needed to cloak herself in her ice princess mantle. No matter how this man made her feel, no matter how hot and achy and angry she was, she had to play this right.

      Antonella dug down deep, found what she was searching for. By degrees, she felt her body loosening from its rigid stance. Felt confidence and calm wash over her. She would not let him intimidate her.

      “Perhaps we have started on the wrong foot,” she purred. She needed to misdirect him, befuddle him. To do that, she would play the part he’d given her, make him believe there was indeed a chance of sex. It would buy her a little bit of time, at least. She could hold out the promise of a night together, keep him guessing while she worked hard to reel in Vega Steel before he could snatch victory from her.

      In spite of her inexperience, it wasn’t difficult to act the part. At times like this, she disappeared deep within herself, separated her inner being from the shell and watched everything from outside the scene. It was the only way she could cope—by pretending to be someone else. It was a skill she’d honed over years of living with an abusive father.

      Cristiano stood his ground as she reached for him, as her fingertips stroked along his freshly shaven jaw, over the fullness of his hard mouth, his chin.

      His eyes were impossible to read. And then something kindled in their depths, something that both frightened her and compelled her. Perhaps she was going too far, making a mistake…

      “You play with fire, Principessa,” he growled.

      She worked hard to ignore the warning bells in her head as she slipped her hand around to the back of his neck, into the soft hair at his nape, bringing herself closer as she did so. Could she really do this?

      She could, and she would. Let him see what a Monteverdian was made of. He would not intimidate her. He would not win.

      Slowly, she pulled his head down. So slowly. He didn’t try to move away, simply followed her bidding. She didn’t kid herself she was in control. He was interested, like a cat was interested in a mouse.

      But, for now, he let her guide him. And that was all she needed.

      When he was only inches away, she stroked her fingers down his jaw again. Over that gorgeous mouth because she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t play it too easy, of course, because he would see right through her. But if she got him worked up a bit, made him think about how to storm her defenses, she might buy enough time to get Raúl to commit to Monteverde.

      “Know this,” she said softly, her voice as sultry as she could make it. “Know that you have been this close to paradise…” She lifted herself onto her tiptoes, leaned in so close that her lips could have ghosted over his with little effort. “…this close, Cristiano,” she said, using his name for the first time. “And no further.”

      Then she took a step back, intending to leave him standing there, puzzling over what had just happened.

      A split second later, Cristiano caught her waist in two large hands, yanked her against the full length of his hard body. The wild thought that she should have run while she’d had the chance flashed into her mind. Instead, she’d pushed the thorn deeper into the lion’s paw when she should have given him a wide berth.

      Cristiano’s mouth crushed down on hers with devastating precision. The kiss was masterful, dominating, unlike any she’d ever experienced before. Antonella’s head tilted back as he bracketed her face between two broad hands. He slanted his mouth over hers, forced a response. When she opened her lips—to protest? To bite him? To do what?—his tongue slipped inside and tangled with her own.

      Heat flooded her like melting wax, dripped into her limbs, made her languid and pliable when she should be anything but. He’d caught her by surprise and she couldn’t seem to separate herself from the act. It wasn’t the first time she’d been kissed—but it was the first time she’d felt on the verge of losing herself in a kiss.

      She wanted to dissolve into him, wanted to see where this hot achy feeling would take her if she let it. It was marvelous, extraordinary—

      Reality trickled through her as his hands slipped down her back, over her hips, pulled her against his body. His hard, tense body.

      Oh, my, was that—?

      No. She couldn’t do this. He was the enemy, for God’s sake! She fought against nature, against him, against herself to claw her way back to the surface.

      And though it was a cheap thing to do, she bit down on his questing tongue just enough to make him withdraw. It was that or allow him to so completely dominate her senses that she lost the power of her convictions.

      He swore. And then he laughed. Actually laughed. “You need a spanking, cara. I’ll be sure to remedy that when we are naked together.”

      Antonella managed to jerk free from his grip. She was off-balance, her heart pounding and her blood simmering, and she wanted nothing more than to escape. But she had to stand firm.

      She jerked her shawl back into place. “If this is how you usually set about your seductions, it’s a wonder you have any success at all.”

      His eyes burned into her. “When I want something, I get it. Always.”

      Against her will, a hot little flame smoldered deep inside. She had to get away, far away. “I can’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but if you will excuse me, my lover is waiting. Ciao.”

      “For now, Principessa,” he said. “But I have a feeling you will take a new lover quite soon.”

      She’d made a mistake thinking she could manage him. A huge mistake. And yet she desperately wanted to wipe the smirk from his face. She gave him her best ice princess glare. “Yes, well, that man will not be you.”

      “Never make promises you cannot keep. The first lesson of statecraft.”

      “This isn’t a negotiation between nations.”

      “Isn’t it?”

      When she couldn’t think of a rejoinder, she pivoted and hurried to the dining room. Raúl stood on the opposite side of the room, speaking with a short, bald man. He looked up when he saw her, smiled. She smiled back. He was a handsome man, tall and rather good-looking in his custom tuxedo.

      But he did not make her blood hum. Not the way Cristiano seemed to do. Angrily, she shoved away thoughts of the prince and crossed to Raúl’s side, letting him kiss her on both cheeks in greeting.

      “There you are, Antonella. I was about to send a search party.”

      Antonella laughed. Was she the only one who thought the sound brittle, false? Other guests clustered together, talking and sipping cocktails. A few watched her from beneath lowered lids. One man stared openly.

      “I’m afraid I must always be fashionably late, darling,” she said.

      Raúl swiped a champagne glass from a passing tray and handed it to her. She murmured her thanks before lifting it to her lips. Cristiano di Savaré walked