Princess's Nine-Month Secret. Кейт Хьюит

and hope Abdul—and her mother—bought her lie. This was her one night to shine, or at least twinkle a little.

      Halina stepped out of the stall, her eyes widening at the sight of her reflection. The dress hugged her curvy figure, leaving little to the imagination. She’d never, ever worn something so flagrantly sexy. She’d never worn a dress so beautiful, so bare. She felt practically naked. The sheer stocking made her legs look long and slim, as did the sparkly black heels. She had no jewellery or make-up, and she’d have to leave her hair down, tumbled about her shoulders. She wouldn’t look nearly as sophisticated as the women she’d just been spying on, but it would have to do.

      One night. An hour, even. All she wanted to do was circulate among people, drink champagne, chat and maybe, maybe, flirt a little. And then she’d creep back to her bed. But for an hour—or two—she’d have fun. She’d live.

      With her head held high, Halina walked out of the bathroom. She wasn’t used to the heels and she stumbled for the first few steps before she got the hang of it, swinging her hips, sashaying a little. It buoyed her confidence, as did the admiring look from the man behind the concierge desk. She didn’t even think he recognised her from when they’d checked in earlier in the day.

      She followed the signs for the party and then paused as she saw a man on the door checking a guest list. She hadn’t thought of that. The prospect of being turned away before she’d even put a toe inside the opulent ballroom made everything inside her shrivel with dismay and disappointment. She couldn’t let that happen.

      A couple glided past her, pausing in front of the man. Halina watched, nibbling her lip as they gave their names and he ticked them off his list. Another couple came by, and Halina watched as they followed the same procedure before going in.

      Could she sweet talk her way in? She had a flair for the dramatic, but only in the safety of home or school. She’d never tried to charm a stranger, but she supposed she’d have to try.

      Just then the man with the guest list caught her eye. He raised his eyebrows, managing to look both inquiring and a bit disdainful. ‘May I help you, miss?’

      Halina opened her mouth, her heart beating hard. ‘Well...’ she began, trying desperately to think of some credible reason why her name wasn’t on the list but why she should still be allowed entrance to the party. ‘As a matter of fact...’

      The man’s polite smile started to turn cool. ‘Are you a guest tonight, miss...?’

      Halina stared at him wretchedly. It was going to be over before it had even begun. Then she heard a voice from behind her, low and dark and rich.

      ‘Yes, she is,’ the man said. ‘She’s with me.’

      * * *

      Rico Falcone was looking for a woman, and he knew from the tightening in his gut that he’d found her. A startled gasp escaped the woman in question, her rosy lips parting as she whirled around to face him, dark hair flying about her shoulders in luxuriant waves and curls.

      He’d caught a glimpse of her as he’d walked down the hall and his attention had been snagged immediately. A lush, curvy figure poured into a tight silk dress. Long, tumbling dark hair that she’d left loose and wild, like an open invitation. When she turned he saw dark-brown eyes widen, the colour of mahogany extravagantly fringed with soot-dark lashes.

      ‘I...’ she began in a breathy voice.

      ‘Cara,’ Rico purred, sliding a hand around her waist and enjoying the feel of his hip bumping hers. ‘It was so good of you to wait for me.’

      ‘I... I...’ she stuttered again, looking shocked. Was she playing the innocent or was she just slow? She was obviously a gate crasher, so Rico would have expected her to play her part in this charade with a bit more alacrity. Never mind. He didn’t bed women for their brains.

      ‘Very good, Signor Falcone,’ the man said, and ticked his name off the list, officious little nobody that he was. Rico moved into the room, his arm still around the woman’s waist. She didn’t resist, he noticed.

      ‘Champagne, I think,’ he murmured, and snapped his fingers. A waiter hurried forward and Rico plucked two glasses from the proffered tray before handing one to his next mistress. He’d already decided on that, although he didn’t think she’d last too long. They never did. ‘So. You obviously don’t have an invitation to this party, but what is your name?’ It was just about the only information he required of her.

      ‘H—Lina,’ she said, her fingers clenched tight around the stem of her glass.

      ‘Lina?’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘You sounded as if you were going to say something else.’

      She smiled sweetly, her eyes flashing dark fire, intriguing him. ‘Lina will do for you.’ So she had some spirit. He liked that, as long as she didn’t start getting notions, thinking she could control him. Make him care. A few of the women he’d bedded had made that error, and it had been very tedious indeed. He’d had to make short work of them, when he would have enjoyed their attentions for a little bit longer.

      ‘Lina,’ he repeated, letting the syllables slide around in his mouth. ‘And why were you so desperate to attend a party that you weren’t invited to?’

      She cocked her head, her smile teasing, her eyes alight, although he sensed a surprising nervousness underneath. ‘What girl doesn’t want to have fun?’

      ‘Right answer,’ he murmured, and clinked her glass. Her smile deepened, revealing a delightful dimple in one cheek, and she took a sip of her champagne.

      ‘Oh, it’s delicious!’ she exclaimed, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

      ‘You almost sound as if you haven’t tasted champagne before.’

      She gave him a haughty look. ‘Of course I have,’ she said, and then, as if to prove the point, she drained her glass.

      ‘Time for another, I think,’ Rico said, and summoned a waiter with one imperious gesture. This woman, this Lina, was fascinating. Gate-crasher, definitely. Gold-digger as well, he was quite sure. He didn’t mind, though; as long as women were upfront about what they wanted—as he was about what he didn’t—the arrangement was usually satisfactory. He felt the tingle through his body of attraction and, yes, desire as he looked at her. Tonight, he hoped, was going to be very satisfactory.

      She was certainly lovely, and unabashedly sexual with her tight dress and tumbled hair. She hadn’t bothered with make-up or jewellery, as if she had no need for extra frippery for what was, after all, a very basic transaction. She’d come to this party looking for fun, and quite possibly a protector. Rico intended it to be him, at least for a short while.

      He took another flute of champagne from the proffered tray and handed it to her. ‘Cin cin,’ he murmured, and she smiled.

      ‘Cin cin.’ They’d been speaking Italian, and hers was flawless, although Rico suspected it was not her first language. He wondered what was. There was a faintly exotic cast to her features, her slightly tilted eyes and golden skin. He had no intention of or interest in asking her such questions or learning more about her. He’d long ago found that women started expecting things, emotional things, when he asked them even the most basic of questions. So he didn’t. And he made sure they didn’t ask any of him, either.

      ‘Lina,’ he said. ‘This party bores me. Do you want to go upstairs?’

      Surprise flashed through her eyes and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, causing another painful arrow of desire to knife through him. ‘Upstairs?’

      ‘Yes, upstairs. I have the penthouse suite.’ He let his mouth curve in a lazy smile. ‘I think it would be a great deal more comfortable up there, and the champagne is of a far better vintage.’

      ‘I don’t even know your name,’ she protested, her cheeks flushing. She looked uncertain but also excited. Perhaps he’d been a bit too abrupt. He was getting tired of the same old niceties.