By Royal Decree. Оливия Гейтс

      “Have you been to Vienna to see it?” he asked.

      She laughed and the spell was broken—at least temporarily. “No, I haven’t made it to Vienna yet.” Or anywhere east of the Atlantic Ocean.

      “You should go.”

      With what money? She caught his hand and pulled him along. He was a sweet guy, but there was a world of difference—and money—between them. “Maybe someday. Oh, look at the suffragettes’ uniforms. Very masculine.”

      Giorgio stood patiently next to her, not fidgeting a bit or checking his phone as she examined the clothing in the remaining rooms. She wished she could take photos, but the light was too low to get any of the details. They exited into a gift shop with several reproduction jewelry items and books on art and fashion of the time period covered.

      Giorgio picked up the hardcover, full-color photo book that accompanied the exhibit. “Would you allow me to buy you a small gift, a souvenir of our afternoon together?”

      “That book’s not exactly small.” But she was dying to get her hands on it, especially to look at the beading and embroidery in close detail.

      “I’ll carry it for you if it’s too heavy.” His green eyes twinkled.

      She paused for a second and then decided her self-reliance could take a backseat to graciousness for once. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

      Giorgio seemed surprised, as if he’d expected her to tussle with him over it. “You’re welcome.” He hastened to the cash register to pay for it before she changed her mind, probably.

      Renata busied herself by examining the jewelry. It was a bit elaborate for her tastes, with filigree and crystals and jet beads galore. Aunt Barbara would love it.

      “Do you see anything you like here?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “I was just thinking my aunt would like some of this. She likes more…elaborate things than I do.”

      He eyed her up and down. “A woman who looks like a forties’ movie star doesn’t think that counts as elaborate?”

      “I suppose silk stockings with seams up the back can’t be considered plain.”

      “Not at all.” His voice sounded husky for a second. “But authentic, right?”

      “Absolutely.” Renata had to clear her own throat. “Maybe I’ll bring Aunt Barbara to see the exhibit. I’ve encouraged her to branch out a bit with some designs of her own.”

      “With you as her mentor, I’m sure it would be a success.”

      “That’s kind of you.”

      Giorgio shrugged. “Only the truth. You’re a self-made woman, whereas I’m the royal caretaker, making sure everything stays intact for the next generation.” He sounded a bit dejected.

      “But that’s important, too. You have thousands of families depending on you to make sure everything runs smoothly, that parents can give their children the opportunities to succeed that they might not have had themselves.”

      He grinned. “You’ve very smart, you know that?”

      “Of course. And now, if you’ll call for that slick car of yours we can tour around for a bit before you meet your sister for dinner.”

      He immediately texted his driver who showed up in an impossibly short period of time. Giorgio helped her into the limo. “Drive downtown, Paolo.”

      Paolo nodded and they slid away from the curb. Renata settled back into the luxurious seats. She didn’t know where the royal ride was going, but she was sure it would be memorable.

      “THANK YOU FOR DINNER, Renata.” Giorgio relaxed back into the limo seat. “I have to admit I am not used to ladies paying for me.”

      “Don’t be silly, it was just a chili dog,” she chided him. She hadn’t been in a limo since one of her brothers’ weddings, and this was much nicer than being stuffed into the back with several giddy bridesmaids in poufy dresses. “I’ll add it onto the alterations bill for your sister’s dress if you insist.”

      He leaned toward her. “I do.”

      Stefania had called to cancel dinner since she had a term paper due soon and her fiancé was fogged in at Heathrow airport anyway.

      Giorgio had called his driver to come get them and they had cruised the city as best as they could with a giant limo. But it was getting late, and Renata had reluctantly told Giorgio to head for Brooklyn.

      “Tell me when you are free again.” Giorgio twined his fingers between hers.

      “Free for what?”

      “Free to see me again. I’ll take you to the Plaza for dinner.”

      She rested her head on his shoulder. “Only if they serve chili dogs.”

      “I’ll make sure they do.” He ran the back of his hand along her cheek. “I want to see you again.”

      Oh, so did she. “Would you like to see my neighborhood?”

      “What?” He looked out the window at the identical row houses stretching as far as they could see.

      “Tell your driver to cruise around in this area for a little while. I’ll give you a private tour.” She was practically crawling out of her skin with lust and finally gave in.

      He pressed an intercom button and gave instructions in Italian. “There. He will drive around until I tell him to stop. He cannot see or hear anything in the back so you can feel free to say whatever you want.” He pressed a button that turned on hidden dim lighting. “I want to see you while we talk. You are the sexiest woman I have ever met.”

      She snorted.

      “What?” He furrowed his black brows. “You do not think you are sexy?”

      “Oh, I know I am.” And that had been hard-won self-knowledge. “But I’m no six-foot, one-hundred-pound supermodel.”

      “Thank God,” he said fervently. “I’m not a man who likes women with more muscle than me.” He caressed her cheek. “A real man wants a real woman, soft and smooth.” He trailed his hand down her neck to her shoulder. “Round and ripe, like a juicy peach plucked from the tree.”

      Renata was ready to be plucked, backseat of the car or not. Her nipples were as hard as peach pits inches from where his fingers stroked the base of her neck and her “fruit juices” were definitely ready for sampling. “And you are a real man, Giorgio,” she purred.

      “You know I am, Renata.”

      “Tell me what you think of me—all real, by the way.” She sat back and slowly unbuttoned her blouse, her eyes never leaving his. He swallowed hard as her black lace bra appeared.

      “Bella, che bella.” Still he hesitated, so she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders.

      “All for you, Giorgio.” She unfastened her French twist and shook her red hair loose like a pinup girl. “I’ve been waiting all day for your touch. Don’t make me wait anymore. You don’t want to get a reputation for a tease, do you?”

      He groaned, his cock stretching his Italian wool pants in a way the designers never intended. She crawled over to him and cupped his erection. His green eyes practically rolled back into his head. He was huge even through the cloth, his plump head firm and round under her fingers. The thought of all that Italian goodness inside her made her shiver. She started to unzip him.

      The next second she was flat on her back on the seat, her bra gone and her breasts bare. His mouth was firmly fastened to one nipple, his fingers playing with the other. He sucked on her as if he were starving for her, and she was starving for him. She arched her back, pushing her breast up for his easier access.

      He switched