New Year, New Man. Laura Iding

Believe me.”

      She reached across the table and put her soft hand over his. “You look so sad, Dami.”

      Sad? Was he? “My parents married for love.”

      “Oh, yeah.” She squeezed his hand. Her touch felt so good. “They’re, like, legendary, your parents. The American actor and the Montedoran princess, finding true love, living happily ever after....”

      With his thumb, he idly stroked the back of her hand—until he realized he was doing it and released her. She gave the tiniest shrug, pulled her arm back to her side of the table and slowly ran a finger around the rim of her demitasse. He thought about kissing her—and not on the forehead.

      And what were they talking about?

      His parents. Right. “Growing up, we all—my brothers and sisters and I—loved what they had. We all knew we wanted to grow up and have that kind of love for ourselves. Well, except for my twin, Alex. Alex was always...separate. Alone. But in the end, he found his way to Lili. He found true love after all. That’s what we do, we Bravo-Calabrettis. We marry for love. We mate for life. Of the nine of us, only my youngest sisters, Genny and Rory, haven’t found the one for them yet. They have plenty of time. They’re both in their early twenties—like you.”

      “And what about you, Dami? You haven’t found the one.” She regarded him solemnly. “I hope you do.”

      He thought how perceptive she was, really, for someone so young. Once, Alice had told him that Lucy was more grown-up than he realized. He hadn’t believed her at the time. But he was beginning to see he’d been wrong.

      “Dami?”

      He gave a low laugh. It was a sound without much humor. “No, I haven’t found ‘the one.’ I honestly believe now that I’m the exception who proves the family rule. I enjoy the thrill of a new romance. I can’t get enough of the chase. But I don’t have what it takes for a lifetime of happiness with one woman.”

      “Oh, come on.” She cast a glance at the ceiling and gestured grandly with both hands, the way she liked to do. “So it didn’t work out with Vesuvia. You know what Hannah would say?”

      He put on a pained expression. “Don’t tell me. Please.”

      Lucy only grinned. She was very fond of her former foster mother. “Hannah would say, get over yourself. Try again. Forget finding someone suitable—look for someone to love. And choose a nicer woman this time.”

      “Nice women bore me—present company excluded, of course.”

      She fluttered her eyelashes. “Good save.”

      “I am the Player Prince after all. It’s my job to be smooth.”

      She drank the last of her cocoa. “That was so good it had to be sinful.” Then she pushed her chair back and stood.

      He gazed up the length of her, taking in the pretty curves of her bare shoulders and the brave beauty of that inch of scar tissue her gown didn’t hide. “Did I tell you that you are incomparable in red?”

      She dimpled at him. “It never hurts to say something like that more than once.”

      “You’re very fine, Luce. Absolutely splendid.” His pulse had accelerated and his breath came faster. Warning signs, he knew. Temptation was calling again and the urge to surrender becoming more insistent.

      He knew what to do: move, get up, break the sweet spell of this breath-held moment. Stop thinking that he wanted her more today than yesterday, more now than an hour ago, more in this minute than the minute before.

      And what was he doing, anyway, keeping on with this, with her? If he wasn’t going to take her to bed, he needed to stay away from her.

      But he wasn’t willing to do that. He wanted this time with her as much as she seemed to want it with him.

      The truth skittered through him, striking off sparks: he didn’t want to stop. And he wasn’t going to stop.

      Impossible. Sweet Lucy Cordell, of all people. He never would have imagined. Not in a hundred years.

      But he imagined it now, in detail. With growing excitement. In spite of her brother’s probable fury. Even if it ended up costing him her friendship.

      Really, he ought to be a better man. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

      She stepped away from her chair, pushed it in and came around the table toward him in a rustle of red satin, her eyes never letting go of his, all woman in that moment, the girl he had known before eclipsed, changed. When she stood above him, she reached down and put her hand on his shoulder.

      Her touch burned him, made his throat clutch, tangled his breath inside his suddenly aching chest. He couldn’t bear it. He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth, pressed the tips of them against his lips. Heat seared his belly and tightened his groin. She sucked in a sharp breath. He kissed her fingers one more time and then let go.

      That was when she said so sweetly, “Stand up, Dami. Please.”

       Chapter Six

      Damien rose and stood with her and tried to think what to say. “Luce...”

      She lifted on tiptoe, so her sweet mouth was so wonderfully, perfectly close. Her breath smelled of cocoa. “I haven’t had a lot of kisses. I mean, real kisses. On-the-lips kisses.”

      He whispered her name again. “Luce.” Somehow her name was the only word he had right then.

      She continued on the subject of kisses. “Two from you, so far. Two from a boy I met in Cardiac ICU at a very excellent hospital in Los Angeles. His name was Ramon. He was getting better, they said. And then one night, out of nowhere, he died. He had the most beautiful crow-black hair.” A single tear escaped the corner of her left eye.

      He dipped his head, kissed that tear, tasted the salty wetness on his tongue.

      She drew in a shaky little breath, put her hands on his shoulders as though bracing herself—and continued, “A boy named Troy kissed me in middle school. It was one of the few times I was well enough to go to school for a while. He kissed me out under the football bleachers. I promised to meet him in front of the school in the morning. But I got bad in the night and there was another surgery and I didn’t go to school again for three years.”

      He made a low noise in his throat, a noise of encouragement, and he pressed his lips to the pretty arch of her left eyebrow.

      She went on, “And then there was this boy in high school, a very pricey private school. I went there for three months in my junior year. Noah was rich by then....”

      Her brother had started from nothing. Lucy’s illnesses had spurred him on to greater and greater success. He’d needed a lot of money to make sure she got the very best care available.

      Lucy went on. “The boy in high school? His name was Josh and he lived in our neighborhood in Beverly Hills— This was before Noah bought the estate in Carpinteria. Josh took me to the homecoming dance and I kissed him at the door when he brought me home. He never called me after that. I called him twice, left messages with his mom. And then a few weeks later, there I was in an ambulance again. I was homeschooled exclusively after that. I never saw Josh again and I never kissed anyone else until last year.”

      “You had a boyfriend last year?” He hadn’t known.

      “Uh-uh. It was at one of Noah’s parties. A man named David, a business associate of Noah’s. David would have done more than kiss me, but I got cold feet—and don’t you dare tell Noah.”

      “Never.” He growled the word and tried to recall if he’d ever met this David. He didn’t think so, which was probably just as well.

      “Promise me,” she whispered.

      “I