The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) Page 12

  He only had two weeks. He wouldn’t do anything that cost him a single hour.

  Chapter Twelve

  Magdalena

  Her phone dinged with a message, finally distracting her from the half-finished serving outfit in front of her. She vaguely recalled the tone going off several times since she’d last checked it, but she’d been too focused on her work to take a break.

  She realized now that she’d also forgotten to touch base with Juliet today and, with guilt twisting her belly, spit out a mouthful of pins and grabbed her phone. There was a text from Juliet, along with more than ten from Brigida and Barty.

  The one about her father took precedence. Once opened, all it said was Call us. No matter the time.

  Magdalena hit the few buttons required to reach Juliet with shaking hands. Her mind raced with a hundred terrible things that could have happened, and how much she could have already missed since the message arrived two hours ago. Her fingers curled tight around the cell as it rang on the other end.

  “Maggie?” Juliet sounded breathless.

  “What’s wrong?” It was hard to talk around her heart in her throat.

  “We got a certified letter from that Matrigna Holdings today. It contained some rather distasteful allegations against your father, as well as the promise to send them out in a mass email at the end of the month if he hasn’t signed the papers selling this property for twenty percent of what it’s worth.”

  “Oh my god. He was offering fifty percent the last time,” Maggie breathed. How could this be happening? Where would they go? How would she take care of her father, and where would they be able to keep the business going without the workshop out back?

  “Yes. The letter said that the percentage will go down a percent every day he refuses to sign the papers. If we wait until the end of the month, you’ll end up with nothing.” Juliet’s voice shook.

  Maggie’s heart sank—what had been in those papers? Would it change the way Juliet felt about her father? Would it change the way she thought about her father?

  “Are you…are you still good to stay until your niece arrives?”

  “Magdalena Rossi. I’ve known you your entire life, so I’m going to let that slide.” Her voice was hard. “Your father is my best friend. Do you honestly think there’s anything about him that I don’t know?”

  Maggie had never had a true best friend—not like Juliet and her father. Salvy had been as close as she’d come, but over the years, it often seemed as if she had never known him at all. Now that he was back, and seemingly determined to set things right, she wondered if that were true.

  “Your father is a good man. By the time a person reaches his age, well…we’ve all made mistakes that could be seen as unfortunate were they to be made public. But he saved my life, child. And he doesn’t deserve to be punished for it.”

  “What does that mean?” It felt as if an elephant sat on her chest.

  “That’s his story to tell, love. He’ll do it the next time you’re home.” Juliet paused. “Your friends have been trying to get ahold of you.”

  “I see. I’ve been busy.”

  “If I were you, I’d call them next.”

  They hung up, and the onslaught of messages waiting from her friends felt like a pile of bricks suspended above her head. Her palm started to sweat as she read through them, the last one a link to a local news article about a fire at an office building downtown—the same office building she and Brigida had broken into a few nights ago.

  She clicked on the link and read, her teeth sinking further and further into her lower lip. “Holy shit.”

  The Arcobaleno Fire Department responded to a fire early this morning at an office building downtown. The blaze began in the space belonging to Matrigna Holdings, a firm with multiple real estate interests in the country. The fire was contained to their office, as well as others on the floor, and no one was in the building at the time.

  The fire department has determined that a faulty space heater being left on was the cause of the blaze. The employees are being questioned but the department believes the incident to be accidental at this time.

  “Oh my god.” Maggie dropped the phone into her lap and pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart raced at the memory of the other night—at how she had most definitely forgotten to turn off the little space heater under the desk before they’d left Matrigna’s offices.

  Her recklessness could have killed people. The way it was, it had cost people money, and if they found out that the office had been broken into, or caught them, she would surely be held accountable. Arrested.

  Turned out that she didn’t have to live as long as her father to rack up secrets that could ruin her life.

  Tears gathered in her eyes and poured down her cheeks, unchecked. They’d been building inside her for days, since that doctor had given them the news about her father, and then they’d received the summons from the palace. It was too much to deal with all at once, and with Matrigna thrown into the mix, the wheelbarrow holding the load of bricks overturned. They fell on her, crushing the belief that everything would be okay out of her along with gushing sobs.

  Magdalena gave into the fit, laying her head on her forearms on top of the workstation and letting her fear and frustration out into the world. It wouldn’t change anything, but if she could feel lighter perhaps she would be able to see a way out of this that she hadn’t imagined.

  The soft touch of a hand on her back startled a wet shriek from her throat, and she struggled to see through her puffy eyes.

  Prince Salvadore stood behind her, his blue eyes a storm of anger and apology and protectiveness. “Tell me what’s wrong. Now.”

  The command sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted to do what he said, and she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but neither would make her feel better.

  But she needed a friend, and over the past week, he’d proven that he might be capable of a thing like that, after all. It would be a relief to share at least part of the load.

  “My father is sick. It’s Parkinson’s and it’s not going to get better.” More tears gathered and fell, no matter how hard she blinked them back. “We’re going to have to sell our house because of this predatory real estate company and…” She hiccupped, then attempted to draw a deep breath. “And I don’t know what to do.”

  “Come here.” Salvadore reached down as he spoke, grasping both of her hands and pulling her into his chest.

  The circles he rubbed on her back made her want to melt into him, to moan with the relief of human touch. He smelled like heaven—like musk and honey and clean skin—and Magdalena burrowed deeper into the familiar comfort of their friendship.

  Friendship, ha. That was totally responsible for the burst of tingles and heat between her legs, and the reason her breasts felt heavy against his body.

  Salvy stiffened as though he’d read her thoughts. A moment later, he pushed her back a little, keeping his hands firm on her biceps and his gaze on hers. “What can I do to help?”

  “It’s not your problem, Salvy. The hug was nice, though.”

  His expression darkened with what might have been desire, but she thought it was more likely frustration. “I can’t just walk out of here and let you sob yourself to sleep over your work. Let me be your friend, Maggie. I can’t stand seeing you upset.”

  “I still have more work to do,” she argued, but it sounded feeble even to her ears.

  “Not tonight. You need a hot bath and a pile of covers.”

  Maggie laughed, the sound rough and hopeless. “You have inflated ideas about how nice the servants’ quarters are, at least in this wing. Showers only, and standard bedding.”

  “Come with me.” He slid one hand down to hers, locking their fingers together.

  Maggie gasped at the sensation, at the electricity that began in her fingertips and ran through every last inch of her body. The reaction to Salvadore’s touch left her pliant and unquestioning as he led her out of the workroom, shutting the ligh
ts off behind him.

  It was cold outside, and Salvy whipped off his down jacket, folding it around her shoulders before she could think about protesting.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “My house. I’ve got a luxury bathroom, towels as soft as that coat, and it’s going to waste on me, I can assure you.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Maggie said, her teeth chattering. It wasn’t the cold. It was the nerves. Could she trust herself to be alone with him? Could she trust him?

  At Salvy’s house, naked in his bathtub with him close enough to hear in the other room. The thought soaked her with desire and made her want to take off like a pelican with equal ferocity.

  Salvadore turned to her as they stood in the light near the rear door. He raised his free hand to her cheek, thumb brushing at the wetness he found there. His blue eyes probed her brown ones, looking for…what?

  She couldn’t breathe with the thought that he was going to kiss her. That he wanted to, that something had changed since the other night.

  “I know I don’t have to do it, Magdalena.”

  God, she loved the way he said her whole name, the way it played on his tongue. She wanted to suck on it, to taste the way it felt to him. A shudder worked through her and she knew, without a doubt, that she should not go with him to that house. She wouldn’t be able to control the feelings careening inside her, begging to be let free the way she’d released her grief earlier.

  “I want to do it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to do whatever I can to make things easier for you, even if it’s just a bath. Let me help.”

  The man looking at her, taking her breath away with his face and his words and his kindness, wasn’t the man she read about in the tabloids. Wasn’t the man who fucked his way through a dozen countries leaving rumors and broken hearts in his wake.

  This was the Salvy she’d fallen in love with—still bossy, still cocky, still irresistible as all get out, but also kind. Loyal. The man who had made her cereal and cinnamon toast and who had finally told her the truth about why he’d broken her heart all those years ago.

  This Salvy made her feel special and treasured, and as if he might stand in front of her if dragons popped up on the way down the path.

  So despite her certainty that going home with him could lead her in directions she wasn’t sure she should step, Maggie only nodded and let him lead her into the misty, cool evening.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Salvadore

  What had he been thinking, insisting Magdalena strip naked in his bathroom? He couldn’t see her through the closed door, but every ripple of water, every shift of her body, flushed him with more desire. He had the best intentions—it had twisted something primal in him to see her cry, and he’d wanted to find a way to make it better, even for a moment.

  Another woman, he might have taken to bed to make her forget, but Maggie? He wasn’t sure it would work, and he would be hard pressed to survive a rejection like that from her even if it was what he deserved.

  A prolonged splash of water echoed from the cavernous bathroom, a signal that Maggie had stood up in the tub. The mental image of her skin pebbled with water refused to vacate his mind. Salvy strode over to the windows that overlooked the forest and cracked one, letting the cold November air bathe his face. It worked, at least so that he wouldn’t be standing at full attention when she decided to come out.

  Two weeks until the ball. Until his father expected him to look over a room full of women who had never held his interest and choose one that would be his wife.

  Two weeks. So why could he think of nothing but the woman in his bathroom?

  “Um, Salvy?”

  He spun to find her standing in the doorway between the rooms and he made an unintentional strangled noise.

  She gave a self-conscious laugh. “I know, I’m sorry. I borrowed your shirt and a pair of your boxers so I didn’t have to put those cold clothes back on. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “It’s fine. Would you like a glass of wine? Or water, or tea?” He averted his eyes from the swell of her chest under the thin silk of one of his white dress shirts, doing his best not to stare at the way her dark nipples showed through the fabric. To avoid her long, tanned legs that went on forever underneath it, or the way she curled the toes of one foot under as she bit her lip.

  Her toenails were bare. Her hair was up in a messy bun and if she’d worn makeup today, it had faded from the long hours and the tears she’d been letting loose when he’d found her.

  Salvadore knew he’d never seen anyone more beautiful, not in all of the countries he’d visited. Not among all of the women who’d spent hundreds of dollars on their appearance and would sooner have died than shown their faces to him raw and natural.

  His chest hurt at the realization that he could have had her all along, if only he hadn’t been an idiot.

  He’d been an idiot for so long.

  “I’ll take a glass of wine, if you don’t mind,” Magdalena replied softly, crossing the room on her bare feet to stand at his side.

  Salvy willed his hands not to shake as he poured her a glass of Chianti. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t treat her like every other woman, but he wasn’t sure what that meant. Even if he acted on his desires, she would still be Maggie. She would never be those other women whether he slept with her tonight, tomorrow, or never.

  Looking into her face now, at the slightly dazed expression of lust winking in her eyes, he knew the last wasn’t an option. They were going to go there; it was only a matter of when.

  Salvy handed her the glass of wine and sighed, letting his gaze rake her body. “You’re beautiful, Magdalena. Stunning, in fact.”

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes, taking a long pull of her wine. It stained her lips ruby red and he forced himself not to lean in right then and suck them clean. “You’ve been with some of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen. Half of them don’t look real.”

  “That’s because they’re not real.” His voice sounded raw. “There’s nothing real about any of them.”

  “Then why do you like them?” Her dark eyes were curious, not reproachful. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, I’m just…you seem different since you’ve been back.”

  Because of you. Because of the pain and worry in my brother’s eyes. Because maybe I’ve just realized that I’ve been running from this moment for ten-plus years.

  She walked away from him then, which not only gave him space to breathe but the chance to watch her hips sway. She curled up on the sofa underneath the other set of windows, tucking her feet primly beneath her while she studied him. The look on her face said she was still waiting for an answer.

  He considered it, wanting to be honest. Maybe with himself, for the first time. “I like them because they’re there, I think. They don’t expect me to be anything more than good in the sack, and they don’t ask me for more than I want to give.”

  “Except money.”

  “Well, money I’ve got.”

  “Is that why you avoid Cielo? Your brother and your father and the people expect things from you?”

  He shrugged, pouring himself glass of wine and crossing the room to sit beside her. There was a foot of red, plush sofa between them. It felt like too much and not nearly enough space at the same time.

  “Yes. Or maybe it’s the fact that no matter what they say, they don’t truly need anything from me. It’s pity asks. Like they want me to be an invested part of the family but only because it looks good. Not because they want me around.”

  “I think you’re selling yourself short.”

  A confident smile tugged on his lips. “I never sell myself short.”

  Magdalena blushed at the suggestion in his voice and shook her head. “You don’t have to do that with me, you know. The whole overtly sexual thing.”

  “I don’t know how to stop.”

  She studied him, her gaze pinning him with intense scrutiny. “It’s a de
fense mechanism. But your body isn’t what makes you sexy, Salvy. Never has been, though I suppose it does sweeten the deal.”

  The air between them charged at her words. The world around them slowed as her dark eyes clung to his face. She let him see the truth in her words, and how she wanted him. It felt like responsibility as it pressed on his chest, the kind he’d spent a decade running from, but for some reason, escape was the last thing on his mind.

  Instead, he shifted toward her, leaving six inches between them. He needed her to come to him. “You think I’m as sexy as I was at sixteen,” he teased.

  “Sexier,” she murmured, fear and disbelief flitting across her face. “And sixteen-year-old me wouldn’t have thought that possible. But you know that. You read my journal.”

  “I am truly sorry for that, and for everything that came afterward,” he confessed, holding his breath as she inched closer. “I was an idiot.”

  “You’re still an idiot.”

  “That’s true. I’m glad you’re aware.”

  “Thank you for the apology. And for teaching me that it’s not actually possible for a person to die of embarrassment.” She bit her lip and looked away, seeming like she wanted to say something more.

  “You’re welcome.” Emotion swirled in his chest, tightening his muscles and making his heart pound. He stared into her eyes, drowning in their beauty, in the trust he saw there. In his own feelings.

  He didn’t know what was happening, or what it meant, but he knew he’d never felt like this before, not ever. Like he couldn’t get enough, like he would gasp for air if he stopped touching her. The thought of the ball, creeping closer every day, turned his stomach.