The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) Page 15

  “I’ve promised Nico to take responsibility for this Chesapeake woman while she’s in country, make the rounds talking about refugees,” Salvy pointed out. “Surely that counts for something.”

  The King shook his head. His cheeks were red; a telltale sign he was pissed. “You’ve made your bed, and now you’re going to lie in it. This family will not be seen going back on its word, but even were I willing to consider it, don’t think that agreeing to make a few public appearances on behalf of our humanitarian work would be enough to change my mind.”

  Salvy pushed his chair back and stood up, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted to ask his father what he expected after all these years of freedom. A one-eighty overnight? The people of Cielo wouldn’t believe that, even if he had the heart to make it happen.

  Magdalena thinks you have the best heart in the family. Make your father see it, too.

  Salvadore snorted at the ludicrous thought in his own head. Maybe that would be an option, if he believed it. But Maggie had always seen the best in him.

  “Good day, Father. I’ll see you at the ball.”

  “Yes, son.” The redness in the King’s cheeks had faded to pink. “Do remember what I said, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  As hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep the snark out of his response. It would do nothing to ingratiate him to the King, or to convince his father he’d grown up—or started to—but it appeared nothing could change his mind, anyway.

  Which made him wonder what the point was of all of this. Why even try to change if his fate would be the same?

  Because if he didn’t, he’d end up in monk’s robes.

  Right then, Salvy had a crazy thought: that perhaps the church would turn out to be less of a prison than a marriage to a woman who saw only what his father did—a spoiled, rich, philandering man who cared for nothing but pursuing his own pleasures.

  The sort of woman who saw him that way and wanted to bind herself to him for life, regardless…he wasn’t sure he could handle being married to a female version of himself. He was not, after all, terribly easy to like.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Magdalena

  “Papa?” Maggie smiled into the phone despite the late hour and the tightness in her back after hours of work. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay, bella mia. Juliet is taking good care of me, and tickling my funny bone, besides. I’m glad you called her.” Despite his reassurances, he sounded bone tired.

  She could relate, but she hated the fact that he had to worry about anything at this stage in his life. It should be relieving, to ease out of the business as she took it over and cared for him. Hatred for Matrigna Holdings and whoever was behind it boiled in her gut.

  “I’m glad.” Maggie swallowed.

  “Listen, Juliet read me the letter from that real estate company.”

  “I don’t want you to worry about that…”

  “No, I don’t want you to have to worry about that. We will sell the house for the price he offers and start over somewhere else. We’ve got some savings, the clients will follow, and all will be well. If they do not, then you will have the money to begin your dreams of an original clothing line. That is better.” He paused, the sorrow in his words soaking through the phone and tumbling into her heart.

  “But what about the shop? Where will we go?” She choked on the words, and hated the fact that she wasn’t fighting harder to stop all of this.

  What could they do, though? If they didn’t sell, there wouldn’t be anything left to salvage.

  “We’ll be together. You’ll have your passion.” He paused. “Things will work out, Magdalena, because you deserve happiness, and you’re a good girl.”

  “When has that ever mattered?” The bitterness in her voice startled even Maggie. She frowned, wondering where it came from—for all of the hard times she’d had in her life, she’d never been one to wallow. Like her father, she believed good things waited for good people.

  “It matters, bella mia. You will find your happiness, and this house is a building on a plot of land. It’s not love. It is not passion.”

  The words brought to mind the night she’d spent with Salvadore, images rising from where she’d tried locking them. The emotions, the sensations, had licked her insides raw all day regardless. She wanted more, and she wanted to run. A few weeks was all they would have, and Maggie knew it would have to be enough.

  “Okay, Papa. But let’s wait another week, until close to the deadline. We might be able to figure something out yet.”

  She didn’t know what, since the whole breaking-into-the-office thing had ended in disaster, but it felt wrong to give up. Maybe Salvy would come through. Maybe he would talk to the King, and the crown would get involved the way they should have been from the start.

  “Okay. Goodnight, my daughter.”

  “Sleep well, Papa. I love you.”

  Maggie hung up, and slumped back into the chair with a groan. It was foolish to believe in Salvadore and his ability to help; she knew that. She’d spent her lifetime believing he could be the man he’d been born to be, only to have him flit away and insist he was not that person. That no one needed him to be different.

  Until recently, no one else in his life had made any sort of serious demand that he should be, and now? The King was trying, but would he really change, or had she just convinced herself that he was different because she wanted to believe it so badly?

  “You are so stupid, Magdalena,” she growled at herself. People could change, but they couldn’t be changed. If and when Salvadore Piacere decided to take his rightful place in the royal family, it would be because he’d decided to do so on his own.

  Not for her. Not even for his new wife, whoever she might be.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” the familiar, silky baritone said from the workshop doorway.

  It made her stomach flip and her knees wobble, and that was before she turned around and saw the gorgeousness that was Prince Salvadore leaning against the doorframe.

  In that moment, Magdalena knew she was lost, for as long as this lasted.

  “Is that a new pastime for you?” she teased, surprised at how relaxed she sounded. “Thinking?”

  He made a face at her that suggested he might be slightly amused. “Fairly, yes.”

  “And what have you been thinking? Do I want to know?”

  “I mean, I’m the Prince of Cielo. Don’t all of my loyal subjects want to know what I’m thinking?”

  “The female ones, for sure.” He moved closer, the smell of his aftershave over an undercurrent of lust winding its way straight into her head.

  Now that she’d seen him naked, had touched his bare skin, Maggie found it impossible to not think of that fairly stunning picture, even now when he was looking nearly as incredible in a six-thousand-dollar suit.

  Salvy waved a dismissive hand at her comment, as though the thoughts of his female subjects were of little concern to him. Which might be true—he’d barely spent any time in Cielo since going away to boarding school.

  “Well, I haven’t been thinking about them. I’ve been thinking about you.” Salvy was within touching distance now and he reached for her, tugging her into his chest. “Come here.”

  “People could see. The staff is—” The rest of her protest turned into a sigh as he kissed her until she forgot what she was saying. The taste of him, the feeling of his tongue stroking hers, restoked this morning’s fire inside of a minute.

  “I’ve been thinking about that for hours.”

  “You taste like scotch.”

  He gave her his roguish smile, the one that graced the tabloid covers more often than not, and a hot sizzle landed between her legs. Christ, she was a goner.

  “I’ve been playing poker. But don’t worry. The house is empty.” His blue eyes left her face and traveled downward, and by the time they met hers again, they shone with hungry desire.

  Maggie cleared her throat and too
k a step back before they ended up naked on top of her sketching table. “So what’s this great thought of yours?”

  “I think that you should make yourself a dress. For the ball.”

  A million thoughts ran through her head at once, but every one ended in a big fat no. Her head shook in response before she realized it, and Salvy frowned.

  “Why not?”

  “Are you serious? I don’t…I’m going to be exhausted, that’s all.” Her face felt hot. She couldn’t tell him the real reason—that she couldn’t go to the ball, couldn’t watch him propose to another woman. “Why do you even want me there, anyway? I won’t fit in with those people. I’d stick out like a sore thumb, it would be super awkward, and the rest of the crown’s employees would start insisting that they receive invitations to royal functions.”

  He reached for her again, catching her fingers in his. “You’re not everyone else, Magdalena. I thought I’d made that clear by now.”

  God, she loved it when he said her name like that. She swallowed, taking a moment to remind herself why this would be a terrible idea. “I am just an employee as far as anyone knows. I don’t belong there.”

  “You can’t seriously believe that. You’re a better human being than any woman with so-called ‘good breeding’ that’s going to show up.”

  His words warmed her, and upset her at the same time. Could he really believe that the titled families in Cielo would be happy or accepting if she sidled up to the prince like an old chum?

  The look on his face said he wasn’t thinking about any of that—he wanted her there, and he wasn’t worried about the consequences. Probably because princes didn’t have to concern themselves with such thoughts.

  Maggie smiled, letting go of her irritation. It wasn’t Salvy’s fault he was born into privilege. What annoyed her more than his cluelessness was that he refused to take every advantage of that privilege. He would change the world if he wanted to.

  She couldn’t change the world if she tried. Unless pretty clothes could accomplish such a thing. On her better days, Maggie almost believed that they could.

  “I’m making the clothes for everyone else. I won’t have time to make one for myself, too,” she told him instead of getting into it. They had two weeks. She didn’t want to spend them arguing.

  The years they’d spent going back and forth on similar topics as children convinced her it would do no good anyway, and Magdalena reminded herself that she couldn’t change him. He was pretty great the way he was, anyway, and when he pulled her close again, she didn’t resist.

  Salvy lifted a hand to her cheek, his eyes serious as they looked into hers. “Are you okay with this? Really?”

  No.

  Yes.

  She was more than okay with being the woman in Salvy’s arms, with letting him keep her troubles safely on the other side. It was working for today, but Salvadore wasn’t asking about later. He never would be, not with her, and she knew that. It wasn’t fair to burden him with her feelings. Last night, he’d put himself out there. He’d told her the truth about how he’d screwed up all those years ago, told her he was sorry. Then he’d asked for something and she’d said yes, because she wanted him.

  God, did she want him. And this felt good. Too good.

  Instead of answering, Magdalena grabbed his wrist between her hands and slid his thumb between her lips. She knew from the other night that it aroused him, and the way he closed his eyes with a half-groan when she flicked her tongue over the tip, then sucked harder, gave her a feeling of power that shuddered down her spine.

  Salvy liked to be in control in the bedroom, and no doubt, it turned her on, too. But maybe it was time to turn the tables.

  She rolled her tongue over his finger one more time, then let it go and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. He was ravenous for her, tongue playing with hers as his big hands lifted the hem of the tank top under her flannel shirt. They skimmed the soft skin on her ribcage and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  Maggie wanted him, now, but they needed to be at least a little bit careful. There were windows, and some of her staff were still in the sewing rooms.

  His hands found her breasts, then slid impatiently around to unhook her bra before returning to toy with her nipples in that maddeningly intuitive way he had. She felt herself melt into him and dropped her fingers to his belt, yanking it free as he walked her backward, to an alcove where they were hidden from the large windows looking out onto the back lawn.

  On the way there, she unbuttoned his pants, unzipped his fly, and took the hard length of him in her hand. They were both shuddering with need, kissing until her mouth felt bruised, by the time they were out of sight.

  Salvy kicked his pants out of the way while she pushed down his boxers. He helped her get out of her jeans, then slid his hands under her bare ass and lifted her onto him. The shock of him inside her, all at once, made her cry out. He smothered her mouth with his and they groaned together.

  He pressed her up against the wall, her back sliding up and down on the smooth paint as he thrust inside her again and again. Her forearms rested on his muscular shoulders, her mouth locked with his as her fingers tugged hard on his hair.

  It was different than the other night, even the time on the sink. Desperate, fast, hard, and she wanted to cry with the knowledge that it couldn’t last forever.

  “Don’t stop,” she gasped into his lips.

  Salvy complied, at least for another five minutes. He held her up while they both came, still kissing to try to muffle the sounds of pleasure.

  “Oh my god,” she managed once her toes were back on the ground.

  “My feelings exactly.” Salvy tugged his underwear, then his pants, back on, leaning in to kiss her silly again. “You are amazing.”

  She had trouble believing him when he said things like that. It would be nice to not think about the scads of other women he’d been with, but that was easier said than done. Then she thought again about what they’d just done, and panic rose in her throat.

  “Oh my god,” she said again, but the worry in Salvy’s eyes promised he heard the difference.

  “What? Are you okay?”

  “We didn’t use a condom.”

  His eyes went wide, as though he’d just realized, and he propped himself up with one hand on the wall next to her head. “Shit, I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m always really careful, and I see a doctor every three months to be sure. You don’t have to worry about me, but…”

  “I don’t think I’ll get pregnant,” she breathed, after doing some quick math in her head. Not impossible, of course, but not likely.

  They breathed together for a few minutes. She was shocked that she hadn’t even thought about it, and neither had he. She would have to believe him about his usual vigilance. And pray.

  “I don’t want to make things harder for you, Magdalena.”

  “I want to make things harder for you,” she teased, trying to recapture the fun of the sex. Up against a wall. Jesus.

  “You obviously do,” he said with a wry smile. “But I’m serious.”

  “You’re not making anything hard for me, Salvy. You’re making things…interesting. And very, very hot. We’ll just be more careful.”

  “Yes. Okay.” He looked as if he believed her this time, and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “So, are you coming back to my place again or do I have to toss you over my shoulder and drag you?”

  “That would not be very princely behavior,” she informed him, even as the mental image put a little tingle in her belly.

  “For you,” he murmured, leaning in close, “I’m willing to risk it.”

  A few blissful days passed, the only worry encroaching on her happiness the fact that she still hadn’t come up with a brilliant plan to rescue her father’s home. The preparations for the ball were in full swing and she’d left Salvy asleep before dawn, needing to shower and change and get back to the workroom before the majority of the staff showed up. The last thing Maggie needed wa
s questions, and she, like her father, always made sure she was the first one in the room.

  When she got there, she found that a letter had arrived at the palace, addressed to her. It lay on her desk in a nondescript, white envelope. There was no return address but the stamp said it came from Cielo, and her full name was listed on the front in a simple print. No frills.

  Her fingers shook as she picked it up. It was unexpectedly thick, and when she used a pair of scissors to split it open, a stack of photographs fell out.

  Magdalena’s heart sank into her stomach as she saw her own naked body, and Salvadore’s, through the windows of his house. In the alcove.

  Whoever took them had access to the grounds, and the illusion of security at the palace shattered around her like glass. Panic grabbed her lungs and squeezed. She pulled out a single sheet of paper, unsurprised by the Matrigna header.

  Miss Rossi -

  It appears now that you have as much of a reason to sell as your father. If Gabriel doesn’t meet my deadline, the Prince won’t be the only person who’s bared it all in front of the world.

  No signature at the bottom, but it wasn’t necessary. It didn’t matter, honestly, not anymore. These pictures would kill her father, and not only that, they would kill her chances at a future here in Cielo. She’d be labeled as just another one of Prince Salvy’s whores, another woman who couldn’t keep her clothes on in the face of his piercing blue eyes, strong jaw, chiseled body, and the promise of a crown.

  No. That wasn’t why she lo…cared for Salvadore. She fought the idea with a ferocity that surprised her, but on its heels came a rush of acceptance.

  It didn’t matter why she’d slept with him. Whoever owned Matrigna didn’t care, and the tabloids sure as hell wouldn’t. She tried and failed to imagine the looks on her friends’ faces, especially Camilla’s. They would think her a horrible hypocrite, after the way she’d criticized Salvadore’s behavior.

  No one but the two of them knew how close they’d been growing up, how long she’d been pushing down her feelings for him. No one would care.