By Royal Decree: Royally Romanced

“In a way.” Giorgio, carrying both of their bags, led her down to the pier a block away from the hotel.

“Ooh, a boat ride.” A good-size yacht was docked at the end of the long pier. She was glad she’d popped on a wide-brimmed white straw beach hat and oversize Jackie O sunglasses. Sun rays bounced off the water like crazy. And she could always pretend to be Jackie O reading a very serious book on Onassis’s yacht. Except she didn’t have any serious books and Giorgio was infinitely more interesting than one anyway.

“A yacht. You once suggested I should try it for relaxation. And I wanted to make it up to you for the commotion last night.”

She waved a hand at him. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“If I were a regular man, it would have never happened.”

He handed the luggage to a sailor wearing a bright blue polo shirt and helped her up the gangplank.

She recognized that shade of blue. “I think this is the same boat we came on from Genoa.”

“Yes, you’re right. We’re going on a private overnight cruise.”

Her eyes widened. “We have the whole yacht to ourselves?”

“Us, plus the captain and a couple crew members, including a chef.”

She climbed a set of stairs to the upper deck. He made an appreciative noise and gave her a quick pinch on the butt as he followed her. High heels plus a tight skirt were a killer combo since she’d thrown a bit of extra wiggle into her step.

They emerged on deck where they got a kick-ass view of the harbor with the ocean behind it. “Well, you just dodged a bullet by not having me cook.”

“An Italian girl who doesn’t know how to cook?” He shook his head in mock dismay and slipped his arm around her waist as they leaned on the rail. “What would your mamma say?”

“She’d say I’d never get a man without knowing how to keep him happy in the kitchen, but…”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“My grandmother would say it’s more important to keep him happy in the bedroom.” Unless she was baking lemon cookies.

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Not to disparage your mamma, Renata mia, but I think your nonna is correct in this instance.” The yacht began to move away from the dock and the salty breeze picked up.

“I agree. It’s socially acceptable to order out for meals, but not the other.”

“That depends on who you hang out with,” he told her.

She screwed up her face. “Yuck!”

“No, not me,” he assured her. “Perhaps it comes from having a little sister, but that kind of girl never appealed to me. They are always somebody’s daughter—or sister.”

“Good for you.” She reached up to kiss him. Of course Giorgio wouldn’t need to pay for sex, but he probably knew men who did. From what she’d seen on tabloid TV, some girls flocked around rich guys like skimpily dressed moths to a flame.

She had an unwelcome thought. What was the difference between them and her? She was here on Giorgio’s dime and had only paid a fraction of what had to be extensive expenses. On the other hand, she had gone out with him in New York because he was gorgeous and fascinating and had never asked him, never even considered hinting that he should take her to Europe. That was his idea. She had never been a gold digger and she wasn’t about to start now. Besides, he knew she wanted him for sex, not money, and had said so when he called to ask her on the trip.

Maybe that would salve her conscience. She was here because she couldn’t get enough of him the man, not him the prince with a royal treasury bankrolling their activities. She would have gladly spent a week in New York doing the same thing they were doing, minus the sightseeing. Logistics and nosy people had made that location impossible.

Renata sighed and looked over the beautiful blue water, the seabirds wheeling above the waves. It was too fine a day to worry. Giorgio knew she wasn’t like that, and so did she.

A steward in a white dinner jacket handed them each a glass flute and disappeared. “Ooh, champagne.”

“Prosecco,” he corrected her. “They grow Prosecco grapes north of Venice in the foothills of the Alps, not too far from Vinciguerra.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it.”

He surprised her by reaching under her hat and gently taking off her sunglasses. “I want to see your lovely blue eyes.”

Renata blinked her lovely blue eyes in the dazzling light. Giorgio lifted his flute and she did the same.

“To us.”

“To us?” Was there an “us”? At least for the next week or so.

“And our cruise on the lovely Italian Riviera.”

Ah, a little bon voyage toast. “To our cruise.” She lifted her glass to clink his and then drank. The sparkling wine was fruity and dry with a hint of peach.

Giorgio certainly was showing her the lifestyles of the rich and famous on their trip. She’d been slightly concerned she wouldn’t see anything of Italy but the bedroom, but Giorgio, probably realizing she wouldn’t be jet-setting back to Europe anytime soon, was being so considerate in arranging typically tourist opportunities.

The yacht slowly began to move away from the dock with a low humming of the engines. “This is really lovely, Giorgio.” Her arms settled around his waist as if they belonged there and she clung to him.

He smiled down at her. “Nicest bon voyage I’ve ever had.”

“Me, too.” She’d have to get an extra-long bon voyage kiss before she hopped a plane for New York. “What’s wrong?”

Her expression must have reflected her dismay at leaving him in only a handful of days. “Oh, um, the sunlight bouncing off the waves got me for a second.”

“Then you need these back. I’d hate for you to get a headache from the sun. It often bothers visitors who aren’t used to it.” He slipped her sunglasses back onto her nose, and she was glad for the concealment. He put his own pair on. They stared out over the water, each safe from revealing too much thanks to their shatter-resistant dark lenses.

“Where is the trip taking us?”

“Another surprise, but it will involve lots of sun, fun and food.”

“Three out of four of my favorite things.”

He pursed his lips into an air kiss. “I’m sure we can make time for your other favorite thing.”

“What, swimming?”

He laughed. He slid his hand down her waist so it rested on the curve of her hip. “The captain will be down in a minute to give us a tour of the towns as we pass them, but I think after that I will give you a tour of our stateroom. You will have had a bit too much late-morning sun and retire there for a nap—with me, of course.”

“Wow, how decadent. A nap already?” She rolled her hip slightly so he caressed her bottom.

“Everyone knows redheads are susceptible to heat,” he told her with a serious expression.

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Only to your heat,” she whispered as the captain arrived, maritime-spiffy in his white shirt with black-and-gold epaulets. He had sunburned crow’s-feet at the corners of his snapping black eyes.

“Ah, Capitano Galletti,” Giorgio greeted him warmly.