The Princes' Brides: The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride / The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife / The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride

He would keep the bank’s name, Stafford-Coleridge-Black, intact.

In fact, he’d almost said so yesterday in hopes of avoiding this morning’s meeting, but he suspected that giving in without at least a small battle would only make Black ask for something more.

So he’d agreed to today’s meeting, which had meant spending another night in the city.

Another night plagued by memories of how he’d let a woman make a fool of him.

Dio, how ridiculous he was! He’d had a night of sex—the best sex of his life, and that was saying a great deal. A night of fantastic sex, with no morning-after to deal with. No female batting her lashes over coffee, telling him how wonderful he was, asking when she would see him again.

Ask half a dozen men what was wrong with that scenario and they’d laugh and say there wasn’t a thing wrong with it.

Mind-blowing sex. No names. No commitment. A man’s fantasy.

Then why was it driving him insane, that she’d left his bed while he slept? Why should it bother him?

He still winced when he recalled how he’d gone searching for her in the hall. Made a fool of himself with the elevator operator, the night clerk. Taken a cab to that damned club and demanded answers.

Embarrassing? A little…

Hell. A lot.

A woman should not be the one who walked out of a relationship. Even if that “relationship” only lasted a few hours. Yes, he knew all about the Age of Equality but a woman had never walked out on him, not under any circumstances.

This one had, and he didn’t like it.

That was why she was in his head, even now. Even when he was about to complete a deal he’d worked on, dreamed of, for years. Instead of concentrating on it, he was thinking about a woman who—

“Prince Barbieri?”

Who should consider herself fortunate he’d had no way to locate her because if he had—

“Prince Barbieri. Sir? If you please—”

“Si,” Nicolo said, and cleared his throat. “Are you ready to begin? I was, ah, I was just reading through my notes, and—”

And, he looked up.

The world tilted.

The woman with the violet eyes was standing in the doorway staring at him just as he was staring at her, as if one of them was an apparition.

He saw the color drain from her face. Saw her mouth drop open. Saw the swift rise and fall of her breasts beneath the jacket of a demure blue suit.

“Demure” was the word for her, all right. Whoever she was, whatever she was doing here, today she was playing the part of a virgin.

A muscle knotted in Nicolo’s jaw.

He shoved back his chair. Rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving her. She took a quick step back. Her lips formed a silent plea.

No!

He forgot everything. The boardroom. The old man. The deal he’d worked so long to finalize.

“Yes,” he said grimly. “Oh, most definitely yes, cara!”

She shook her head. Stumbled back another step…

“Do you two know each other?” Black asked.

Nicolo swung his head toward the old man. “What?”

“I said, have you met my granddaughter before, Your Highness?”

Nicolo, a man who had glibly talked his way into the presence of captains of industry and heads of nations during his determined rise to the top, opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Black’s granddaughter? This—this creature who would sleep with a stranger and then disappear into the night was his granddaughter?

Yes. Of course. A spoiled rich brat, accustomed to playing a seductive nymph by night and a sweet virgin by day. He’d seen lots of women like this. The rich seemed to specialize in breeding them.

“Grandfather.” Her voice shook but Nicolo had to give her credit for recovering fast. “I—I didn’t realize you were busy. I’ll come back later. This afternoon. Or tomorrow. Or—”

“Prince Barbieri? Please, sit down. You, too, Aimee. This meeting very much concerns you.”

Her stricken gaze swept from the old man to Nicolo.

Nicolo narrowed his eyes. What the hell was going on here? The temptation to tell Black he would not talk business in front of the woman was strong, but he suspected Black would not back down. He wanted her here, but why?

Nicolo had no choice but to learn why.

“What a pleasant surprise,” he said, his tone silken, “Miss…Is it Miss Black?”

She nodded. “That’s—that’s correct.”

“Ah. In that case, please, join us.”

The look she gave him told him she’d regained her composure.

“My grandfather’s already asked me to stay. I don’t need your invitation.”

“Aimee!”

“No. That’s all right, Signore Black.” Nicolo drew his lips back in a cold smile. “Your granddaughter is right. These are your offices, not mine.”

“But not for long,” the old man said.

Aimee looked at him. “What does that mean?”

“Sit down, Aimee, and you’ll find out.”