Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa

“I-I-I wore it around my neck.” She snatched it from him, wondering if he recognized the necklace he’d bought for her from a street vendor on their first date. Even when she was decked in diamonds for some glam event, she wore it always. “Tips were better if customers thought I was—”

“Single?”

She nodded.

“We won’t have that problem for the next three weeks, will we?”

Silent, she slipped the ring on her finger and dropped the necklace in her purse. Snapping it shut, she tapped the clasp with her forefinger.

Nervous? He doubted it. Most likely, thinking of her life post three-week interlude.

She glanced at the bouquet of roses lying on the bedside table. A heartbeat, a breath, then he took the spray and tossed it to her. She caught it against her heart, and his pulse galloped. When she brushed her lips across the petals, his temperature hiked, the girth of his sex mounting. He shifted to ease the ache, his lab coat hiding the evidence of his desire from her.

War raged inside him. He must be out of his mind. After the hell she put him through, he still wanted her, fantasized … But the way he figured it, he’d seduce her once more and break her spell over him. No longer bewitched by her. Afterward, he’d give her what she wanted—otherwise why ditch out on him, not once, not twice, but thrice?

If she wanted her freedom, he’d oblige. On his terms. His gut recoiled, but he ignored the warning. A muscle pounded his throat. She’d put him through hell on a grill. He was determined to score… on all counts.

“I-I’m ready to leave,” she said, making no move to do so.

Why didn’t she just walk out the door like she’d done three months ago? Because although Ellie Ross Medeci was making a bid for her independence, she was no fool. To be totally free, she had to know how she fared in this test of wills … in this last stand with her husband. Ensure she came out with enough ammo so he could never blackmail her again… how dare he attempt to use her father as a bargaining chip to get to her.

Brave words, Ellie, but it worked… for here you are.

“Bene,” Peter muttered, a tight line slashed across his mouth.

Her heart battled her mind. She must be feeling the effects of her head injury—she was treading dangerous ground to agree to live with him for three weeks. Knowing full well that one touch from him and she’d be lost. But the way she figured it, she’d prove to him that she didn’t need him. Emotionally, physically, or financially. She would not succumb to his sexual magnetism. Then, she’d give him what he wanted—otherwise, why mention the dreaded D word?

If he wanted his freedom, she’d go along with it. On her terms. Her pulse kicked back in protest, but she dismissed the warning. She studied him from beneath her lashes. He’d broken her heart. She’d walk away the winner.

Chapter 4 (#u69df24f8-7c08-5b3b-9a91-7143a0ecdd36)

Peter drove through the gates of his … their… home, steered the Mercedes along the driveway and pulled up at the front of the house. Rose bushes of every kind surrounded the imposing structure. Ellie pressed the bouquet against her heart, remembering waking up on sunny mornings to rose-scented breeze ruffling the sheer curtains in their bedroom. A wobbly breath and she smelled freshly mowed grass and honeysuckle, which meandered along the wrought-iron fence. It bordered several acres of land, including the gardener’s cottage in back.

“Welcome home, Signora Medeci.” Peter cast her a perfunctory glance, slid out, and walked around to the passenger door to open it for her.

Already half way out when he offered his hand to assist her, she ignored his chivalrous gesture and slammed the door behind her.

She could not touch him. If she did, it would be her downfall. Ice. That’s the only way she’d combat the sexual attraction sizzling at his nearness. “Er … thanks.”

She followed him up the veranda steps to the front door. He was a man who walked with confidence, who commanded respect because he had earned it. She could not deny him that. What she could deny him was herself, her heart. You’d be denying yourself, girl, the voice in her head reprimanded. Go away, she said. She refused to live in his shadow any longer. “I can find my own way.”

“Glad to hear you still remember the way.” He inserted the key in the lock, his words laced with sarcasm.

“I sure do.” She couldn’t help baiting him. “The way in and the way out.”

He caught her in the laser beam of his eyes. “You certainly do.”

“Ye-es,” she murmured, hugging the roses to her bosom.

She had to keep her distance; must not fall for his sex appeal. If she faltered in her resolve, she’d lose. She glanced at his taciturn features. Reaching him on another level now would be like trying to break through a brick wall. She’d already gotten one crack on the head from her earlier tumble. She wasn’t eager for another.

“This is where you belong.” He opened the door wide. “Not in that two-bit hole you’ve been living in.”

She spun to give him a tart response and clutched her head, her knees buckling. “Ooh-o-o.”

Peter scooped her up in his arms and the flowers fluttered to the floor. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he said, tone firm. “I won’t bite.”

Ellie blinked at the bright spots bopping before her eyes and did as he asked, hair at his nape cushioning her fingers. High voltage zapped into her, scrambling her pulse. He smelled of soap and fresh air. It’d be so easy to burrow into his neck, nibble her way to his ear, and across his jaw to his mouth. Pretend this Arctic front between them was a bad dream. Peter strode across the threshold to the living room and broke the spell by plunking her down on the couch.

“I’ll get the luggage,” his said, his words curt.

“Whose?”

He chuckled. “That’s right. You left your things at your … er … place.”

“I have plenty more here.” She brushed a hand across her eyes, thankful that the dizziness was diminishing. “In the upstairs closet.”

He cast her a covert glance. “In our bedroom.”

“I’ll ask Marta to help move them to the guestroom,” she said.

Silence. Long, tense, and cold.

“No.”

“We made an agreement.”

“After your sudden departure, I gave the staff an extended vacation.” He walked to the circular bar in the corner. “Drink?” He glanced at her bandaged temple. “A soft beverage would be best.”

Ellie waved her hand, no.

“Marta comes by every couple of weeks to clean, cook, and stock the freezer.” He seized a bottle of sparkling water, twisted the cap off, saluted her, and took several gulps. “Jose keeps an eye on the lawns.” After contemplating the contents in the bottle, he took a last swig and set it on the counter. “I’ll move your things into the other room.”

“That means we’re alone.”

“That bother you?”

“Of course not.” But her heart bounced against her ribs.

“Make yourself at … er … home,” Peter said, a wry twist to his lips. “I won’t take long.” A steady gaze, then he turned and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor.

“Home.” The word feathered from her lips and she scooted off the sofa. Could this ever be her home? A grand house, yes. A home, she doubted it.

Yet, during her short stay here, she was glad Marta wouldn’t be taking over so completely she’d be shooed from the kitchen.

Ellie had played the lady of leisure far too long. Lazing away hours at the pool, strolling the property, shopping online, and cruising Rodeo Drive for the latest fashion trends. Gucci, Prada, Channel. She’d become a regular fashionista frequenting the gym, spa, beauty salon—manicurist, pedicurist, hairstylist, beautician. On ‘show’ with Peter at some medical event or other, she had to be on top form.

Outwardly she’d been a knockout, but inwardly she’d been a mess. The lavish pampering serviced her body, but not her soul. A sliver of fear pierced her. Twisting around, she glanced at the grounds through the window spanning one whole wall. Power walks around the estate and puttering in her miniature vegetable garden were more her style. Since it was February, she’d have to forego the latter, but she could certainly do the former, followed by a quick dip in the pool.