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  ‘I know a lot of people. I have connections. I’m sure I could find someone to fit your exacting standards.’

  ‘Please don’t put yourself to any bother. I’m perfectly capable of finding my own lover, thank you very much.’

  ‘You don’t seem to be having much luck so far.’ He picked up his wineglass and deftly twirled it by the stem. ‘Your sister told me you haven’t got laid since—’

  Lottie got up from the table so abruptly the crockery and glassware rattled. ‘My sister has no right to tell you anything about me. I know you probably think I’m an uptight prude who is secretly desperate for a bit of passion but you’re wrong. I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is.’ She put her napkin down on the table with unnecessary force. ‘Enjoy your dinner. I hope it keeps you up all night with indigestion.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to show me the dungeon?’

  ‘Ask one of the footmen to show you.’

  ‘Frightened to be alone with me, little princess?’

  Lottie turned to glare at him. ‘I’m not frightened of you. I’m disgusted.’

  He laughed as he raised his glass in a toast to himself. ‘To pissing everyone off.’ He knocked back the contents and then grinned at the empty glass. ‘My favourite pastime...apart from sex, of course.’

  Lottie could not believe he didn’t care a jot for other people’s opinion. Surely there was some small part of him that wanted validation. How could he possibly live his life so uselessly, so pointlessly? Was his life really about nothing but sex and sin? Surely he wanted more than that. Sex was good fun and all that but it didn’t satisfy the greatest yearning of all. To be loved and accepted, to be cherished and valued.

  He repulsed her and fascinated her in equal measure. He was everything she most loathed in a man. Reckless. Morally corrupt. Enslaved by his senses. Out of control. Dangerous.

  But he made her laugh. He made her feel feminine and desirable. He made her feel.

  She straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ll show you the dungeon if only to prove how unsuitable it is for hosting a party.’

  His dark eyes gleamed. ‘Will you hold my hand if I get scared of the dark?’

  Lottie wondered if there was anything that truly scared him. He had such a fearless devil-may-care attitude to life, which—if she were to be perfectly honest with herself—she privately envied. She had let herself go just the once and it had backfired on her. Lucca let himself go all the time and didn’t seem to care what the fallout was. He seemed to revel in causing as much of a stir as possible. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We have electricity down there. It was installed ten years ago.’

  He smiled that sexy trademark slant of his. ‘If it fails, at least we have backup.’ He glided an indolent finger across her cheek as if to prove it.

  Lottie brushed his hand away but her skin was still tingling when they got down to the dungeon via a service lift that only palace staff had access to.

  The door was locked but she knew where the key was kept. She took it out of its hiding place and handed it to Lucca. ‘You can do the honours. The door’s a little heavy for me.’

  He gave her an assessing look. ‘You’re not thinking naughty thoughts, are you, tesore mio?’

  Lottie hated that he could make her blush so easily. ‘What naughty thoughts would I be thinking?’ Apart from getting naked with you and having the orgasm of my life?

  He was still watching her with a steady and knowing gaze. ‘I don’t mind being tied up or blindfolded, even whipped on occasion, but I draw the line at being locked in a dungeon all by myself. What would be the fun in that?’

  ‘You have an overactive imagination.’

  ‘So do you.’

  Lottie rubbed her arms with her crossed-over hands. Aside from the danger of being alone with Lucca Chatsfield, she was seriously getting spooked hanging about in this dark corridor. It had been years since she’d been down here. Ten years to be exact. Madeleine had locked her in the dungeon as a joke when she was thirteen years old. She had been scared witless and had been claustrophobic ever since. ‘Are you going to unlock the door or stand out here talking about it all night?’

  He gave a low chuckle that echoed like a villain’s muahhahaha laugh in the cold dark space. She pinched her lips together to stop from smiling at his puerile sense of humour and stood well back as he unlocked the dungeon door. The hinge creaked like rattling chains and another chill tiptoed over her scalp like an army of ants with frostbitten feet.

  ‘That hinge could do with a squirt of oil,’ Lucca said. ‘You ought to put one of your fancy footmen on to it.’ He held the door open for her, sweeping his hand in front of himself to indicate for her to precede him. ‘After you.’

  ‘Um, you go first.’

  His eyes danced. ‘You think I’m going to fall for that old trick? Nah, you’ve got the wrong dude, baby girl. You go first. That way I can keep my eye on you.’

  Lottie stiffened her spine and walked past him, the cold damp air wrapping around her ankles like the ghastly leg irons attached to the stone walls. In that terrifying half-hour when Madeleine had locked her in all those years ago Lottie had sworn she could hear ghostly wails from behind those ancient stones. She rubbed at her arms again and turned and faced him. ‘As you can see, it’s totally unsuitable for a hens’ party.’

  ‘I disagree and so does your sister.’

  She frowned at him. ‘You’ve already talked to her about this?’

  ‘But of course. She thought it was a fabulous idea.’

  Of course she would, Lottie thought with an ember of resentment burning in the pit of her stomach. Her sister thought she was a scaredy-cat and delighted in pushing her out of her comfort zone. Wasn’t that the reasoning behind Lucca being brought in to add a bit of excitement to her staid and boring life? ‘Yes, well, obviously my sister and I don’t have the same taste in entertainment.’

  ‘Or men.’

  ‘I haven’t told you my taste in men.’

  ‘No, but I can guess.’

  Lottie folded her arms. ‘I’ll save you the mental effort. Intelligent, hard-working and trustworthy.’

  He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. ‘What about a sense of humour? Isn’t that what women find most attractive in a man?’

  ‘I prefer loyalty over laughter.’

  ‘When was the last time you laughed?’

  ‘I don’t keep a detailed record.’

  His gaze went to her mouth. ‘Health experts say you should laugh every day.’ His eyes meshed with hers. ‘It’s like sex. It releases feel-good hormones.’

  Lottie wasn’t sure how he had done it without her noticing but he was suddenly standing close enough for her to feel his body warmth radiating against her. Her heart skipped a beat as he traced the curve of her jaw with a fingertip. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’

  ‘I’m taking your mind off the fact that you hate being down here.’

  ‘What makes you think I don’t like being down here?’ She’d tried for insouciance but was pretty sure she missed the mark.

  He traced her lower lip with the same idle fingertip. ‘You’re as tense as a trip wire.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t like being down here with you.’

  His eyes teased hers. ‘If you didn’t like being down here with me you would’ve stepped back ten seconds ago.’

  Lottie stepped back so quickly she stumbled on the uneven floor and would have fallen except for the steadying action of one of his hands on her wrist. Her stomach hollowed as his fingers found the betraying leap of her pulse. ‘Let g-go of me this instant.’ To her chagrin her voice came out husky instead of brusque.

  His fingers left a fiery trail over her skin as they slowly relinquished their hold. ‘Don’t forget our date tomorrow.’

  She frowned as she rubbed at her wris
t. ‘Date? I’m not going on a—’

  ‘We have to get your sister’s wedding-night gear. I know just the place in Monte Carlo. A friend of mine owns an exclusive lingerie boutique.’

  Lottie wondered what sort of friend. An ex-lover perhaps? He had ‘friends’ all over the globe. He was utterly shameless in how he conducted his life. He used people when it suited him and dropped them when it didn’t. ‘Why do you want to go Monte Carlo?’ she said. ‘We have perfectly fine shops here or we could shop online.’

  ‘I have some business to see to.’

  ‘What sort of business?’

  His dark eyes twinkled. ‘Secret men’s business.’

  Lottie glowered at him. ‘A hook-up?’

  ‘You could call it that.’

  She clenched her hands into fists, struggling to keep her anger contained. Didn’t he realise his outrageous behaviour would impact on her? He was making a game out of the situation but it was her reputation and her pride that was at stake. ‘You’re supposed to be helping me with the wedding. What will your father and his CEO say if they find out you’re out partying on the continent instead?’

  He leaned against the wall in that indolent manner he had perfected. ‘They won’t say a thing because you’re coming with me.’

  She narrowed her eyes to hairpin-thin slits. ‘What? While you hook up with some balloon-breasted bimbo? I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s already arranged. Your sister’s lady-in-waiting emailed me the details earlier. We’ll fly over tomorrow morning by helicopter and spend the night at the Chatsfield Monte Carlo. It’ll be a blast.’

  Helicopter? Ack! The last time she had flown in one she had been wretchedly airsick and the press waiting near the helipad had got the most candid shot of her of all time.

  But flying with Lucca Chatsfield was one thing, sharing accommodation was another. ‘I’m not staying with you!’

  ‘Separate rooms, of course.’ He smiled an I’m-rotten-to-the-core-and-you-love-me-for-it-anyway smile. ‘I’m to be your stand-in bodyguard. Reckon I can keep you out of danger?’

  Why, oh, why was Madeleine encouraging this farce?

  He was the danger.

  Even if he didn’t come anywhere near her, Lottie could just imagine the torture of listening to him having animal sex with some empty-headed wannabe starlet next door.

  Argh!

  CHAPTER SIX

  LOTTIE HAD GROWN up surrounded by wealth, and was certainly no stranger to private jets and helicopters and luxurious hotels and palaces, but the Chatsfield Monte Carlo was one of the most stunning hotels she had ever set foot in. It had an old-world grandeur about it that made her feel as if she was stepping back in time to an era when glamour and style were paramount. Crystal chandeliers dripped like diamonds from the ceiling; the plush dark blue velvet sofas and chairs in the reception area were set on ankle-deep Persian rugs to soften the polished marble floors. Scented flowers adorned the reception counter as well as on a centre table in the foyer where a massive display of summer blooms sat in a glorious fountain of colour. Attentive uniformed staff moved purposely about the area, seeing to the needs of the designer-dressed and jewellery-clad guests.

  Which kind of made Lottie regret her choice of clothes...

  The passive-aggressive streak in her nature had made her wear her oldest faded denim jeans and a boring white cotton shirt, and seen-better-days-and-pavements black ballet flats that made her look like a midget next to the driver of the limousine, let alone Lucca, who towered over her like a skyscraper. She had her tortoiseshell glasses on and her hair was in a tight knot at the back of her head. So tight it had given her a headache, which had been amply magnified by the stomach-churning dread that had accompanied her on every agonising second of that flight. Fortunately it had been a smooth crossing but even so her fingernails were chewed back to her elbows. Not that Lucca had noticed. He’d spent the whole time flirting on social media. Damn him.

  Beautiful people were everywhere. Male and female, young and old, dressed in designer clothes, the air pungent with the scent of expensive perfume. It made Lottie feel like a small brown moth in an exotic butterfly house.

  She didn’t belong.

  Lucca glanced down at her once their luggage had been taken care of by a bellboy. ‘You okay?’

  Lottie gave him a pained smile that didn’t reveal her teeth. ‘Headache.’

  A flicker of concern passed over his features. ‘You should’ve said something on the way over.’ He gently touched her forehead with the back of his hand like a parent would do a small child checking for signs of a temperature. ‘I should’ve guessed you weren’t well. You weren’t snipping and snarling at me with your usual form. You barely uttered a word.’

  ‘I’m not keen on helicopters.’ Lottie wanted to kick herself for confessing it. She waited for him to laugh or make a joke of it but instead he looked at her with a tight frown.

  ‘Why didn’t you say? We could have come by ferry or hired a private catamaran.’

  She gave a helpless shrug. ‘I don’t like confined spaces. They make me feel ill.’

  ‘Come on.’ He tucked her arm through one of his. ‘You can have a lie-down until you feel better.’

  ‘Lucca Chatsfield?’ A voice called out as footsteps click-clacked towards them as they waited for the penthouse suite lift. ‘Lucca or is it Orsino? No, it’s Lucca, isn’t it? Can I have a quick word?’

  Lottie mentally rolled her eyes. Here we go. The first of no doubt dozens of bimbos who wanted to burrow under the covers with him. She turned to see a woman of about thirty-five carrying a camera with a telephoto lens and a mobile phone.

  The woman’s eyes opened a little wider when she saw the way Lucca had Lottie’s arm looped through his. ‘Princess Charlotte? I mean, Your Royal Highness. Are you here with Lucca Chatsfield?’

  The incredulity of the woman’s tone irritated Lottie. Was it so unthinkable that a man—even a man as unprincipled and promiscuous as Lucca Chatsfield—would be interested in her? She tried to slip her arm out of Lucca’s but he anchored her there with a firm press of his hand. ‘No, I’m—’

  ‘We’re here on official business,’ Lucca said with his customary charm. ‘Princess Charlotte isn’t feeling well. I’m taking her up to bed.’

  The journalist gave an I-just-got-the-scoop-of-a-lifetime smile. ‘I’m sure she’ll enjoy that.’

  Lottie wrenched out of his hold once the lift doors had pinged to a close. ‘Have you gone completely mad? What the hell are you playing at? She’ll tell everyone we’re dating!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So?’ She glared at him. ‘So? You don’t date. Remember? You have sex with women, then dump them before they get their clothes back on.’

  He scratched at his jaw, the sound of his stubble rasping against his fingers loud in the silence. ‘Mmm, you may have a point there. This could be very bad for my reputation.’

  Lottie spread her hands, glaring at him furiously. ‘Your reputation? What about mine? It’ll be over every newspaper by morning that I was whisked up to your penthouse like some silly little floozy who can’t wait to get naked with you.’

  His eyes ran over her jeans and cotton shirt, wrinkling his nose as if she were wearing a bin liner. A used one. ‘Nah, they’ll never buy it.’

  She folded her arms across her chest and scowled at him. ‘What? I suppose my breasts aren’t big enough.’

  His eyes went to her breasts, lingered there for a moment like a warm caress. ‘Your breasts are fine.’

  ‘Is it because I’ve got a working brain between my ears?’

  ‘On the contrary. I find your intelligence a big turn-on.’ His eyes smouldered as they went to her mouth. ‘But then, I don’t think there’s a man alive who doesn’t get off on a smart mouth and a quick tongue.’

>   Lottie felt a lava-hot blush creep up over her face. Heat flowed through her body like a flood of fire, igniting her core so that it pulsed and throbbed with a hollow ache that was shockingly primitive. Her mind had any number of reasons—literally thousands of reasons—to keep her distance from Lucca Chatsfield but her body had somehow lost connection with Ground Control. It was running on autopilot, wired to some primal frequency that had no relation to common sense.

  She found herself wondering what it would be like to taste him intimately. To run her tongue down the length of him, to taste the male essence of him. To feel him shudder and convulse and flood in ultimate pleasure. To feel his skin slick with sweat against her own.

  He moved a step closer and brushed against her cheek with a fingertip. ‘You really are burning up, aren’t you?’

  His pelvis was just inches from hers. She could feel the cold metal buckle of his belt against her belly through the thin cotton of her shirt. She could feel her pulse revving like a Formula One car on the starting line. Broohm. Broohm. Broohm.

  Lottie didn’t dare lock gazes with him. She kept her eyes trained on the V of his shirt where some dark curly hairs were showing. She knew she should step back. Why wasn’t she stepping back? Her feet felt like they were stuck to the floor. ‘Maybe I’m coming down with something.’

  ‘Hope it’s not catching.’

  She looked at his shirt button. His chest hair was too much of a heady reminder of the potent hormones that were surging around his body. ‘I’m sure your immunity is far superior to mine.’

  He gave a light chuckle and stepped back as the doors of the lift opened. ‘This is our stop.’

  Lottie stalled outside the penthouse and eyed him warily. ‘I thought you said separate rooms.’

  ‘There’s a separate suite off this one.’ He held the door open. ‘All the Chatsfield hotels have multiple-suite penthouses.’

  ‘Do the doors have locks?’

  ‘What?’ He flashed a grin at her. ‘Are you worried you might be tempted to gate crash one of my orgies?’

  She gave him a gelid look. ‘I hope my suite has a pair of industrial-size earplugs.’