Roman Spring. Sandra Marton
Caroline spun toward the connecting door. Nicolo Sabatini, dressed in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and crimson silk tie, smiled at her.
“I am disappointed, Miss Bishop. I have seen enough American films to have expected something more colorful than that.”
“Yeah? Well, stick around, Prince,” she said, her tone making it clear that her deliberate misuse of the title was meant to insult him. “Give me a minute and I’ll come up with something that will turn your face the same color as your tie!”
Silvio rose to his feet. “Your Highness—”
“Get out, Silvio.”
“Excellency, I was just about to explain the details of your proposition to the signorina—”
“With all the subtlety at your command, no doubt.” Nicolo jerked his head toward the door that led out to the reception area. “You’ve done enough,” he said sharply. “Now, get out!”
Silvio’s chair scraped as he shoved it back. He rounded the desk quickly, made an apologetic bow of his head to Nicolo, frowned at Caroline, and scurried to the door. It opened, then swung shut.
Nicolo blew out his breath. “So much for leaving things to those who are the least capable,” he said. He walked slowly toward the desk. “Please, Miss Bishop, won’t you be seated?”
“No.” Caroline tossed her head. “There’s no point. If you think your—your wonderful offer is going to sound any better coming from you than from that—that pig—”
“He is not a pig at all.”
“No? Well, I suppose not, considering your part in this sleazy little scheme. But—”
“He is another animal entirely.” Nicolo scowled, leaned back against the desk, and crossed his arms over his chest. “The man is an ass.”
“I’m telling you, he’s—he’s...” She stared at him. “An ass?”
“Exactly so. And you, Miss Bishop, are a fool.”
Caroline’s brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
“Didn’t I make myself clear last night? Then let me do so this morning. I am not interested in buying your services.”
“Oh, please! I’ve just sat through the most incredible proposition, and now you expect me to believe—”
“A business proposition. I do not buy my women,” Nicolo said coldly.
“No?” Her smile was thin. “What do you do, then? Shower them with expensive gifts to keep the lie alive? Is that what Silvio was going to explain to me next, that you’d agreed to pay the agency a commission but that you were going to give me—what? Jewels? A diamond ring? A fur coat? After you’d enjoyed my services, of course.”
A cool smile curved across his lips. “I see you put a high value on yourself, Miss Bishop.”
Caroline’s head came up. “Believe me,” she said quietly, “you could never afford me, Your Highness.”
The smile came again, quicker and somehow more knowing than last time.
“I would not have to,” he said softly.
“Listen here—”
“Because, if I wanted you, you would come to my bed eagerly, carina.”
“That’s it,” she said, flushing with anger. She turned away. “Don’t think it hasn’t been interesting.”
He stepped away from the desk and moved toward her. His hands closed on her shoulders.
“Let me go,” she said.
“Why do you deny it?” A muscle moved in his cheek. “What is between us is—”
She twisted angrily against his grasp. “Is intense dislike!”
Nicolo laughed softly. “I agree.” His hands slid up her throat and cupped her face. “But what has that to do with desire?”
“My God, how you flatter yourself! I don’t desire you, Prince Sabatini. In fact—”
His fingers brushed lightly across her lips, tracing a path of flame that she felt even in the midst of her anger.
“I have heard that you play this game,” he said softly.
“It’s not a game, damn you! If you don’t stop this—”
“On the contrary. And it is most effective. It gives a man the feeling that you must be won.” He smiled as his thumbs skimmed lightly across her cheekbones. “Or taken. It cannot be a simple illusion for you to maintain, when you know you’ve given yourself many times before.”
Caroline caught his wrists. “You bastard! What gives you the right to talk to me this way? Is it because I’ve hurt that insufferable ego of yours? Was I supposed to fall in a heap when the great Prince Nicolo Sabatini made a pass at me?”
A deep furrow appeared between his dark brows. “You delude yourself, Caroline. I made no pass.”
“Liar!”
His nostrils flared. “I don’t lie. Ever.”
“Well, you’re lying now.”
His hands fell away from her. “If you were a man,” he said furiously, “I would—”
“Yes. That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” She showed her teeth in a taunting smile. “I’m not a man, and you can’t deal with the fact that I’m just not interested.”
“The only reason I so much as spoke to you last night,” he said through his teeth, “was because of my grandmother.”
“Really? Well, where’s your grandmother today? Or are you going to tell me you made Silvio this—this proposition on her behalf, too?”
“Yes. I did.” His voice changed; she could hear the sudden edge to it, the tone of imperious command. “La Principessa wants to see you.”
“My God, that’s pathetic! You’re hiding behind an old woman who’s not here to defend herself!”
“It is, unfortunately, the truth. I would prefer it otherwise, but she has asked for you.”
Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “Well, that’s nice. But I’m afraid you’ll have to tell her that the days when Rome ruled the world are over. I’m busy.”
Nicolo’s nostrils flared with distaste. “I am sure that you are. But her wish is important to me. I have promised to bring you to her.”
“How unfortunate for you.” She turned and started for the door. “Look, tell her that you tried, okay? Tell her you did your best, but—”
“She is ill.”
The words were delivered with a flatness that stopped her with her hand on the door.
“Ill?” she said slowly, as she turned toward him.
“Yes.”
There was only the one word, but something in the way he looked made her hesitate.
“She was fine last night.”
Nicolo laughed hollowly. “How fine can a woman be at La Principessa’s age?” He thrust his hands into his pants pockets, stalked to the grimy window, and peered out into the alley. “It is as much my fault as hers. I should not have let her attend that ridiculous affair, but she insisted.”
Caroline touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “She’s probably just overtired.”
He sighed. “That is what I hope. A day or two of rest, some clear broth...” He turned and looked at her. “And a visit from you, Caroline.