The Prodigal Prince's Seduction / The Heir's Scandalous Affair: The Prodigal Prince's Seduction. Jennifer Lewis
himself bating his breath. He realized why.
Subconsciously, he’d been waiting for something to kick in, that cynicism that had always been an integral part of him. On some level, he expected to be slammed back to a reality that had nothing to do with this state of affinity. Experience—his and others’—kept trying to intrude with warnings that interaction always doused the testosterone-generated spark.
But then, his pleasure in being near her wasn’t just about anticipating the pleasures of bedding her, being inside her. He thrilled to her every gesture and glance. Her every word engaged his demanding sense of the absurd, fueled his eagerness for repartee. He’d wondered if the uncontainable drive to possess her painted his reactions to the rest of her in such intensity, or if it was the other way around.
Now he knew. The amalgam that was her was inextricable to his senses, his mind. Physically and mentally, she was a woman the likes of which he’d never dreamed of encountering.
The thrill of their encounter had been escalating, and he’d gladly succumbed to that unprecedented rapport, reveled in the overpowering attraction. And he hadn’t even touched her yet.
“This is magic.”
He hardened more at her huskily voiced wonder just as he softened, too, inside. “Si, ciò è magica, bellissima. You are.”
She swung toward him, a smile frolicking across her lips, her eyes glittering with awareness and delight. There was also a touch of mischief. But the emotion that made him struggle not to crush her in his arms was the hint of hesitation—trepidation, even.
Could it be she was wary of him?
No. He knew she trusted him just as instinctively as he did her. So why was she uneasy? Did she suspect that this couldn’t be real? That it would end? He didn’t share that worry. Not anymore. He couldn’t tell her not to worry, but he would show her she had no need to.
She took one hand off the rail, swept her arm in a graceful arc, eloquently encompassing their surroundings. “I meant this. This perfect night, on this enchanting yacht as it sails through the placid ink of the river.”
“But take your magic—ours—out of the equation and it would be just another yacht cruise on another pleasant evening.”
She sighed, a sound of contentment. “You must be right. I’ve been on night cruises before, in great weather. Felt nothing like this.”
Before he could revel in her admission, Giancarlo, his allaround right-hand man, caught his eye in the distance.
Durante inclined his head at her. “Are you ready to eat?”
She jumped down from the railing. “I’m ready to dive into the river and catch fish in my teeth.”
“Why didn’t you say you were hungry?”
She seemed taken aback. “I didn’t realize I was.”
“I didn’t, either. Other hungers overshadowed it.”
Delight swelled in his chest at the guilelessness, the unhesitating consent of her gaze and nod.
He wanted to forget his resolve to delay their gratification, knew she wouldn’t stop him if he did. But holding back, while chafing, was more gratifying than anything he’d ever done. He gestured for her to precede him, exhilaration shooting through him. She gave a choked laugh and almost skipped ahead.
As they traversed the massive deck to the dining hall, she exclaimed, “Is that another swimming pool, under that plexi roof? There was a huge one on the second-level deck.”
“Yes, that’s the covered one. I’ll take you around after I’ve fed you. You can take a dip in either. I can’t offer you something to wear, but you’ll be draped in night and wrapped in water, their silk caressing yours unhindered by barriers.”
She sped ahead as if to escape his suggestion, muttering, “I’ll take a dip-check, thanks.”
He chuckled, pointed out another section. “This is where the whirlpools, saunas and Turkish bath are.” He pointed to another area. “And there are the only modern additions to the yacht’s outfitting—a fitness room and comprehensive water sports equipment storage. We can windsurf, water-ski, jet-ski, scuba dive and sail, if you’re into any of those.”
“I’m into them all. I was raised on a Mediterranean island, too, remember? In my opinion, water sports are the ultimate freedom a human being can enjoy. It’s been too long since I’ve had the pleasure.”
“You’ll never again be deprived of your freedoms and pleasures, bellissima. This yacht and all its facilities are at your disposal to enjoy whenever and however you please.”
Her eyes glowed up at him with that light that seemed to shine from inside her. “That’s too generous, but I can’t—”
“It isn’t, and you can and will accept. Say, ‘Yes, Durante. I’ll do you the honor of considering your yacht my own.’”
Her grimace was at once teasing and moved. “You have the rest of your life to wait? That’s how long it will be before I say something like that.” He opened his mouth to override her and she rushed to add, “But if your offer stands after tonight, I will take advantage of one or two weekends’ windsurfing or jet-skiing.”
She still didn’t believe this was going to last beyond tonight. He’d have to convince her by action, not words. So he said nothing for now, just smiled down at her.
They were crossing the foyer of the uppermost deck when she turned to him. “When you said ‘yacht,’ I thought, ‘yacht.’ Then, when I became certain this floating fortress is where we were headed, I wanted to ask just how you define the word.”
His lips twisted. “Yacht-obsessed magazines define this one as the ninth largest private boat in the world. From my specs, it’s four hundred feet long with twelve suites of more than six hundred square feet each, not counting the thousand-square-foot master suite. There is also more than eighty thousand square feet of covered and open space.”
“Whoa. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen and I’ve been to some exorbitant places. Just this staircase is mind-boggling. I tried to count the steps and got lost.”
“Now I feel guilty that I had you climb all one hundred and twenty steps. I should have carried you.”
“When I run up to my tenth-floor apartment for exercise? I pick my teeth with a hundred steps.” His admiring gaze devoured the results of her hard work. Her constant blush deepened. “This endless balustrade looks like it’s made of one piece of solid brass. Which it can’t be. Care to explain how it came into being?”
He grinned at her attempt to swerve to safer topics. “It was hand-beaten from solid brass by twenty top metal craftsmen who re-created it from remnants of the original balustrade.”
She whistled as he seated her at the table that had been set for them. He signaled for Giancarlo to serve dinner right away.
Her eyes panned the huge chamber, lingering on the heavily gilded and embossed wall paneling and the intricately carved and adorned Baroque- and Ottoman-style furniture.
“Everything is so…ornate.” She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the flickering candles, that intelligence simmering in her ponderous look. “I somehow didn’t think you’d go for something so humongous and elaborate.”
“You mean pretentious and gaudy, don’t you?”
She didn’t seem to give denial a moment’s thought. “It is mighty pretentious, though I guess it stops a step shy of gaudy.”
He guffawed, loving this. “Everyone I bring on board bursts into raptures extolling my extreme taste. Not you, though.”
The look of absolute horror on her face was priceless. “Maledizione…spiacente…I’m sorry…” She groaned. “God…I’m so rude.”