The Ice Prince (11 page)

Wrong. W-r-o-n-g. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The flight took just a little over an hour. Draco had arranged for a rental car to be waiting at Catania for the drive to Taormina. It was some kind of sturdy-looking SUV, and once they were under way, Anna understood why he’d chosen it.

Put simply, the roads.

Taormina was a tourist destination. She’d had, at least, enough time to determine that before setting off for Rome. And from what she saw of it as they drove through, it was charming. Cobbled streets, winding alleyways, the incredible blue of the Ionian Sea and, of course, the breathtakingly beautiful Mount Etna, the heat of its volcanic breath rising against a cloudless sky.

Then they left the town behind.

The road grew narrower and rougher. It twisted around mountains, clung to rocky slopes, climbed and climbed and climbed.

“I thought the Orsini land was in Taormina,” Anna said as she tried to keep from clinging to the edges of her seat.

Draco looked at her.

“My land, you mean.”

Anna rolled her eyes.

“Could you just answer the question? Is it in Taormina or isn’t it?”

“Sure. More or less. Definitions of what is and isn’t a boundary line are a little less stringent here than in Rome. Or Manhattan.”

“Shouldn’t we have stopped at the town hall? Or wherever it is they keep real estate records?”

“They keep records, all right. Some go back a couple of thousand years.”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Well, then—”

“My lawyers sent copies of all that stuff to your father weeks and weeks ago. Didn’t you read it?”

“I did,” she said, lying through her teeth. “And nothing I read changed my mind. I only meant it might be helpful to have the deed, whatever, with us right now.”

Draco nodded.

“I sent your old man photos, too. Did he pass those along to you?”

Photos. Photos? Anna did a quick mental review of the material she’d seen.

“What kind of photos?”

Draco took his hand off the gearshift and held it out to her. “What do you see?”

What, indeed?

A strong, very masculine hand. Tanned skin. Long fingers. Without warning, she thought of how those fingers had felt, learning the curves of her body.

“What do you see?” he demanded.

Anna looked away.

“A hand. Am I supposed to congratulate you for having one instead of a tentacle?”

He laughed. “Nice.”

“Thank you,” she said primly. “I thought so.”

“Look again.”

“Listen, Valenti, you may find this amusing, but—”

He put his hand on her thigh. She swallowed hard. His hand was hot. So hot. She could feel its heat straight through her jeans.

“See this ring?”

Anna looked down. Yes. She saw it. The ring he wore was obviously old. Very old. It was made of gold. And it had a …

“Is that a crest?” She looked at Draco. “I never saw you wear that ring before.”

He took his hand away, downshifted, took the SUV through a hairpin curve that left Anna certain they were going to fall into the sea.

“I don’t wear it,” Draco said, his eyes on the road, his voice low. “I’m not into jewelry. Besides, it is irreplaceable.”

“Irreplaceable?”

“There hasn’t been another like it for a thousand years.”

Anna blinked. “A thousand …”

“Sì.”

She looked at the ring again. “And the crest?”

Draco cleared his throat. “The Valenti crest. The mark of my family. The mark that is on the once-crumbling pile of marble my father brought to near ruin in Rome.”

“I don’t understand. What has that to do with—”

He braked. Hard. The SUV jerked to a stop.

“Look,” he said.

It was hard to take her eyes from Draco, but finally she did.

And caught her breath.

Ahead was a castle. Or what remained of a castle. A tower. Wide stone steps. Ancient stone walls. The ruins were stark against the blue of the sky.

Draco opened his door and stepped out of the SUV. So did Anna. He held out his hand; she hesitated. Then she took it and they walked slowly across the clearing.

“Look at the wall,” he said. “Do you see what is chiseled in it? There, just above the steps.”

Anna looked at the wall. Her breath caught. “It’s—it’s the crest.”

He nodded. “The deed, if you will, and more telling than any piece of paper—though there are those, too.”

A falcon called out high above them, its cry poignant and chill.

“This was once a great castle,” Draco said softly. “My great-great who knows how many times great-grandfather built it. He was not like my father, or my father’s father, who brought dishonor to our name. He was a man others respected, you understand? He cared for his people, defended them and this place against robbers, against barbarians, he and his sons and the sons of his sons. But eventually all things end. Invaders came from across the sea.” Draco took a long breath. “The land and the castle were lost. After that, who knows? Somehow a Valenti prince put down roots in Rome. Maybe he forgot this place existed. Maybe he wanted to forget it.” Draco shook his head. “I didn’t know anything about the castle, the land, or the Valenti connection to Sicily until a year or so ago.”

“How did you find out?”

“I was in Palermo on business. After a couple of days I felt the need to get away for a few hours. So I rented a car, took a drive ….”

“And ended up here.”

Draco nodded. “It was by accident, I know, but I drove around that last curve, saw this ruin … I don’t know how to say it. It seemed somehow familiar. Crazy, perhaps, but I got out of the car, walked up to these steps …”

Anna traced her fingers lightly over the crest chiseled into the stone. Then she put her hand on Draco’s arm. His muscles were tight as steel.

“No,” she said softly, “not crazy at all.” She smiled when he took his gaze from the ruins of what had surely once been a magnificent castle and looked, instead, at her. “You walked to the steps, and you saw the Valenti crest.”

Draco nodded. “Yes.” He shrugged as if it were not important, but the darkness in his eyes told her that it was. “I don’t know if you can understand what it was like to discover that I carry the blood of brave, good men in my veins.”

Could she understand? Anna wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry.

“I understand all too well,” Anna said gently. “And now you’re going to restore the castle.”

A muscle knotted in his jaw.

“Yes.
Sì.
I am.” His smile was fleeting. “Trust me,
bellissima.
My architect and builder assure me that this wish is crazy.”

Was this truly Prince Draco Valenti? Did her arrogant, take-no-prisoners aristocrat actually have a heart?

Not that he was hers. Not that she would want him to be hers. There was nothing logical to that idea, nothing rational about it …

“I know succeeding in this is important to you, Anna. Securing the land for your family, I mean. But—”

To hell with logic.

Anna grasped Draco’s shirt, lifted herself to him and pressed her lips to his.

T
HE
drive back to Catania seemed to take forever.

How could it not, when Draco kept pulling the SUV onto the shoulder of the road so he could draw Anna into his arms and kiss her?

He kept telling himself that the exquisite torture would end once they boarded the plane. Then they’d have all the privacy they needed.

He gathered her into his arms as soon as they were in the air.

She came to him with hot eagerness, straddling him, her kisses wild and abandoned, her hands on him and his on hers until he made a sound that was half groan, half laugh, leaned his forehead against hers and said, “
Bellissima.
You’re killing me.”

“Am I?” she whispered, and the delight in her voice made him laugh again.

“You know you are.” He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, felt the swift race of her blood just beneath the delicate skin. “Anna. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.” He paused. “But we’re going to wait.” He wrapped his arms around her, gathered her tightly against him. She was trembling,
Dio,
so was he. He kissed her hair, her temple, her eyes. “We are going to wait until we are alone. Until there is all the time in the world for us.”

For us.
Anna closed her eyes, buried her face in his shoulder, inhaled the glorious scent of him, of his arousal.

“I want you in my bed, not on a plane, not in a hotel room.” He gave a soft laugh. “It makes no sense, I know, but—but that is what I want, Anna. You and me and a quiet place that belongs only to us.”

Gently he cupped the back of her head, tilted it so that their eyes met.

“I love having sex with you,” he said gruff ly. “But it’s time to make love.”

What he’d said hung between them. He hadn’t planned it; he wasn’t even sure what it meant. He only knew that it was true. He, the pragmatist, the man who thought
making love
was a phrase used by romantic fools, wanted to do exactly that.

Now he waited for Anna’s answer. He stroked his hand the length of her back, soothing her, steadying himself. Waited for her to tell him he was wrong, that sex was sex, that she didn’t want to be in his bed, to lie in his arms, that all she wanted was quick, passionate release ….

“Yes,” she whispered. Her lips curved in a tender smile. “Take me to your bed, Draco. And make love to me.”

Something inside him took wing. “Anna,” he said,
“il mio amore …”

He kissed her. Kissed her deeply. And held her in his arms all the way to Rome.

The night was very dark, the ancient Appian Way lit only by a quarter moon and a scattering of stars that some ancient god might have tossed against the firmament.

The tall pines sighed at the caress of a warm summer breeze.

Draco led Anna through the shadow-filled silence of his
villa, to his bedroom, where he turned on a lamp that shed a pale, ethereal glow over the bed.

Then he took her hands and drew her to him.

Dio,
how lovely she was! Her hair streamed down her back in long, loose curls of palest gold. Her blue eyes glittered as she raised them to his. She was beautiful beyond any woman he had ever known.

Even her name was beautiful, he thought, and he spoke it now as she came into his arms.

He bent to her and kissed her.

She rose on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck and returned kiss for kiss.

It was almost as if they had never been intimate before. He knew Anna felt it, too; she looked up at him, her lips delicately parted, her eyes luminous and filled with questions.

The questions weren’t hers alone.

Last night had been incredible. Such passion. Such desire. But this—this was not the same. It was a different kind of passion, a new kind of desire. It was a storm, building inside him.

The seconds ticked away. Then Anna stepped back and reached for the hem of her T-shirt.

He caught her wrists, brought her hands to his lips, kissed each with lingering tenderness.

“I want to undress you,” he said in a low voice.

A tremor went through her. “Yes,” she whispered, “oh yes.”

He caught hold of the bottom of the shirt, eased it up, drew her free of it and tossed it aside.

His heart turned over.

Her bra was pale peach silk, almost the color of her skin. Her breasts swelled above the delicate cups. Ripe fruit, awaiting the touch of his hands, the heat of his mouth.

Draco bent his head and pressed a kiss to each curve of
lush flesh within the silken cups. Anna moaned, cupped her breasts, made them an offering to his desire and hers, but he took her hands and brought them to her sides.

Not yet. Not yet.

Her jeans rode low on her hips. He undid the button, opened the zipper, his eyes never leaving hers. He saw the color in her face deepen, heard her breathing quicken. She made a little sound, half moan, half sigh.

He was killing them both.

What an exquisite way to die.

Inch by inch, torment by torment.

There would be no mercy for her, or for him.

He was already hard as a man could be without groaning but this—this was a special kind of pain, and worth whatever it took to endure.

He would not rush this night.

He knelt. Unlaced the laces of her sneakers. Her feet were bare, the arches high and feminine. He curved his hand around one ankle, then the other, and slipped the sneakers off. Then he rose again, hooked his thumbs into the jeans and slowly, slowly eased them down her hips and legs.

Draco got to his feet, everything in him tight and intense, his eyes narrowing to dark slits as Anna stepped free of the jeans.

All she had on now were the bra and a matching thong that cupped her like the hand of a lover.

His hand, he thought. Only his.

A muscle flexed in his jaw.

She was half-naked, all hot skin and cool silk. He took one step forward, his eyes on hers, and curved his palm over the bit of silk between her thighs.

Anna cried out.

He could feel all his good intentions coming apart.

“Anna,” he said, the single word hot with warning.

“Draco,” she whispered, and she smiled, such a sexy smile, so wicked, so filled with the knowledge of Eve.

He knew she was remembering last night and how they’d said those same words when he’d stormed into her hotel room. He would have smiled, too, but suddenly she was touching him, her fingers at his zipper, dragging it down, and his rigid length sprang free into her hand, her fingers wrapping as best they could around his engorged flesh.

“Now,” she said, and any coherent thought he might have still possessed flew from his head.

He swung her into his arms, carried her to the bed. Tore off his clothes. Came down to her and she arched toward him, seeking his mouth, her tongue a sliver of silk against his, her teeth nipping at his lip, her soft cries burning, burning into his brain.

Draco caught her wrists. Raised her arms over her head, his fingers manacles of steel.

“What do you want?” he said thickly. “Tell me.”

“You,” Anna said, “you, Draco, please, please, I want you. I need you …”

“Only me,” he growled. “Say it, Anna.”

“Yes, yes. Only you. Only you. Only—”

She screamed as he thrust into her, hard, fast, deep. Her cry filled the night; he felt her muscles contract around him.

“Open your eyes,” he said roughly. “Look at me.”

Her lashes rose. Her eyes wild and hot, filled with him.

“Draco,” she sobbed, “Draco …”

He let go of her wrists, slid his hands beneath her, lifting her into his hard body, into the steady demand of a primitive rhythm. She moved with him, her hair flung over the pillow, her hands clutching his biceps.

He could feel the tension building in his body, in his scrotum.
Wait,
he told himself,
wait for her to come again …

She did. Once. Twice. He heard Anna cry his name, felt
her fingers dig deep into his buttocks. And then he stopped thinking, gave in to the pleasure that was more than pleasure, let it consume him.

Let it consume them both as they flew off the edge of the world into the black Roman night.

Time slipped past.

A minute. An hour. Anna couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Time had no meaning.

Only this was important.

Draco, collapsed over her, his skin as slick with sweat as hers, his heart hammering the same as hers, his breathing as ragged as hers.

Her arms were wrapped around him. One leg was draped over his hip. She had no idea where she began and he ended, and she sighed and thought she could stay like this forever.

“Too heavy,” he grunted, hearing her sigh, but she shook her head, kissed his shoulder, held him even closer and that was a damned good thing because he wasn’t sure that he could move.

He sure as hell didn’t want to.

“Stay,” she murmured, and he grunted again and let his muscles go slack.

After another minute, or maybe another hour, he said something.

“Mmm,” Anna said, because she had no idea what it was but she figured that
mmm
would cover all possibilities.

He laughed and rolled onto his side, taking her with him.

“‘Mmm’ what?”

“Mmm to whatever you asked me,” she said lazily.

Draco nuzzled a spill of curls off her cheek.

“I didn’t ask. I said.”

Her lips curved in a lazy smile. “The authoritative prince.”

“Damned right.” He rolled again, this time onto his back, taking her with him so that she lay sprawled over him like a blanket.
A warm, silken blanket,
he thought, his arms tight around her.

“I said so much for the best-laid plans.”

“I am,” Anna said primly, “very well laid, Your Highness, and thank you for asking.”

Draco laughed. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“So what were these plans?” she said, and kissed his shoulder.

“I was going to make love to you very, very slowly,” he said, running his hand up and down the length of her spine.

“Ah.
Those
plans.” She lifted her head, folded her hands on his chest, propped her chin on them and smiled. “You looking for compliments, Valenti? ’Cause if you are, all things considered, I think we did pretty well.”

There it was again, that wickedly sexy smile. Combined with the feel of her draped over him, it was causing trouble with his anatomy.

“You do, huh?”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” she said in her best courtroom voice, “consider the evidence.”

He shifted, just a little. “What evidence?”

“The evidence,” Anna said. “You know. Exhibit A. And exhibit—” Her breath caught as he shifted again. “Exhibit B,” she whispered. “Definitely exhibit—”

He cupped one hand around the nape of her neck and brought her mouth to his. His kiss was sweet and tender; she could feel a honeyed warmth spreading through her body.

No, she thought as his kiss deepened. Not just through her body. The warmth was everywhere. In her lips, as they clung to his.

And in her heart.

The realization made her tremble. Draco rolled her beneath him.

“Anna. What is it,
bellissima?
”

“Draco,” she whispered, and his lips found hers, moved over hers with passion and tenderness. “Draco,” she said again, and then she wound her arms tightly around her lover’s neck, and the world, and reality, fell away.

Sometime between midnight and dawn, long after the moon had set, Anna awoke to Draco’s kisses.

“Mmm,” she said sleepily, and he smiled and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

“Such an extensive vocabulary,
il mio amore,
” he said softly. “I’m glad we agree.”

Anna yawned. “Mmm,” she said again, and started to snuggle deeper into his arms.

“Anna. Surely those
mmm
s meant ‘Yes, Draco. I agree. I’m starving. I can’t even remember the last time we had anything to eat.’”

Anna blinked her eyes open. “You’re right. I can’t.”

“Exactly. We need food. Sustenance. That which gives a man energy to survive the difficult demands put on him by a woman.”

That made her laugh. “Such a sacrifice, Valenti.”

Draco caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbled gently, then ran the tip of his tongue over the sweet wound.

“What would you like?”

Anna toyed with a dark strand of hair that had fallen over his forehead.

“A Big Mac and fries?”

He grinned. “How about some pasta? Tomato sauce. Black olives. Garlic. Anchovies. Freshly grated Romano cheese. And whatever else is in the refrigerator.” He raised one eyebrow. “How does that sound?”

“Like takeout from this amazing little Italian place down the block from my office. One problem, though. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a few thousand miles from Manhattan.”

Draco tossed back the duvet and sat up.

“I,” he said smugly, “just happen to be a world-class cook!”

She sat up, too, and gave him a look. “You, Valenti?”

“Me,
consigliere,
” he said as he strode into what Anna assumed was a dressing room.

He was, she thought, a gorgeous man. All hard muscle, taut definition and potent masculinity.

But he was more than that.

So much more.

Charming. Strong. Determined. Opinionated. Arrogant. Tender. Sweet.

He was all those things, some of them total contradictions, and how could that be? How could he be so many different things to her?

He was—he was wonderful. Being with him was wonderful, not only in bed but in so many ways.

She loved talking with him. She loved joking with him. She loved being held in his arms.

She loved—she loved—

“Anna?”

Anna blinked. Draco was back, wearing sweatpants, holding open a deep blue terry-cloth robe.

She stared at him. Her heart was beating fast. No. The idea was insane. You didn’t fall in love with a man in, what, forty-eight hours. She certainly didn’t. She didn’t fall in love at all!

She didn’t even know what love was … or maybe she did. Yes, damned right, she did. Love was a trap. It was the way nature reminded you that you were a second-class citizen,
that once you gave yourself up to a man, you were whatever he wanted you to be and not what you’d wanted to be.