Page 37 of The Wanted Prince

“Get up here,” I said, my voice rough with need. Alessandro looked up and I pulled him to me. I kissed him, still trembling through the aftershocks, ran my nails down his back to hear his soft hiss. His cock throbbed against me and I reached down to stroke it. It jerked in my hand. He bit down on my shoulder.

“Please,” I said, and he understood. He pulled a condom from somewhere and tore through the wrapper. I plucked it from his fingers and rolled it on.

Alessandro’s eyes rolled as I guided him inside me. His whole body stiffened and he bit his lip hard. Then he was moving, deep, rhythmic thrusts. My hips rose to meet him. His breath came fast. I could feel his heart pounding, and mine along with it, our blood pumping wildly as we raced to our goal.

“Laura…” He ran his hands through my hair. I gripped his arms and dug my nails deep. Wrapped my legs around him and locked my heels at his back. Our breathing was loud in the small, quiet room. I swam in the sound of him and the heat of his body, the smell of his soap and his clean skin. I kissed him to taste him, overwhelming my senses. Soon he stiffened against me and I moaned his name. I bucked up against him to take him in deep. I tipped over the edge a moment before he did, his shout almost drowned by the roaring in my ears.

“Laura,” he murmured, and rolled on his side, pulling me with him. I laid my head on his chest. He kept stroking my hair, combing his fingers through it, only slowing as his breathing deepened toward sleep.

I lay as he dozed and watched the light on the wall. An oblong of sun migrated slowly, dimming as the hour wore on and tinged it with red. I tried not to think too hard about Alessandro, but his arm lay heavy across my waist. I’d been jealous — jealous! — when I heard of Maria. And tangled in bed with him, I could dream he was mine. But did I really want that? Of course not. I couldn’t. Our families would never give us their blessing. And even if they did, his past was his past. Had he really moved on, or was his lost year his true self? In vino, veritas, wasn’t that the saying?

He sighed in his sleep and pulled me closer. He’d been honest with me today. Could I be as honest?

I wriggled away from him and shook my head. It didn’t matter what I felt for him, or who he was. All we would ever have was this, here, right now. I smiled and rolled over and nudged him awake.

“Alessandro.”

“Mm?”

I ran a finger down his bare chest. He caught it and kissed it.

“What, again?”

“Unless you’re too tired.”

He surged forward, panther-like, and tossed me on my back. I hooked one leg around him, heavy, possessive. At least for tonight, he was all mine.

CHAPTER 14

ALESSANDRO

We drove most of the way to Palermo at night, and signed into our room by the first gray of dawn. I’d found us a tiny place outside the city, but what I hadn’t planned on was the café next door, or the knot of old men who seemed to live there. They were setting up camp when we arrived, eyeing us shamelessly over their morning papers. At lunch, they were still there, so we stayed in. I peered out the window just after sundown, and they were sprawled in their chairs eating cannoli.

“They think you’re in France,” Laura said, from the bed.

“Who does?”

“Your stalkers. No need to snap.” She came up behind me and frowned down at the street. “Did you hear from your friend yet?”

I glanced at my phone and bit back a curse. “He just texted. He’s in Algiers till Friday.”

“What day is this?”

“Tuesday.” I massaged my brow. Down on the terrace, the old men all laughed.

“They won’t be there tomorrow. We can slip out.”

“What if they are? What if that’s their spot?” The old men laughed again, as though in agreement. Laura just shrugged and went back to her phone. I pulled mine out too and checked on PrinceTracker. Laura was right: the buzz was all France. Someone had uploaded a blurry phone shot, a man who looked like me whizzing by on a bike. Carlo was at the palace. Dom was at school. My chest went tight at the thought of my brothers, what they must be feeling. What they must think.

“We should get some sleep,” said Laura. Her voice had an edge to it, and I narrowed my eyes.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing. My email.” She angled her phone away and I craned to see.

“The Standard, huh?” I pulled up the tabloid. My own face was plastered across the front page, the headline accusing me in twenty-point text. JEALOUS PRINCE HOLDING CROWN JEWELS FOR RANSOM?

“It’s nonsense,” said Laura. “They’re spinning their wheels. They don’t have any real leads, so they’re printing that crap.”