Read Online Royally Romanced by Marie Donovan - Free Book Online Page B

you.”
    “That’s fine with me,” she reassured him. He’d promised to be her sex slave and she was going to hold him to it.
    “Good.” His voice dropped into the purr again. “Now think of all the things you want to see in Italy and I will do my utmost to fulfill your wishes.”
    Number one—see his naked body. Number two—see the bedroom ceiling. Number three—see the bed’s headboard. Well, she could maybe come up with some tourist activities. Or not.
    “Good night, Giorgio.”
    “ Ciao, bella Renata. My only thoughts are of you until I see you again.”
    She waited until she’d hung up to whimper again. She had a feeling she was going to be just as much a sex slave as he was. Did she mind?
    She gave a very New York shrug in the darkness of her bedroom. Nah, of course not.
     
     
    “S O A REAL-LIFE SEXY PRINCE wants to whisk you off to Italy, have his royal wicked way with you and you are hesitating why? ” The next morning, Flick put her hands on her hips and blew a long turquoise hunk of hair out of her eyes, spoiling the punk persona she cultivated. She wore ripped-up jeans, a holey lime-green T-shirt and safety pins decorating both. A black military surplus jacket and black combat boots with chrome hardware-store chain strung around like tinsel made her look like a scary Christmas tree.
    “I’m not that kind of girl,” Renata replied virtuously, crossing her legs primly on her elevated desk chair. She made a face at Flick’s raucous laughter. “Oh, knock it off. I’m not that kind of girl anymore. ”
    Her friend snorted. “That’s only because it’s been years since you’ve had a decent opportunity to be ‘that kind of girl.’ What’s with the cold feet?”
    “Oh, all right,” she said tersely. “Let’s say I do go. What do I tell my aunt?”
    “Tell her the truth—you’re going on an extended European hookup with one of the tabloids’ most eligible bachelors.”
    “Eeeww, is he really on that list?” Not that Renata wanted Giorgio to have a wife and four kids, but holy crap, was that cheesy.
    “Hand to God.” Flick cleared a stack of files onto the floor and flopped in the small chair across from Renata’s drawing table. “After you called me to come over, I looked him up on my phone. ‘Prince Giorgio Armani Ferragamo Versace Gucci Pucci is the crown prince of Vinciguerra—’”
    “That is not his name,” Renata interrupted.
    Flick gave her a sly look. “What is his full name, Miss How-Do-You-Say-Torrid-Vacation-Fling-In-Italian?”
    Renata pursed her lips. “Giorgio di Leone. And no, I don’t know his middle name.”
    “Middle names, plural. He has about five. But you only have to know the first. ‘Oh, yes, Giorgio. Oh, just like that, Giorgio.’ Et cetera.” She ducked out of the way as Renata flung a fat illustration marker at her head, having uttered those very words last night in his limo. “Don’t waste your energy on me—save it for Prince Loverboy.”
    Deciding she didn’t want to pay for a replacement desk lamp if it broke when she hurled it at Flick, Renata restrained herself. “Speaking of names, Felicity, you really are annoying sometimes. I thought your name meant happiness and joy.”
    Flick, who had the hide of an elephant, blew her a kiss. “I’m the annoyance who’s going to watch your shop while you go happily and joyfully off to Italy. And if you promise me a nice souvenir, I’ll even lie to your aunt so she doesn’t find out how sex-crazed you really are.”
    Renata repressed a shudder. If her aunt found out, that meant her whole family found out. “Just what would you tell her?”
    “What does your aunt want to sew more than anything?”
    “Big poufy dresses,” she replied promptly.
    “Exactly. So you are going to Europe on a buying trip for lace, ribbons, beads—”
    “Sequins and pearls.” Renata got the picture. “But I don’t want to shop for all that stuff.”
    “Dumbass, what do princes have secretaries for? Tell