One Summer at The Villa: The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal
The Prince’s Royal ConcubinePrince Cristiano di Savaré hunts his prey by ruthless means. Tonight’s pickings…Antonella Romanelli, crown princess of a rival country and part of a dynasty he has every reason to despise… …one majestic seduction.Antonella is rocked by Cristiano’s unexpected magnetism. But there’s ice in his wolfish smile… She’s far from the promiscuous, spoiled socialite he believes her to be, but Cristiano is here to persuade her into compliance. If bedding her is what it takes, then it will make his mission all the more pleasurable…Her Italian SoldierPlucked from obscurity to model in an exciting campaign on the Amalfi coast, Annabelle Marsh can’t wait for her month away! Surely when she’s surrounded by so much natural beauty her emotional bruises can’t help but recover?However, she’s planned to heal her wounds in private – sharing accommodation with a darkly brooding, battle-scarred army pilot is not on the agenda! Ex-nurse Annabelle is compelled to help Lucca, even though he’s got ‘keep out’ written all over him. But once the spark between them ignites, it’s impossible to put out…A Devilishly Dark DealHaving made his fortune from nothing, billionaire Marco Aguilar has wiped the dirt of a poverty-stricken childhood from his expensive shoes. Now he can have anything he wants – and his next acquisition is beautiful charity worker Grace Faulkner. He’ll finance her beloved orphanage if she agrees to become his mistress!Only Grace’s sweet, selfless nature – and the fire she ignites with her touch – shakes his iron defences to the core. Tortured Marco has been driven by demons for so long – can he be saved by this innocent angel?
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One Summer at the Villa
The Prince’s Royal Concubine
Lynn Raye Harris
Her Italian Soldier
Rebecca Winters
A Devilishly Dark Deal
Maggie Cox
Table of Contents
“I can’t,” she said, knowing how inadequate it sounded but unable to explain. How could she ever say everything she would need to say in order to make him understand? “I can’t.”
“Because I am Monterossan, of course.”
Her throat was tight. “No, not because of that.”
He raked a hand through his hair. She could still see the firm ridge of his arousal beneath his shorts. “Then why, Antonella? I know when a woman wants me. And you do. As much as I want you, God help me.”
God help me.
Her heart ached as she hopped off the vanity and tugged her dress back down. “Maybe that is why, Cristiano.”
“Because you want me you will deny me?” Fury took the place of resignation.
“No, not because of that. Because you despise me—and you despise yourself for wanting me anyway.”
LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon>® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince, and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com
To all the editors at Harlequin Mills & Boon for holding a competition to find new writers and for choosing me as their winner.
I am truly honored by your faith in me, and thankful for the opportunity you have given me.
But most especially to my editor, Sally Williamson, who pushes me to be the best I can be and encourages me to stretch my wings with each book.
PRINCE CRISTIANO DI SAVARÉ slipped the last stud into his tuxedo shirt and straightened the points of his collar as he gazed at his reflection. The yacht rocked gently beneath his feet, but that was the only indication he was on board a ship and not in a luxury hotel room. He’d flown over two thousand miles to be here tonight and, though he wasn’t tired, the expression on his face was grim. So grim that lines bracketed his mouth, furrowed his forehead, and made him look older than his thirty-one years.
He would have to work on that before he hunted his quarry. Though his task tonight gave him no joy, it had to be done. He forced a smile, studied it. Yes, that would work.
Women always melted when he turned on the charm.
He shrugged into his jacket and whisked a spot of lint away with a flick of his fingers. What would Julianne think if she saw him now? He’d give anything for another glimpse of her, for the little pout on her face whenever she concentrated—as she surely would while she straightened his tie and implored him not to look so serious.
Cristiano turned away from the mirror, unwilling to see the expression he now wore at the thought of his dead wife. He’d been married for so short a time—and so long ago now that he sometimes couldn’t remember the exact shade of Julianne’s hair or the way her laugh sounded. Was that normal?
He knew it was, and yet it both angered and saddened him. She’d paid the ultimate price for marrying him. He would never forgive himself for allowing her to die when he could have prevented it. Should have prevented it.
It was four and a half years since he’d let her climb onto a helicopter destined for the volatile border between Monterosso and Monteverde. In spite of the unease churning in his gut, he’d let her go without him.
Julianne had been a medical student, and she’d insisted on accompanying him on an aid mission. When he had to cancel at the last moment, he should have ordered her to stay behind with him.
But she’d convinced him that the new Crown Princess should work toward peace with Monteverde. As an American, she’d felt safe enough visiting both countries. She’d been certain she could make a difference.
And he’d let her certainty convince him.
Cristiano closed his eyes. The news that a Monteverdian bomb had ended Julianne’s life, and the lives of three aid workers with her, triggered the kind of rage and despair he’d never experienced before or since.
It was his fault. She would have lived if he’d refused to let her go. Would have lived if he’d never married her. Why had he done so? He’d asked himself that question many times since.
