Mail-Order Prince In Her Bed
He was looking at her that way again. As if she amused him. It wasn’t that she minded being entertaining. It was just that she so infrequently got that sort of reaction from men. From anyone.
“Antonio,” he said at last. “That’s my real name.”
“Oh.” Maybe it was.
“Your mother lives near you?” he asked.
“No,” she said regretfully, as the car pulled smoothly away from the curb. “My mother died two years ago. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
She was aware that he was observing her very closely. She blinked twice, taking care of the threat of tears. “It was hard. For both of us. We were close.”
“But for comfort you have the rest of your family—”
She was already shaking her head. “No one really close. But it’s okay. My father was never in the picture, and I was an only child. I have an aunt in Connecticut. We send Christmas cards,” she added with an effort to sound brighter.
“So you’re alone,” he said, “truly alone.”
She glanced across the car at him, and she could have sworn there was honest sympathy reflected in his eyes. Strange, she thought, someone in his line of work caring at all. After a while, she would have thought men like him would have become immune to their clients’ personal traumas. Sort of like bartenders.
“I have my work. It can be satisfying.” She slanted a quick look at him without turning her head. She could feel him still watching her. She wondered why he’d suddenly gone quiet, and what he was thinking.
A moment later Antonio sat forward on the seat and spoke quietly to the driver. She couldn’t make out his words.
They drove toward the center of the city, gliding over Wisconsin Avenue, through fashionable Chevy Chase. The car finally pulled up in front of a store she’d passed by many times but never would have dared step inside.
“Versace isn’t a restaurant,” she said helpfully.
“I know. But I’ve changed my plans. Where we’re going, you’ll feel more comfortable wearing something different.”
She looked down at her outfit. “This isn’t dressy enough?”
He tipped his head to one side and observed her objectively. “It doesn’t do you justice,” he stated. “Come. You decide after you’ve tried on a few pieces.”
Maria let out an involuntary little snort. “Now I know this isn’t part of the package deal. My office pals would never spring for anything this extravagant. Do you realize what stuff in a place like this costs?”
“It will be taken care of,” he said simply.
She stared at him then smiled, feeling a little daring. “All right. If you’re game, so am I. But no one in Versace is coming within ten feet of my charge card!”
He laughed and shook his head at her. “Agreed, cara.”
An hour later they left Versace Couture with a slim gold box, in which Maria’s old clothes, shoes and hose had been packed beneath shimmering layers of tissue. She wore an elegant powder-blue, cashmere suit with a gold brooch, and sleek Italian leather slings with tiny heels. All purchased for her through a mysterious arrangement between Antonio and the saleswoman that involved only a signature and not even a glimpse of a check or plastic. The sales staff all but genuflected as he left the boutique.
Maria had become a believer. Almost.
If he wasn’t actual royalty (which she still found hard to accept), he at least had one soaring credit allowance and the respect of high-end merchants—neither of which was likely to come as a perk for working as a professional escort.
This took serious mental adjustments.
Next stop was I Matti, an upscale Tuscan-style trattoria, on Eighteenth Street. Antonio ordered for her, and she was delighted with his choices. They dined on lamb shanks and pasta with a heady tomato sauce redolent with olive oil, accompanied by a delicious Barolo wine.
She couldn’t help questioning him further. “You’re really Italian then,” she said as they returned to the limousine.
“Yes.”
“And rich?”
“Very.” He seemed more amused than offended by her questions.
She nodded, thinking about times in the distant past when she’d been called gullible.
She had fallen for Donny Apericcio’s game, playing Doctor and Patient, when she was seven. She’d had to undress to be “treated” for her pretend ailment. And she had believed Becky Feinstein in high school when the popular girl had congratulated Maria on making the yearbook committee. It had been a cruel joke.
But those episodes were kids’ stuff, embarrassments she’d gotten over long ago. Allowing herself to be charmed, possibly even seduced by a stranger, was of the adult world. A game she wasn’t about to play with any man, rich or not.
“So-o-o-o,” she said pushing Antonio’s wide hand off of her knee where it had wandered as soon as they’d seated themselves in the limo. “You’re an honest-to-goodness prince, and you have a perfectly reasonable explanation for why you’re in this country, standing in for a paid date.”
“Si, my former valet, he was posing as me and causing my family terrible embarrassment.”
“Valet,” she repeated thoughtfully. “And what do you do in Italy? Own a vineyard or something?”
“Olive groves, a mill where the olives are crushed for their oil, and a bottling factory,” he corrected her, smiling proudly. “Passed down many generations through my family.”
She absorbed these new details. “Listen, I hope you’ll understand my confusion. I didn’t know you, but I do know my co-workers. They once hired a stripper dressed up like a pizza delivery person to surprise a man who was retiring. Then there was the singing kangaroo.”
“Kangaroo?”
“You don’t want to know,” she assured him with a roll of her eyes. “The thing is, I’m going along with this for one reason only. To save myself grief in the office.”
He looked a little disappointed. “I thought you were coming with me because you’d never ridden in a limousine.”
“That too,” she admitted quickly, uncomfortable that he’d remembered an unguarded moment of girlish enthusiasm. “But I really don’t need all this wining and dining stuff to be happy on my birthday. A good book and a hot bubble bath are just fine. And I don’t mind being alone,” she added quickly when he opened his mouth as if to comment. “I enjoy my privacy.”
Which was true. To a certain degree.
She’d always needed time to herself. Time to read, to write in her journal, to garden or listen without interruptions to a CD of her favorite opera. A cup of sweet tea and a melt-your-knees tenor singing to her while she soaked in steaming water was her idea of heaven.
But there were times, more and more often these days, when she’d have liked someone to eat dinner with, someone to talk to about her day or snuggle up with in bed at night before falling asleep. These were other kinds of quiet times.
Sex? The word popped into her head. Sex would be nice, she imagined.
Everyone said it was an indispensable part of life, although she believed most people made too much of it. Someday she’d be able to judge for herself. That time would come when she found the man she would marry.
Until then, she had promised herself she wouldn’t surrender totally to any man. Her mother had made that mistake, and had been left alone with a baby. Maria admitted to herself that she was curious, maybe even a little anxious as the months and years wore on and she felt child-bearing years slipping away from her. But she wouldn’t be foolish.
Antonio’s hand returned to her knee. This time she eyed it thoughtfully, but didn’t brush it off. “Where to next?” she asked.
“Next, we go to Espazio Italia. On my last trip to this country I saw there the loveliest terra-cotta pieces outside of my own country. I would like to buy presents for family back home and, if you like, something for you as well.”
She shrugged, having already decided it was easier to go along with him than fight a mulish man. “Sounds harmless enough. Why not?”
So why did she feel as if she’d just stepped off a cliff into thin air? Why did her instincts shriek at her that, with that simple gesture of lifted shoulders, she had just set forces in motion over which she had no control?
Two
Maria was delighted by the profusion of amazing hand-made pottery from Sicily, Taormina and Grottaglie. The brilliant colors evoked Mediterranean sunshine and made her feel cheerful just by looking at them.
Antonio bought a pretty glazed bowl and a small figurine of an ebony horse, and had them wrapped—for safe travel, he told the clerk. It seemed odd that he was purchasing items that had originated in his own country, but maybe he was too busy with his olive groves to go shopping very often at home.
He offered to buy Maria a pretty vase she had admired, but she politely refused after flipping over the price tag. “I’ll save up for it and come back someday.” But she knew she never would. Everything in the shop was gorgeous but way out of her budget’s league.
At last they drove back across the city as the sun set, and Maria felt as if she were melting into the limousine’s seats. She hadn’t felt so relaxed, so pleased with a day in as long as she could remember. If humiliating her had been her friends’ goal, their plan had failed miserably. This day and Antonio had been wonderful gifts.
The car pulled up in front of her apartment building. Maria sat up straight and was about to turn toward the passenger door beside her when Antonio’s hand closed around the back of her neck and easily guided her back toward him.
“Sei bellissima,” he murmured, then kissed her expertly, softly on the lips.
It happened so fast, she didn’t have time to draw a breath or protest. When he pulled back a few inches to observe her reaction, she was speechless.
“You still don’t believe me,” he said. “I can see it in your face.”
She shrugged, but the words came out in a froggy little whisper. “I believe you’re Antonio Boniface from Italy. It’s the prince part that’s still a little hard to swallow.”
“A pity you’re such a cautious woman.” He tapped one finger on her chin, her cheek, then the sensitive lobe of one ear.
“What’s wrong with being cautious?” she asked, mesmerized by his voice as much as by his touch.
“You will miss out on a lot of life’s pleasures.”
She laughed nervously, her heart thudding in her chest. “I don’t suppose we’re talking about chocolate cake or a good movie?”
“No.” He gave her an amused smile.
“Listen,” she said over a sudden dry spot in her throat, “I think I know what you’re getting at. I’m just not in the habit of sleeping around.”
“I know that.” His finger continued its path, tracing her lips, trailing down her throat.
She gulped. “You do?”
He nodded slowly. “You’re easy to read, Maria McPherson. You were an obedient child, and now you’re a careful woman. You don’t entice men, intentionally that is. In fact—”
He studied her face thoughtfully, then ran an experimental hand around behind her neck and brought his fingers up through the strands of her hair at her nape. The sensation was electric. She shivered deliciously.
“In fact, I wonder if you’ve not been too careful.”
“In, ah…in what way?” she asked breathlessly.
“In the way of totally avoiding satisfaction. By running from the joy of sharing yourself with a man.”
He was asking if she was a virgin. “This is getting way…way too personal,” she stammered.
He smiled apologetically but didn’t remove his hand. It felt pleasantly rough, not what she’d expected of gentry, if he was that. His fingers tangled playfully in her blond waves.
“Only an observation. I’m fascinated by your decision. If you elect to wait for your life mate, that is an honorable choice—one which any man should respect. I only wonder that a lovely woman like you shouldn’t be more eager to experiment a little.”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t curious,” Maria blurted out, then realized she had made a tactical error in this matching of wits.
She suddenly wondered where the driver had gone. He was no longer in the front seat, but he didn’t seem to be waiting outside her door either.
“I mean, of course, anyone is curious about something they’ve never tried, something everyone talks about and requires at least one scene in every movie you see. That would be natural.”
“Of course,” he said. “Natural.” There, again, was that enigma of a smile. He didn’t insist upon an explanation, but she felt compelled to give one.
“Listen, my not wanting to have sex with you, a stranger, if that’s what you’re hinting at, has nothing to do with how attractive you are. Believe me, if I were to choose a man on looks alone, he’d be someone like you. On top of that, you have great manners and that super accent, and you’re fun to be around.”
“But you wouldn’t sleep with me?” He was teasing her, yet he was also serious. She could see mixed motives in the dark glitter of his oh-so-blue eyes.
“No!” she gasped. “I don’t even know you, Antonio. For goodness’ sakes, you could be married!”
“I’ve been honest, I told you my name and where I’m from. Now I add that I’m not married. Dio! I can see you still don’t fully believe me.” He sounded honestly frustrated. “How can we get to know each other? You tell me.”
She let out a long, weary breath. After all, she didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings. “Listen, come upstairs for a cup of coffee. I think I have a pound cake in the freezer. But this is just a way for us to talk, okay? I’m not luring you up to my apartment to have my way with you.”
“Certainly not,” he said, agreeably.
“Or to let you have your way with me,” she added, just to make things perfectly clear.
But she feared all her warnings were doing no good. The dangerous twinkle in his eyes worried her. On the other hand, she’d already decided he wasn’t a threat. And even if he were, the walls of her apartment were onion-skin thin. One scream would bring three sets of neighbors running to her aid with the police soon to follow. Neighbors looked after each other in Bethesda.
She opened the door that led straight into her living room and turned, by habit, to lock the door behind them. Almost at once, she felt Antonio move up close behind her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, warm, inviting her to turn to face him.
If she didn’t take evasive action, he’d kiss her again. She stepped to one side, ducked, maneuvered around him and aimed for her kitchen.
He didn’t follow her, as she feared he might. Instead, he strolled around her little apartment checking out her knickknacks—her collection of seashells, her dainty demitasse cups and saucers displayed on their own cherry wood wall rack—while she made coffee and nuked a Sara Lee.
Finally, they sat on her couch and sipped and nibbled in electric silence. She thought she could hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. Her palms were moist and hot.
It was she, despite all common sense, who returned to their earlier conversation. “It’s just that I believe sex to be only one factor in a complex relationship that develops, over time, into marriage. My mother had me when she was very young. She never went to college because of me. Her whole life was different than it might have been because I came along, because my father disappeared when she told him she was pregnant.”
“And she supported both herself and you on her own?” he asked.
“Yes. It must have been terribly hard for her. I just don’t want it to be like that for me, raising a child alone. I want a husband first, then children. Everything in its proper order, you see?”
He took a bite of cake then nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”
“But, you’re right, a person can’t help being curious. I mean, at work every day, people tell jokes then look at me to see if I get them. They know, I guess, that I’m sort of…inexperienced, and it amuses them.”
“You’re charming,” Antonio murmured, a smile lifting the corners of his lips.
“And you have a one-track mind.” She rolled her eyes then laughed at his hurt expression.
He put his plate on the coffee table and leaned toward her, his wide hands braced on his knees. “I’m not as obsessed with sex as you imagine. I just haven’t had much time or desire to be with a pretty woman, not for several years now.”
She pinched off a morsel of cake to plop into her mouth. He certainly was an unusual man. Not at all easy to figure out. No woman in years?
“Are you telling me you’re no longer just trying to make up for what your former employee did? The time you’re spending with me now is personal?”
“It always was.” Before she could figure out what that was supposed to mean, he looked away from her so that she couldn’t read his expression. “Tell me, what will happen when you return to work?”
Maria grimaced. “Oh, they’ll bombard me with questions. They’ll demand to know everywhere we went and everything we did.”
“And you will say?”
“I’ll tell them about the restaurant and the lovely meal, about the clothes and seeing the beautiful ceramics.”
“But they will pester you for more, for they’ll want to hear what occurred later.”
“Yes, I suppose they will.” The thought made her uncomfortable even now. “But I’ll tell them nothing happened.”
He nodded. “Si. And they will laugh. Again.”
“I suppose.”
She stared down at her half-eaten cake, then impatiently shoved the plate off her lap and onto the table in front of her. A daring thought struck her.
“I could make up something. What do you think? Maybe if I told them racy tidbits about you and me in bed, then they’d leave me alone. They’d see that their plan to embarrass me had backfired.”
“How good are you at lying?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and considered. “Not very.”
“So you have a problem.” He stood up and walked to the only window in the room.
It overlooked the side of another red-brick building. He stared through the glass pane as if at a breathtaking vista. She knew his mind must be elsewhere, and she couldn’t blame him. They were of two vastly different worlds. He was probably bored to tears with her.
“Call your office and leave a message that you won’t be in tomorrow,” he said abruptly.
She laughed. “Why would I do that?”
He turned to face her, his eyes bright with fun, devious with mystery. “Because you’re having an affair.”
“What?”
“Because you can’t bear to leave the arms of the man who has made passionate love to you all afternoon.”
She choked over her response. “You’re insane!”
Rushing to her he pulled her off the couch. “Do you want to return to them as the meek, cowed Maria? The helpless target of their humor?”
“Well, no, but I’ll have to go back sooner or later. It is my job, after all. They’ll only need to look at me to know that nothing happened.”
“Exactly,” he agreed.
Maria thoughtfully chewed the tip of one fingernail, but it didn’t help. “If there were some way to learn what it is like…you know, to learn without actually doing it.”
“Well, there are certain films. But these aren’t the sort of things a woman of your caliber should be exposed to.”
“I’m not even sure I’d want to watch other people…you know.” She felt a wave of heat rise up her throat. “Well, I’m not going to give myself to any man unless we’re married,” she repeated, “so that’s that.”
“Not entirely.”
She squinted up at Antonio warily. Donny Apericcio came fleetingly to mind. “If this is a trick to get me into bed—”
“No trick, just a suggestion.”
She just glared at him.
He seemed oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm. “I assume you haven’t reached the age of twenty-two without being kissed?”
“I’m twenty-five, thank you. And yes, of course I’ve been kissed…and I’ve kissed back plenty of times,” she defended herself.
“Good. Have you touched a man and let him touch you?”
“You mean, petted?” She knew she was blushing furiously now. “Sure. A little. It was okay.”
“If it was just okay, you haven’t really been touched,” he said, his voice lowering to a husky mellowness.
If he’d been standing closer to her, she would have evaporated. Even at the distance of half a room away, a pleasant warmth rippled through her. She winced, willing her body to behave itself. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, exactly.”
“I’m offering to demonstrate to you how it is—between a man and a woman—without risking your virginity. I could teach you, cara.”
She swallowed, her eyes widening despite her attempt to remain composed. She suddenly felt as limp as an over-cooked noodle. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Even talking like this isn’t a good idea.”
She started to cross the room toward the door, having decided to ask him to leave. But Antonio moved quickly in front of her. She came to an abrupt and graceless halt within inches of his broad chest. He was so near she could feel the heat of his body through their clothing.
“I wouldn’t hurt you. I would stop immediately if anything I said or did offended you,” he promised.
She frowned. Why was this sounding like a win-win situation? Why was she even considering such an outlandish proposal?
Because, she answered her own questions, she liked him. And she really was curious. Had been for as long as she could remember.
She wanted to know what her husband would look like and do on the first night of their honeymoon. Wanted to be ready to respond to him appropriately, to please him.
At first, she had told herself that was one of the exciting things about getting married—not knowing, looking forward to the unpredictable, the new. But as time passed and she met no one who even remotely interested her in a serious, marriagelike way, she began to wonder if she was holding out for the wrong reasons. Was it only because she was afraid?
She looked at Antonio. He was watching her closely.
“Maybe if we’d known each other for a long time. Then this experiment of yours might be something to at least consider. There would be an automatic sense of trust.”
“Call your office,” he whispered. “Tell them you won’t be in tomorrow.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Couldn’t seem to draw another breath while she was caught up in the intensity of his gaze.
This is crazy, she told herself. This is impulsive and dangerous and…and, dammit, exciting!
Yes, she had to admit, she was intrigued by his proposition. And although she knew it sounded a bit crazy, she was reassured by the man who proposed it. There was something very agreeable about Antonio. He was serious, quiet, obviously well-educated and intelligent. And he was generous with his time and money. In short, he felt safe.
But aside from all that, she’d never met a man as physically appealing or as aware of his power over women. She’d seen the looks he’d gotten from women in the restaurant and shops they’d visited. She wasn’t the only one attracted to him. He knew it. But he hadn’t shown it.
She’d bet if anyone knew about making love, Antonio would.
“I’ll call in!” The words burst impulsively from her lips, but she reined in her runaway hormones almost immediately. “We can spend tomorrow together. Doing fun stuff like today. But the rest of it…that demonstrating part…” She shook her head.
He nodded, his expression composed, revealing nothing of his thoughts. “As you wish. Tomorrow we will visit a few museums, have lunch, talk about life.” He gave her an encouraging smile.
“It sounds very nice,” she admitted releasing a breath she’d held so long she’d begun to feel lightheaded. “No more sex talk, right?”
“Not a word,” he agreed, solemnly.
She studied his expression a moment longer. She believed him.
So why did her body tingle as if his palms—as strong and weathered as the bark of his olive trees—were moving over the surface of her flesh? Why did she sense that they’d already entered a silent pact, whose terms she couldn’t yet read?