Holiday Royale. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Oh, Damien. I really am sorry I dragged you out of bed, but I’ve been working up the nerve to approach you concerning a certain, um, issue, for weeks now.”
One look at Lucy Cordell’s fresh face had Damien wishing he’d put something on under his robe. Still, he was very fond of Lucy. He led her into his suite as she blushed and said, “Thank you, Dami. You’re always so kind to me.” All at once her big eyes brimmed with moisture.
“Luce?” He jumped up, went around to her and knelt by her chair, taking care as he did it that the damn robe didn’t gape and embarrass them both. “What is this? Tears? Now dry your eyes and tell me what’s been troubling you.”
Lucy hesitated. “Oh, Dami. I’ve been out of the mainstream for so long. But not anymore. I’m well and I’m strong and I’m living my dream. And I really need to get started on doing the things that healthy women do—”
Dami made another stab at finding out where all this was going. “So you came to me for advice then?” He reached for his coffee cup.
And Lucy said, “No. Not advice. Sex.”
He set the cup down sharply. “Say again?”
“Dami, it’s so simple. I want you to be my first.”
The Bravo Royales: When it comes to love, Bravos rule!
Holiday Royale
Christine Rimmer
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oregon. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.
For my sons,
Matt and Jess.
Happy holidays and all my love.
Contents
Chapter One
At eight-thirty on Thanksgiving morning, Damien Bravo-Calabretti, Prince of Montedoro, heard a knock on the outer door of his palace apartment.
Damien had given his man, Edgar, the holiday off. That left the prince to ignore his uninvited, way-too-early visitor—or get out of bed and answer the door himself.
He was quite comfortable in his bed, thank you. Paying no attention to the continued tapping seemed the most attractive option.
But the knocking continued.
And then he thought, Vesuvia?
And that had him glaring at the coffered ceiling far above his bed. Not V. Please. It was much too early to have to deal with V.
Besides, it was over between them. She knew that as well as he did.
Not to mention she was supposed to be in Italy, wasn’t she? And there were guards at every entrance. She couldn’t just stroll in uninvited. How could she have gained access to his rooms, anyway?
Who knew? A man never did when it came to V.
And if it was V, he could forget drifting back to sleep. She would keep right on knocking until he gave in and answered. The woman was nothing short of relentless.
Muttering a few choice expletives under his breath, Dami shoved back the covers and grabbed his robe. He shrugged it on and belted it as he strode down the hall.
By the time he reached the door that led out into the palace corridor, he was angrier than he should have allowed himself to be. He yanked the door wide with a scowl on his face, prepared to tell the impossible woman on the other side exactly what he thought of her.
But it wasn’t Vesuvia after all. It was sweet little Lucy Cordell, whose brother, Noah, would be marrying Damien’s sister Alice in the spring.
At the sight of his less-than-welcoming expression, Lucy’s pink cheeks flushed red and she jumped back with a soft cry. “Oh! It’s too early, isn’t it? You weren’t even up....” She gave him a dazed once-over, from his bare feet to the section of naked chest displayed where the robe gaped a bit, and upward. She took in the dark stubble on his jaw and his uncombed hair.
Dami instantly felt nothing short of sheepish. He straightened the robe and raked a hand back through his hair. “Luce. Hullo.”
“Go ahead, say it. Too early, I knew it.”
“No. Really. It’s fine. Not too early at all.” If he’d known it was Lucy, he’d have put something on under the robe. Dami was very fond of Lucy. She was so fresh scrubbed and sincere—charming, too. And she did look fetching this morning, all big brown eyes and short tousled hair, and a smart and imaginative ensemble she had no doubt created herself. He could almost forgive her for dragging him from his bed.
She was not soothed by his assurances, but instead winced and scrunched up her pretty face. “Yikes! I get it. You’ve got company, right?” And then she was off and chattering. “Oh, Dami. I’m sorry, truly. I don’t want to interrupt anything, but I’ve been working up the nerve to approach you concerning a certain, er, issue, for weeks now.”
“Working up the nerve?” He gazed at her, bemused. “What issue?”
“Ugh. I hate myself.”
He gestured her into the suite. “Come in. We’ll talk.”
“But you’re busy....”
“No, I’m not. And I promise you, I am completely alone.”
“Really?”
“Truly. Now come in.”
But