“Mmmhmmm.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You planned this.”
His cheek curves. “You can teach me how to makestrazzate.”
He lets the curtain fall and his form is draped in darkness once again.
“Here.” He takes a limp garment and holds it up. It’s a brocade dressing gown, Royal-sized. “You can have a bath later.”
Royal already cleaned me up, but I take a moment to myself just so I can explore the massive black marble bathroom. There’s a huge steam shower that could hold an orgy. A bathtub made for three—or one long-legged mafioso and a curvy girl like me.
I come out wrapped in his robe, wading through the hem pooling at my feet. I’ve knotted the sash around my waist, and the front falls into a deep V that showcases my cleavage.
Royal freezes at the sight of me, and it takes the edge off my nervousness. I have curves for days, and he seems mesmerized by them.
He beckons and when I come to stand in front of him, he kneels and slides my feet into slippers. Unlike the dressing gown, they’re the perfect size for my small feet. Probably from another overnight guest. Royal probably has a different woman in his bed every night.
I’m not going to think too hard about that.
There’s a side table against the wall full of framed photos. On the end is one of Royal and a stunning, dark-eyed woman. She’s tall and thin with olive skin and sleek brown hair. She and Royal are arm in arm, her in a ball gown, him in a tux. A matching set.
My heart sinks. That’s who Royal should be with. Someone beautiful and glamorous, like him.
I put my hand on my soft belly, feeling a little sick.
Royal sees the move and misinterprets it. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
His dark eyes gleam as he draws me close. “I have a craving,” he murmurs in my ear, like it’s a secret. “Forun biscotto.” A cookie.
I can do cookies. I take a deep breath. “Then let’s go to the kitchen.”
Once we’re in the kitchen, my instincts take over. Royal may be king of his territory and castle, but here, I’m in charge.
“I need flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, eggs, butter or oil.” I list off items while Royal stands there with an amused expression on his face. He directs me to the pantry and fetches the items I point to. “Do you have a sifter?”
“I have no idea.” He watches patiently as I rummage around the cavernous cabinets in his kitchen. Turns out he has everything I need, from a sifter to two entire sets of Le Creuset cookware, one in Cerise, one in Chambray. Seven types of cocoa, and three types of almonds—raw, blanched, and in the shell.
I even find a mini blow torch for caramelizing the tops of creme brûlee, along with a double set of custard ramekins. I filethis info away for later baking sessions in Royal’s house. Which is ridiculous. There will be no later. This is just some crazy one-night stand. Common for a guy as rich and hot as Royal.
After he gets his fill of me, I’ll be right back to my little life. I only wish his wasn’t so glamorous in comparison to mine. It’ll be hard to go back to my usual shabby surroundings, even if that’s where I belong.
“Where’s my coat?” I ask briskly. Royal must have put it away while I was drooling over the complete set of All-Clad pots and pans. He disappears into a room off the kitchen, and returns with my thin coat.
“Why do you need this?” he asks. His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it. “Are you cold?”
“No.” I dig in my pocket and find the torn scrap of paper I tucked there what feels like a lifetime ago. “I’m making this.” I lay the recipe flat on the marble island. “I need Strega.”
Royal finds a bottle in a liquor cabinet. When he sets it down, there’s a look on his face that’s close to triumph. He’s brought two shot glasses and he fills one to the brim.
He sips a little off the top before putting it to my lips. “Taste.” The digestive burns down my throat, leaving an herbal taste in my mouth and a glowing warmth in my stomach.
I sputter a little but find the breath to say, “Good.”
He shoots the rest of the glass and dips his head to mine. “Just a little taste,” he breathes against my lips. This time, I watch his face as he kisses me. His eyes are closed, long lashes fanning over his dark cheeks. His lips are sipping, pulling on mine, persuading them to open. His tongue touches mine. A little jolt of electricity goes through me.
“It's okay,principessa.”His thumb strokes my cheek, soothing me. “You're such an innocent, little one.”
