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lot?”

      He pushed away from the wall—and her. Impatiently, he insisted, “It honestly is over with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

      “I believe you. I was only...” She found she didn’t know how to go on.

      “What?” he demanded.

      “Well, I mean, I just feel bad, that’s all.”

      “For her?” His eyes flashed dark fire.

      She held his gaze and shook her head. “No, Dami. For you. Because it didn’t work out with her and I think that you really did want it to. And, well, yeah, maybe a little for her. Before he found Alice, Noah had a couple of girlfriends like that. They just wouldn’t let it be, you know? They wanted more from him than he was willing to give them and they kept calling him and he was frustrated and angry and didn’t know how to get through to them that over was over.”

      He braced his arms on the table behind him, leaned back on it and studied his fine Italian shoes. “Yes. Well, it is over.”

      “Got that. Truly.” Also that you want this subject dropped. And really, it wasn’t a bad thing for her, she thought. To be so sharply reminded of all that the beautiful man before her wasn’t willing to give.

      They had this brief magical time together. He was being so good to her, so thoughtful and tender and brilliantly instructive—not to mention very, very sexy. He was giving her what she hadn’t even really understood she needed so much: to discover all the things she’d missed about passion and sex and to feel safe and cherished and free to be her whole self while it was happening.

      She promised herself that tomorrow when it came time to say goodbye, she would definitely remember not to cling. And no matter how much she wanted to hear his voice, she wouldn’t start calling him all the time.

      He looked up, one dark eyebrow lifted. “Shall we move on?”

      “Yes, we shall.”

      “Have you been to Casino d’Ambre?”

      “No, and I really, really need to see that.” She gave him a big smile and held out her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

      * * *

      Half an hour later, as he took Lucy on a tour of Montedoro’s world-famous casino, Damien was feeling more than a little guilty about his behavior at the villa. He’d been gruff with her when he’d had no reason to be—other than he’d been kissing her and touching her and thoroughly enjoying himself. And then the phone had gone off twice and ruined the moment.

      He’d felt rotten—about V and her games. About Lucy witnessing once again what a bad choice he’d made in getting involved with V in the first place. About how his life seemed somehow rudderless lately, without direction.

      Which was absurd, really. He’d always taken life as it came and had a fine time of it. He was still having a fine time of it, and he didn’t plan to change.

      Lucy took it all in stride. She didn’t let his earlier bad attitude put a damper on the day. She didn’t push; she didn’t sulk. She was as lighthearted and full of fun as ever, wide-eyed at the beauty of the legendary casino, clapping when some tourist won a bundle at roulette.

      After the Casino d’Ambre, they strolled the shops of the Triangle d’Or, the area of exclusive stores, restaurants and hotels surrounding the casino square. Workers were everywhere that day putting up the Christmas decorations around the square, ushering in the season. Holiday music filled the air.

      Damien took Lucy’s hand as they walked. He leaned close and teasingly reminded her to pay no attention to the ever-present paparazzi. He made an effort to be extra attentive after the uncomfortable moments at the villa.

      They’d stopped to watch a couple of burly workmen hang a giant lit wreath above a shop door when she sighed and sent him one of her dewy-eyed smiles. “Christmas in Montedoro. I’ll bet it’s almost as beautiful as Christmas in Manhattan.”

      He squeezed her fingers, twined with his. “I know your brother is angling to get you to go home to California.”

      “He can angle all he wants. I’ll be in New York City for the holiday season. Just wait and see.”

      He let go of her hand so he could wrap an arm around her and pull her closer. She laughed, a happy, carefree sound. And so he bent his head and kissed her, right there on the Triangle d’Or for the two workmen and the crowds of busy shoppers and everyone else to see.

      When they started walking again, he kept his arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Dami. For giving me this beautiful, perfect Thanksgiving. It’s turning out to be everything I could have hoped for.”

      He pressed his lips to her fragrant hair. “No thanks are needed. Ever. You know that.”

      She looked up at him then. Her eyes were so solemn. “You are the most generous person I know.”

      He wasn’t, and she really ought to remember that. “Not really.”

      She elbowed him in the ribs. “Yeah. Really.”

      “If you keep making me sound so exemplary, I’ll decide it wouldn’t be right to seduce you this evening.”

      She widened her eyes in pretended terror. “Omigod, no! I take it all back. You’re a horrible man, a scoundrel, a total dog.”

      He flattened his lips and arched an eyebrow, going for an evil leer. “Wonderful. You’ve convinced me. I’ll be taking complete advantage of you after all.”

      * * *

      They returned to the palace a short time later. By then it was a little after six. There was a light buffet laid out on a sideboard in the main dining room. They filled plates and sat together to eat.

      After that he walked her to her room. He kissed her, a kiss he let go on a little too long. A kiss that tempted him to push the door open behind her, to carry her in there and finish what they’d started the night before.

      But no. Once he had her naked in his arms, he wasn’t going to want to let her go until the morning, when they would say goodbye. And tonight was the annual Prince’s Thanksgiving Ball. She couldn’t miss that. It was a memorable part of a Montedoran Thanksgiving.

      Reluctantly, he broke the kiss and promised to return for her at nine.

      In his apartment, Damien got out his phone, turned on the ringer again and checked his messages and calls. He discovered that V had called only those two times. And left one voice mail.

      He sat for a while actually considering calling her, trying one more time to speak reasonably with her, to convince her that she had to leave it alone, move on. And then he went ahead and played back her message even though he never played her messages anymore, because he’d grown weary of listening to her call him bad names in Italian.

      Surprisingly, her voice was calm. She spoke English, which surprised him almost as much as her even tone. V was fluent in English, but she considered it a barbaric language, unmusical and crass.

      “Dami. I can guess where you are. With that skinny, plain little American nobody, the one with hardly any hair.” A laugh, soft, knowing. The bitch. “You’re all over the internet with her, the two of you at the bazaar on Thursday and the museum last night. Really, Dami, what am I going to do with you?” A long sigh. “I know, I know. You have to follow every cheap flirtation to its logical conclusion and I’m going to have to leave you alone to pursue this new and incomprehensible infatuation. And guess what—I believe I will do just that. Enjoy yourself. I’ve had enough. When you finally see what a fool you’ve been, you’ll be sorry. But of course, there won’t be anything you can do about it. Because I am finished. You hear me? It’s over, finito. Ciao.”

      Damien got up from the sofa and paced to the window. He wasn’t angry, exactly, just annoyed at her spiteful remarks about Lucy, who never hurt anyone, who only brought joy.

      And

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