Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa Read online

  Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa

  SUN CHARA

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  HarperCollinsPublishers

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  First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

  Copyright © Sun Chara 2017

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  Cover layout design by HarperCollinsPublishers

  Cover design by Alex Allden

  Sun Chara asserts the moral right to

  be identified as the author of this work

  A catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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  and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Ebook Edition ©June 2017 ISBN:9780008145040

  Version 2017-04-12

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Also by Sun Chara

  About the Author

  About HarperImpulse

  About the Publisher

  Unlimited thanks to my wonderful brother, Joseph who is quantum leaps ahead of his time…you are an inspiration!

  Greatest gratitude and admiration to all the people (including my brother Joseph) in the medical field for your courage, dedication, and heroic efforts in saving lives! I applaud you!

  Chapter 1

  Peter saw her. And he saw men at the bar ogling her every curve. The waitress scrap-of-nothing she wore accentuated the length and shape of her legs, clad in net stockings. How she managed to walk on stiletto heels was beyond his male comprehension. The flimsy froth of fabric barely covered her bottom and had her breasts nearly spilling from the Grand Canyon neckline, to the delight of every male eye in the smoke-filled room.

  He brushed rain-damp hair off his brow, warring with his gut instinct to stride over, sling her across his shoulder, and take her home. Hot blood surged through him and his aorta boxed his chest. Home where she belonged, with him, and in his bed—

  The crash of glass jolted him from plunging deeper into the erotic fantasy. Since she’d run out on him, his mind was set on replay … a constant rankling to his Italian pride.

  A muscle assaulted his jaw. Her rebellious escapade could bring him down, and her with him. Premeditated or a case of the lamb amidst wolves? His chest constricted. It was time to set the record straight, even the score. Although he had to move fast to snare the coup d’état he was after, he’d do it his way. He inhaled, filling his lungs with needed oxygen and grimaced at the smoke-tainted air in the club. He exhaled and snared her in his narrow focus.

  She was floundering to pick up broken glass from the floor. Her admirers were moving in, but in two long strides he was beside her. The spinning strobe light cast a halo around her, making her hair gold and her skin a shimmer of silk. Memories rushed in, taunting, smothering … and he almost changed his mind. Passion and anger raged inside him. Pent-up pressure in his chest sizzled between his teeth and banished the past, but only for the moment.

  “Let me help you.” He hunkered down, playing knight gallant, but feeling more like a Neanderthal. His words held a double meaning for this woman, who kept a special place in his heart, his life, and who had spurned his every effort. Why would she have left him otherwise? Without a word, without a backward glance?

  The deep timbre of the man’s voice filtered to Ellie through the music and laughter, but she kept her head bent until the embarrassed blush receded from her features. “Thank you.”

  He dropped a handful of sharp pieces onto her tray, and the gold cufflink on his white shirt cuff gleamed from beneath the dark sleeve of his jacket. His hand was strong, his fingers long and sensitive, with a smattering of black hair across his knuckles.

  She swallowed and glanced up, her heart splitting in two. “Pet-e-r.”

  His raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

  “What are you doing here?” She held the tray between them like a defense, gripping it so tight her fingers hurt. Her stomach lurched; air whooshed from her lips and every fiber of her being buzzed with life on seeing him again. But with that came a profound sadness.

  She turned away from his penetrating blue gaze. His relentless pursuit of his profession had nearly destroyed her and their marriage. She couldn’t go back to him. Wouldn’t.

  Not unless he was willing to change … give her what she wanted, what she … they… deserved… a real marriage. Tears stung her eyelids, and she gulped them down with her next breath.

  A melody drifted to her, a balm to her frazzled emotions. She’d been stagnating, except in the bedroom. And she wanted to be more to him than a bedroom playmate. In a desperate attempt to reclaim her life, and save her marriage, she had made a rash decision and fled.

  She was playing a risky card, especially since he controlled the deck. Could she pull it off? Would he ever see her as more than a possession?

  “Better question is” – he dropped a chipped martini glass on her tray, shattering her thoughts – “what’re you doing here, Ellie?”

  He reached out to help her up, but she avoided his gesture and stood up on her own. It was doubtful a man like Peter, with a heritage steeped in tradition, would budge, even for her… or her father. Forgiveness was not one of his tendencies.

  “Working.” She made to pass him and the broken goblets rattled precariously on the tray.

  He blocked her path, his gaze gliding over her half-exposed breasts, then lower, taking in the full length of her. “So I see.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t like what you’re implying, Peter.”

  “What’s that?” he baited.

  “That I’m— I’m—”

  “Selling favors?”

  “How dare you,” she snapped, raising a hand to slap him.

  He intercepted it in mid-air, his fingers shackling her wrist. “How dare I?” His face was a thundercloud and his eyes bore into her. “You’re the one who deserted—”

  “I did not.”

  “No?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Suppose you tell me how it was, mmm?” This time he did take her elbow and led her toward the neon-lit exit.

  “I can’t just leave in the middle of my
shift.”

  “Wanna bet?” He grabbed the tray from her hands, passed it to a waitress walking by and winked his thanks. Shrugging from his jacket, he draped it across Ellie’s shoulders and guided her through the mass of gyrating bodies.

  “Hey, baby doll, how ’bout another number?” Someone called to her.

  “Later.” Ellie waved. “Taking a break.”

  “Cutest singin’ cocktail—”

  “Trot on over, babe.” Raucous laughter.

  A man staggered toward her and a camera flashed. Peter swung his arm out and knocked the camera from the snapper, sending it crashing to the floor. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he pulled out a couple of hundred-dollar bills and hurled them on the floor. “That should cover the damages, Louie,” he bit out, his eyes hard.

  The loud music had muted the altercation and no one seemed to have noticed, except the three of them.

  “What’s going on?” Ellie glared at Peter, then turned to the barrel-shaped man pocketing the cash and scuttling across the floor for his camera.

  Taciturn, Peter wove his way through the throng and pulled her with him.

  “We can do publicity shots tomorrow, Louie,” Ellie called over her shoulder.

  “Sure thing, sugar.”

  The familiarity of his words made Peter pause mid-stride. He flexed his hand in a fist, thought better of it, and marched her away from the crowd.

  “What’re you doing?” She stopped, forcing him to turn around.

  “Taking you home.”

  “You have no right—”

  “I have every right … wife.”

  “Don’t call me—”

  Murderous silence.

  “Technically, I guess I am.”

  Peter tightened his fingers on her arm. When she whimpered, he loosened his hold, but didn’t release her. Smoke and alcohol clung to her, but a hint of her perfume reached him, making him ache for her. She’d just kicked him in the teeth, nearly denying their relationship as husband and wife. He steeled his jaw. When he was done with her, he’d boot her out. His eyes narrowed. He’d get what he wanted, including answers to questions that had battered his brain for the last three months. He had a right to know why she had left him. And at this crucial time. Why she preferred to live like a pauper, instead of like a princess with him? Why?

  Dragging her with him, he climbed the four steps from the Hollywood cellar club to street level. Behind them, the neon sign flashed, The Blue Room, both illuminating and shading her face.

  “Let go, Peter.” She yanked her hand from his grasp and he allowed it. “I’m not about to run away at this time of night and in this weather.” She drew the lapels of his jacket closer about her neck, raindrops drenching her hair and trickling down her nape.

  “Stand under the canopy, Ellie,” he commanded. “I’ll wave down a cab.”

  From beneath her lashes, she watched him, studying him, loving him, hating— abruptly she froze, her thoughts ripping her apart. She’d wanted for nothing. He always brought her things, even during their most intimate moments. Heat infused her body and a drop of moisture slid between her breasts. All the material wealth he showered upon her couldn’t make up for the limiting lifestyle as the wealthy Italian’s wife, which made her feel more like his mistress.

  She licked rain from her lips and her heart thudded. Was her husband an opportunist or simply too busy gaining wealth and power to notice her; to care that she had a dream of her own… wanted to make something of her own life?

  He pushed a damp lock off his forehead with an impatient hand and stepped onto the sidewalk. He stretched out his arm to flag down a taxi, and his muscles contracted beneath his wet shirt.

  Every cell of her body flared. She could easily succumb to his potent sexuality. But she had to resist the temptation. Had to resist his influence, his magnetism… him. A one-night stand with her husband would only compound the problem. Still vulnerable, she had to put distance between them, to think clearly; about their marriage, their life. Could they have a future together? She doubted it and her heart shriveled.

  She drew in a breath, willed her erratic pulse to get in sync, and exhaled in a rush. Odor from the trash bins in the alley assailed the damp air, but she barely noticed. She took a step closer to him and reached out to touch him, to wrap her arms around the bulge of his biceps, to rub her cheek … feeling his strength. His security. His love.

  Oh, how she wanted to, but instead she dropped her hand to her side and stepped back. She blinked raindrops from her lashes. It couldn’t be as she wanted. A gust of wind silenced the cry from her lips. To be with him, she’d have to ‘sell out’ on herself; for chasing her dream could cost him his.

  Entry level into the music biz entailed gigs in questionable locales and servicing all manner of clientele. It was a highly unsuitable vocation for the wife of the ambitious intern seeking a seat on the Medical Board.

  Goosebumps erupted all over her skin. Yet, his ruthless climb to fame on the global front had strangled her dream. Stifled her.

  She felt cornered.

  Defeated.

  That’s why she’d left. Guilt gnawed her insides. Why she must slip away from him again.

  Peter whistled and waved down an approaching cab. When the car screeched to a halt at the curb, tires splashing muddied water everywhere, she disappeared into the shadows of the night.

  Chapter 2

  He was losing his mind. He tossed and turned on the sofa in the living room of his Beverly Hills mansion. Where had she gone? Last night, he hailed the cab and glanced behind him for Ellie, but she’d vanished again. Taking his heart, his hopes, and his future with her. He hunted for her everywhere, questioned everyone in the club, and then he spotted the paparazzo at the bar. He shoved his way through the crowded room, grabbed Louie by the shirt collar and hauled him off the stool, his feet dangling in midair.

  The man shook his head, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

  A camera flashed.

  Disgusted, Peter dropped him on his feet and stomped back out to the street, the drizzle of rain cooling his skin. He asked everyone in the vicinity – the newsvendor on the corner, the laughing couple stepping out of the nearby pizzeria, the homeless person rifling through the trash cans in the alley, the waiting taxi driver.

  No one had seen her.

  Dawn was breaking by the time Peter had stumbled up the front steps of his home. He slammed the door shut and the sound echoed the emptiness of his life since she’d fled. After loosening his tie, he’d thrown himself on the living-room couch, the silence of the mansion deafening.

  Now, he stared at the ceiling, his bloodshot eyes stinging from his sleepless night. How could she slip away with him not two feet from her? He flung an arm across his eyes. How could she leave him without an explanation? Not once, not twice, but thrice.

  Shifting, he peered at the clock above the marble mantel of the fireplace. He groaned. Seven a.m. He glanced at his wrinkled, mud-stained clothes in distaste and scrubbed a hand across his stubble-ridden jaw. Time he took a shower and changed. He made to get up, but every muscle in his body resisted.

  He slumped back on the cushions, and a self-deprecating smile cracked his mouth. As the doctor in the house, he certainly did not give himself sound advice. A highly esteemed neurosurgeon, who could heal all manner of ills of the human brain, yet he didn’t know what to prescribe for a shattered heart.

  A growl tore from him, ripping across the silent house. He lowered his lashes, cushioning his pupils, and swung his legs over the side of the couch. The movement shot sharp arrows through him, and his muscles contracted. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled his shoulders to get the blood circulating.

  All night, he’d been coiled like a spring, ready to snap. He still had no inkling why his wife of five years had up and deserted him. Ungrateful little bi— but the voice in his head eclipsed that unsavory thought. You were hardly around… itself a form of abandonment.

  He snorted. “What
I’ve done, I’ve done for her.” His chin jutted in defense. “Gave her a beautiful home, a new car every year, everything money could buy.” The niggle in his head persisted. That’s not what she needed. “What was it she needed?” His words exploded against the walls, adorned with priceless paintings. “What did she want?” Obviously, it hadn’t been him.

  The hole in his gut ached. He clutched his head between his hands, his temples pounding. A raw gash in his heart had split open and spurted blood … Ellie was the only one who could stop the hemorrhage. A menacing sound gurgled in his throat. She defied him by deftly slipping away from him – three times. That thrust the knife deeper into his aorta and proved she wasn’t interested in handing him a band-aid.

  He had no choice but to play hardball… with her.

  There was too much at stake… his life, his profession, and his reputation. Then there were others—

  The sudden ringing of the telephone had him almost jumping from his skin. He thought to ignore it, but the sound penetrated through the fog of his mind, his pain, and his fury. With every muscle throbbing, he reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table. Cherry red. Her favorite color. “Shut up,” he muttered to the noise in his head.

  He heaved a deep breath and exhaled with force. “He-l-lo,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Hello.”

  *

  “Three dollars.” Ellie clutched the money in her hand and glanced at her empty wallet. Then she rifled through the bills, fingers shaking, to ensure she had counted correctly. She had.

  She leaned against the sooty wall of the matchbox she’d called home for the last three months and closed her eyes. No money. No job. No prospects. She balled her hand into a fist and pressed it against her mouth, swallowing desperation. “I will not go back to him like I did at Christmas.”

  The sound of her breathing vibrated around her. She shoved the wallet back in her purse, slipped the strap over her shoulder and glanced about. Faded curtains hung on the one window, not quite blocking the sound of rain shooting against the pane. Wind whistled through the maple branches scraping against the building, cars honked, and tires swished on wet roads of downtown North Hollywood.