Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa Read online

  If she wanted her freedom, he’d oblige. On his terms. His gut recoiled, but he ignored the warning. A muscle pounded his throat. She’d put him through hell on a grill. He was determined to score… on all counts.

  “I-I’m ready to leave,” she said, making no move to do so.

  Why didn’t she just walk out the door like she’d done three months ago? Because although Ellie Ross Medeci was making a bid for her independence, she was no fool. To be totally free, she had to know how she fared in this test of wills … in this last stand with her husband. Ensure she came out with enough ammo so he could never blackmail her again… how dare he attempt to use her father as a bargaining chip to get to her.

  Brave words, Ellie, but it worked… for here you are.

  “Bene,” Peter muttered, a tight line slashed across his mouth.

  Her heart battled her mind. She must be feeling the effects of her head injury—she was treading dangerous ground to agree to live with him for three weeks. Knowing full well that one touch from him and she’d be lost. But the way she figured it, she’d prove to him that she didn’t need him. Emotionally, physically, or financially. She would not succumb to his sexual magnetism. Then, she’d give him what he wanted—otherwise, why mention the dreaded D word?

  If he wanted his freedom, she’d go along with it. On her terms. Her pulse kicked back in protest, but she dismissed the warning. She studied him from beneath her lashes. He’d broken her heart. She’d walk away the winner.

  Chapter 4

  Peter drove through the gates of his … their… home, steered the Mercedes along the driveway and pulled up at the front of the house. Rose bushes of every kind surrounded the imposing structure. Ellie pressed the bouquet against her heart, remembering waking up on sunny mornings to rose-scented breeze ruffling the sheer curtains in their bedroom. A wobbly breath and she smelled freshly mowed grass and honeysuckle, which meandered along the wrought-iron fence. It bordered several acres of land, including the gardener’s cottage in back.

  “Welcome home, Signora Medeci.” Peter cast her a perfunctory glance, slid out, and walked around to the passenger door to open it for her.

  Already half way out when he offered his hand to assist her, she ignored his chivalrous gesture and slammed the door behind her.

  She could not touch him. If she did, it would be her downfall. Ice. That’s the only way she’d combat the sexual attraction sizzling at his nearness. “Er … thanks.”

  She followed him up the veranda steps to the front door. He was a man who walked with confidence, who commanded respect because he had earned it. She could not deny him that. What she could deny him was herself, her heart. You’d be denying yourself, girl, the voice in her head reprimanded. Go away, she said. She refused to live in his shadow any longer. “I can find my own way.”

  “Glad to hear you still remember the way.” He inserted the key in the lock, his words laced with sarcasm.

  “I sure do.” She couldn’t help baiting him. “The way in and the way out.”

  He caught her in the laser beam of his eyes. “You certainly do.”

  “Ye-es,” she murmured, hugging the roses to her bosom.

  She had to keep her distance; must not fall for his sex appeal. If she faltered in her resolve, she’d lose. She glanced at his taciturn features. Reaching him on another level now would be like trying to break through a brick wall. She’d already gotten one crack on the head from her earlier tumble. She wasn’t eager for another.

  “This is where you belong.” He opened the door wide. “Not in that two-bit hole you’ve been living in.”

  She spun to give him a tart response and clutched her head, her knees buckling. “Ooh-o-o.”

  Peter scooped her up in his arms and the flowers fluttered to the floor. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he said, tone firm. “I won’t bite.”

  Ellie blinked at the bright spots bopping before her eyes and did as he asked, hair at his nape cushioning her fingers. High voltage zapped into her, scrambling her pulse. He smelled of soap and fresh air. It’d be so easy to burrow into his neck, nibble her way to his ear, and across his jaw to his mouth. Pretend this Arctic front between them was a bad dream. Peter strode across the threshold to the living room and broke the spell by plunking her down on the couch.

  “I’ll get the luggage,” his said, his words curt.

  “Whose?”

  He chuckled. “That’s right. You left your things at your … er … place.”

  “I have plenty more here.” She brushed a hand across her eyes, thankful that the dizziness was diminishing. “In the upstairs closet.”

  He cast her a covert glance. “In our bedroom.”

  “I’ll ask Marta to help move them to the guestroom,” she said.

  Silence. Long, tense, and cold.

  “No.”

  “We made an agreement.”

  “After your sudden departure, I gave the staff an extended vacation.” He walked to the circular bar in the corner. “Drink?” He glanced at her bandaged temple. “A soft beverage would be best.”

  Ellie waved her hand, no.

  “Marta comes by every couple of weeks to clean, cook, and stock the freezer.” He seized a bottle of sparkling water, twisted the cap off, saluted her, and took several gulps. “Jose keeps an eye on the lawns.” After contemplating the contents in the bottle, he took a last swig and set it on the counter. “I’ll move your things into the other room.”

  “That means we’re alone.”

  “That bother you?”

  “Of course not.” But her heart bounced against her ribs.

  “Make yourself at … er … home,” Peter said, a wry twist to his lips. “I won’t take long.” A steady gaze, then he turned and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor.

  “Home.” The word feathered from her lips and she scooted off the sofa. Could this ever be her home? A grand house, yes. A home, she doubted it.

  Yet, during her short stay here, she was glad Marta wouldn’t be taking over so completely she’d be shooed from the kitchen.

  Ellie had played the lady of leisure far too long. Lazing away hours at the pool, strolling the property, shopping online, and cruising Rodeo Drive for the latest fashion trends. Gucci, Prada, Channel. She’d become a regular fashionista frequenting the gym, spa, beauty salon—manicurist, pedicurist, hairstylist, beautician. On ‘show’ with Peter at some medical event or other, she had to be on top form.

  Outwardly she’d been a knockout, but inwardly she’d been a mess. The lavish pampering serviced her body, but not her soul. A sliver of fear pierced her. Twisting around, she glanced at the grounds through the window spanning one whole wall. Power walks around the estate and puttering in her miniature vegetable garden were more her style. Since it was February, she’d have to forego the latter, but she could certainly do the former, followed by a quick dip in the pool.

  A wistful smile flitted across her mouth. At first, she’d been thrilled to be the bride of the up-and-coming young surgeon. He was hot, sexy, and good looking… and generous. He supplied her with every material thing she could ever want. He had her on his arm at every medical function imaginable. And she glowed. Lived his life. Lived for him. Eventually, the lifestyle that played like a fairy tale lost its enchantment and nearly demolished her, keeping her own dreams under lock and key.

  Peter became more preoccupied with his profession. His stellar success in wielding the knife had placed him in high demand on a global scale. He jetted both to major capitals of the world and to minor locales.

  At the start, Ellie had accompanied him, and while he was in session, she played tourist—alone. She strolled along the River Thames, hopped on a double-decker to Buckingham Palace, Tower of London, and Westminster Abbey when on British soil; she climbed the Acropolis to the Parthenon, day-cruised Mediterranean islands, and over-tipped the slick-talking cabbies in Athens. At that recollection, she almost giggled. Riding the rented scooter to the Arc de Triomphe, Champs Elys
ées, Eiffel Tower and, of course, the haute couture scene in Paris had been fun. And so it had gone with other cities, in other countries, on other continents.

  A sigh built inside her and she expelled the heavy sound. At night, she waited for Peter in their extravagant hotel suite to return from his speaking engagements and other commitments. With his reputation on the rise, he garnered accolades that held him in good stead for political gain in the medical field. He climbed the ranks and soon after landed a seat on the Medical Board.

  Sought after more than ever, Peter began doing double duty on the domestic and global fronts.

  Ellie hadn’t accompanied him as often. Instead, she busied herself with social activities befitting her station as his wife. Since their high-caliber lifestyle alienated most of her friends, she drifted to his circle. But nothing could fill the void inside her that only he could satisfy.

  Rubbing her hands over her arms, Ellie wandered around the living room. She trailed her fingers over priceless objets d’art, from the bronze statue to the porcelain vase in the corner of the room. When Peter finally plodded home, he was exhausted and in no mood to talk. Just dropped into bed and hauled her with him.

  As time crawled by, their beautiful Beverly Hills mansion morphed into a gilded cage for Ellie. Emotionally depleted, she turned into a shell of herself. The emptiness of her life had taken its toll. She had no recourse but to flee the ‘palace’. It had broken her heart to leave him, but if she hadn’t, she’d have no heart at all. A distressing moan vibrated from deep in her throat.

  When she heard the sound of Peter bounding down the stairs, she reined in her thoughts. He crossed the foyer, paused, and then his footsteps drew closer. Her nerves bounced. She took several deep breaths to center herself, but when he walked in, her pulse leaped.

  “Your room’s ready.” He bridged the distance between them and dropped the roses into her arms.

  “Tha-anks.” She brushed the bruised petals with her fingertips, the sweet scent still vibrant.

  “Hungry?” he asked. “Marta’s left tacos and spaghetti in the freezer.”

  “No, thanks,” she murmured, her words a hush ebbing around them.

  “Som’m the matter?” he asked, studying her through his dark lashes.

  Ellie shook her head, her hair brushing her shoulders. Peter clamped his teeth. Not long ago, he buried his face in the silky softness, the scent of her shampoo a balm to his stressed body. A heavy sound shot from deep inside him, echoing awareness between them.

  “Som’m the matter?” she asked, her gaze glued on his features.

  He shook his head. “Naaa.” Then, he feigned a chuckle. “I’m going to grab a sandwich and hit the books.”

  “Of course,” she said, tone dry.

  He was quiet for a long moment, and then brushed his hand across his forehead. “Mega bucks are flowing in from hospital benefactors—”

  “That you mobilized.”

  He shrugged. “Won’t do any good unless I nix the motion that’s about to hit the floor in the boardroom.”

  She crinkled her brow, wondering what he meant.

  “I’ve become a threat to the status quo.”

  “Nooo,” she said, tongue in cheek.

  His mouth hinted a grin, but it faded with his next words. “The Chair can veto my proposal for research in support of upgrading the parking structure.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Mmm.” He paused, a heavy beat. “And he’ll use any means at his disposal to take me out.” He gave her a level look. “A breath of scandal, real or fabricated, could tip the scales in his favor.”

  She squinted at him. “You’re making another political play.”

  “I’m going to bump him in this next round.” He curled his lip. “And with veto power—”

  “You’d have more control.”

  He nodded. “By securing the Chair I’d muzzle the hound and his lackeys.” It would stall the power struggle between politicians whose main interest was maintaining the status quo for financial gain and physicians whose priority was preserving human life at any price. Especially, for those who couldn’t afford it.

  “When will you know?”

  “In about three—”

  “—weeks,” she finished for him.

  An endless moment, explosive in its intensity, crackled between them.

  Ellie laughed, igniting the loaded atmosphere. “I’m the whiff of scandal—” Giggles bubbled from her, and she laughed so hard, tears streamed down her face. “—that could cost you the Chairmanship on the Medical Board.” She juggled the blooms in her arms and swiped at her cheeks. “That’s why you came after me … had me fired.” She hiccupped. “Brought me here, containing me until after the election.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not the only reason—”

  “We must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?” Her voice climbed an octave higher and cracked. “A chanteuse wife singing for tips at the local nightclub wouldn’t be up to standard.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  But she was on a roll. Anger and resentment erupted from her. “My stint in the club would’ve cramped your style, costing you votes.” She paused for breath, a whizzing sound between her lips. “Not quite fitting the VIP image of Dr. Peter Medeci. But once you nailed the Chairmanship—” She smothered a sob with her fist. “I’m gone.”

  “It’s not that simple, Ellie,” he bit out, grabbing her by the shoulders.

  “Aha! You admit it.”

  “I admit nothing.”

  Ellie shook free from his hold, breath bursting from her. “Don’t manhandle me.”

  “You got it.”

  “You don’t want a wife” —she hurled the roses at him; he caught them and that pricked her ire even more— “You want a mannequin who’ll submit to your every demand, in and out of bed.”

  Deafening silence, like the aftermath of an exploding bomb.

  His eyes glittered with suppressed anger, and he tossed his own grenade. “You must’ve liked it real fine to stick around for five long ones.”

  Blood drained from her face and she grabbed the banister for support. He almost retracted his brutal words, but refrained, allowing them to stand as a shield between them. Had to keep his hands off her, otherwise he’d prove his words by taking her right there on the floor on a bed of rose petals.

  Every muscle in his body knotted. That’s not how he planned this interlude. He didn’t want her wrath, he wanted her ardor, her admission… her love.

  “You-ou arrogant bast—”

  He clicked his tongue in censure, but since that only seemed to hike her temper, he backtracked toward the kitchen. “I’ll put these in water.”

  “Oooo!” Ellie threw her hands up, took aim, and fired, “What if I won’t play?”

  He paused, and a beguiling smile curved his lips but didn’t touch his eyes. “Why, then, you’ll have a hard time singing for your supper when you leave here.”

  She gave him such a look of loathing it would’ve shriveled a lesser man. With head held high, she sauntered to the den, her hips swaying.

  Batting minus zero, Medeci, the voice in his head mocked. No need to rub it in. He’d acted like a royal jerk, but the woman pushed his buttons royally. He tossed the blooms in the sink, filled it with water, and turned the tap off with such force it nearly came unhinged. Muttering an epithet, he yanked the fridge door open and icy air slapped him in the face.

  Not since he’d been a boy had hunger pangs assaulted his body. He groaned, his stomach twisting and his mouth going dry. He was starving for this pale, honey-colored girl he’d married. He’d given her everything, including his name. He wanted to protect her, pamper her, love her … and she preferred to work for tips in that dive and live in that dump than with him. Where had he gone wrong that she had such an opinion of him? Air spun in his ribcage, his chest expanded, and he exhaled, defusing the pressure. He should send her packing and be done with this whole fiasco. But the pr
omise of one more sexual encounter, at her request, plus the lesson he set in motion, were both much too tempting. This short time should zip by. He’d have her out of his heart long before then. Sure thing, Doc. Shut up!

  He grabbed a sandwich, booted the refrigerator door closed with his heel, and stomped to his study.

  *

  Ellie marched to the bar, confiscated the bowl of pretzels and doing an about-face, marched to the couch. She plunked down, snatched a handful, and stared into the hearth. His words had knocked her off-center and if she hadn’t grabbed the banister, she would’ve slithered to the floor in shock. The twisted snacks in her palm reflected her insides. She stuffed some in her mouth, the salty taste stinging the gash in her heart. But she crunched down, imagining that it was a part of his anatomy she’d bitten into.

  By eclipsing her first singing gig, he’d blocked her source of income, meager as it was, making her solely dependent on him. Something she no longer wanted to be. And, he dared insinuate that he would do it again.

  Proving that he disregarded her musical talent in lieu of his political ambitions. How high was the top for Peter? And what … who else would he trample on to get there? Seemed he was even willing to sacrifice their marriage to attain the pinnacle of success.

  A sour taste filled her mouth and she forced the food down before she choked on it.

  It had been a critical time to prove herself as an artist on the job, and he shouldered his way in—her thoughts shifted—what was he doing fraternizing in The Blue Room? With the pending election and his competitors stoking ammo against him, surely The Blue Room was not a place he wanted to be associated with. Bad press could derail not only his medical career, but his political aspirations.

  He could’ve easily sent someone else to find her. Why had he come himself? Unless it was to ensure Louie didn’t re-hire her.

  Perplexed, she shook her head. She should just up and leave, this time for good. But proving she could resist him and make it on her own was far too tempting. She’d go right after she gave him a dose of his own medicine.