The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) (2 page)

He would have to hurry, though, because Etzi had proven more than once that he wasn’t afraid to walk back in and interrupt any sort of debauchery in the name of the crown. The man was as loyal as a damn hound.

The woman paused in the doorway to the bathroom, casting a teasing glance over her shoulder. Her blue eyes met his as her long, blond hair skimmed the top of her breast and Salvy hardened further.
 

“You coming?”

“No. I’m just breathing hard.”

She laughed, a slightly annoying sound that probably went with her personality, though Salvy couldn’t remember enough to say for sure. “I tell you what, Prince Salvadore. If you can tell me my name, I’ll let you put it in my ass.”

It was only then that Salvy, for the first time in his life, regretted an overindulgence.
 

He didn’t think on it for long, though. Instead, he took three steps and grabbed her against him, taking his time exploring her tongue with his as he backed her against the wall. Once she was breathless and, according to his fingers, soaking wet, he smiled down into her face. “You’ll let me put it wherever I want, and you’ll like it. You can tell all your friends you got fucked six different ways by a real, live prince.”

She trembled in his arms, her eyes hungry. Insatiable.

More of last night came back to him and Salvy thought he’d already fucked her six different ways. Maybe he should have threatened seven.

“Go turn on the shower,” he told her.
 

The woman complied, bending over and giving him a wiggle that was probably meant to tease him. Salvy grabbed her hip with one hand and reached around her with the other, letting the pounding water and his expert fingers work her into a frenzy.
 

“Please,” she moaned, pressing her ass into his crotch.

“Please, what?” he whispered into her ear, his tongue snaking out to catch her lobe.

“Please fuck me,” she replied, sounding almost angry with desire.

He grinned and dropped both hands to her hips, turned on by the pebbled gooseflesh on her smooth skin. “Fuck you how?”

“However you want.”

He was feeling pretty damn good after the romp in the shower, and one more in the bed before he’d left the woman—Cassie, he was almost positive—tangled up in the sheets and fast asleep. Salvy had ordered her a bottle of champagne and a breakfast of berries and cereal before closing the door quietly behind him, then paid for an extra night so the hotel staff wouldn’t hurry her out at the insultingly early checkout time.

He was most jealous of the woman’s midmorning nap, as his pounding headache had returned with the camera flashes at the hotel’s back door, and only increased on the way to the airport. Etzio seemed to understand. Or, he at least sensed that talking about last night’s incident would have no effect on his charge, and they rode to the small, private airstrip in silence.

Once they’d boarded, Salvy ordered Etzi and the rest of his security detail to give him the main cabin so that he could nurse his hangover in peace. Only then did he pull out his tablet and headphones. The plane’s wifi was excellent, which meant he had no trouble catching up on his own latest antics.

He cringed as he watched himself wade into the fountains while the security guards from the Bellagio swarmed the edges, mouths raised to their walkie-talkies. The white dress shirt went see-through immediately, outlining his abs as he peeled off every item of clothing like he was auditioning for the Chippendales and swarms of people—mostly ladies—hooted and whistled from dry land.
 

Salvy closed the browser as the security guards converged, wondering how Etzio had managed to get him back to the hotel instead of a jail cell. Public indecency was still a thing. Even if people appreciated it.

At least he’d looked good. The water must have been an agreeable temperature.

He set down the tablet, closing his eyes as he settled in for the long trip, but no matter his headache and fatigue, sleep wouldn’t come. This was bad, even by his standards, and his father wasn’t going to let it slide. The fact that he had two sons when he’d only needed one was lost on the old man, who believed for some reason that Salvy should take on as much of a leadership role in Cielo as his older brother.
 

It made no sense—Nico was the one who would get all of the glory, so Salvy had never been able to figure out why on earth he should give a shit about the crown or how his behavior affected people’s perception of it.
 

His mind wandered back over his childhood, to the years after his mother had died. There had been only one person back then who believed he was better than a “spare” prince, and he’d basically spit in her beautiful face.

Salvy grunted and poured himself another drink. He didn’t know what had made him think of Magdalena Rossi after all of this time.

His thoughts turned to the King, and how he would react to last night’s events. Salvy’s gut said that putting on a nude exhibition in Las Vegas while he was representing the interests of Cielo at a huge international summit would go badly for him at home. He had no way of knowing what would happen if he had finally pushed the King too far, but Salvy had a bad feeling he was about to find out.

Chapter Two

Magdalena

“I cannot believe Prince Salvadore gave the whole world a shot of his naked wanker,” Camilla snorted, pieces of pistachio shell fluttering from her fingertips.

The bar was loud, but it seemed to Magdalena Rossi that everyone was talking about the same thing, anyway. It wasn’t every day the world got a peek at a princely pecker, she supposed, although she didn’t think it could look that much different from all the others.
 

“Well, Salvy
is
a wanker, so it’s not as if we haven’t seen it before,” she said, trying not to make a face at the thought. Trying not to remember what he’d been like when they were young, before he’d started to believe he had no purpose in the world.

“Come on, Maggie,” her friend Donni said, wiping her chin after a swig of beer. “Just because you’ve seen it already, don’t begrudge the rest of us a peek.”

“Ew, come on. I haven’t seen it since we were kids. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s grown.” Her face flushed at the thought and she wanted to get up and leave.
 

She’d been raised around the palace and had run loose with both princes, but not as an equal. As soon as they were old enough to understand the differences between the sons of a king and the daughter of a tailor, their young friendships had diverged.
 

“Oh, it definitely has,” Camilla leered, and the rest of her friends cracked up.

“Well, congratulations. Only you and hundreds of women across the world have seen the thing,” Magdalena said, standing up. “I’m going to get another drink. Anyone else need one?”

They both nodded and Maggie headed to the bar, breathing a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to talk about Salvadore Piacere. Her friends might have nothing better to do than gossip about the most eligible—and careless—prince in the world, but Magdalena had no interest. She tried not to think of him at all, but the man he’d become made that awfully difficult.

“Hey, gorgeous.” A tall man leaned on the bar beside her, the lights glinting off his sandy blond hair. His teeth looked almost fluorescent and she wondered how much he paid to make that happen.

“I’ll have three more,” she told the bartender, nodding to the empty bottle in front of her.
 

“What, you’re just going to ignore me?”

Maggie cast a quick glance his way and found irritation swirling in his dark eyes. A shiver ran down her spine, and a voice every woman knows whispered
be careful
in the back of her mind.

She shifted, and smiled. “I’m not interested in chatting, that’s all. Long day at work.”

He nodded, making an attempt to look as though he gave a shit about anything but what was under her clothes. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“That’s okay. I’m getting this round for my friends.”

“So, you’re not here with a date.”

“No. By choice, I assure you.” She grabbed the three bottles off the counter and dropped the money in their place. She gave the bartender a nervous thank you and turned to go.

“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it,” the handsome asshole muttered, malice glittering in his gaze.

“Maybe not, but I can if I want, so fuck off.” She stepped past him, pausing to give him a look of her own. “I’ve got a bottle of mace in my purse with your name on it, turd. Try me.”

She returned with the beers and set them down, still shaking from the adrenaline loosed by her encounter. Oxygen staled in her chest as she sat and scanned the room. Maggie blew it out when she saw the man hadn’t decided to follow, but was disappointed when she found the subject of conversation among her friends hadn’t turned to something less distasteful. Anything.

“I heard he got arrested and the Americans won’t let him go,” Camilla said.

Donni shook her head. “I heard the King is going to force him to be a priest. Can you imagine?”

Her friends shrieked with laughter, and even Maggie had to admit the thought was ridiculous enough to deserve a snicker. Rumor had it that Salvadore Piacere couldn’t go a day without getting laid. A lifetime? Forget it. He would ruin the priesthood’s reputation within a week.

For some reason she couldn’t fathom, she felt guilty about laughing. Her father had taught her that the royal family deserved respect, and not only because he had been their exclusive tailor for the whole of his career.
 

But that wasn’t it. It was her memories of Salvy as a boy—their steady friendship and quiet confidences that had grown into more.
 

For her, anyway.

But that was a long time ago. She hadn’t seen him in years, and his determination to act as though the people of Cielo didn’t deserve his time or consideration rubbed Magdalena the wrong way. In other countries, the royal family were nothing but figureheads, but in Cielo, they had influence and they wielded it. Second in line or not, she thought he should take his influence seriously.
 

The rest of them had no way to change things, not really. Anger twisted in her belly at the thought but she tried to smile, not wanting to discuss it with her friends. They only saw Salvy’s pretty face, his chiseled body, his lazy, charming smile… Sure, they had King Alfonso and Prince Nico to take care of things at home, but thinking of Salvy as a “spare” heir was irresponsible.

“So, Maggie,” Camilla started, a sly expression on her face. “Are you finally going to give up the goods on the guy, or what?”

Maggie made a face. “I think he’s given up his own goods, and besides, I keep telling you I don’t know him. Not really.”

The last time she’d seen Salvadore, he’d kissed a visiting princess right in front of her. Super classy.

She wasn’t telling them that, either. As much as she disapproved of the way the younger prince treated his title, she refused to throw more gasoline on the gossip fire.
 

“You’re no fun,” Donni pouted. She raised an eyebrow at Camilla. “Remind me why we’re friends with her again?”

“Because she’s the one who makes sure we make it home alive,” Emmy pointed out, slamming the rest of her beer.

They kept talking, the talk—at least at their table—finally shambling over to normal conversation like work and which of the guys they were dating had bugged out that week. Maggie sipped her second beer as slowly as her first, finishing the warm remnants a few hours later before she helped her friends into cabs.

Given the confrontation earlier, she decided to take a cab herself, and asked the driver to take her home. Her stomach grumbled the entire way and she regretted not ordering dinner even if no one else had wanted food. Foreign concept.

The small house on the rural outskirts of Arcobaleno was dark; her father would have gone to bed hours ago, and a stab of guilt went through Maggie. She worried he hadn’t found the soup she’d left for dinner, or that he hadn’t been strong enough to heat it for himself. It was the first time she’d left him in the evening for months, and now she wondered why she’d been so desperate for a night with her friends.