Read The Italian for Free Online

face and no breasts at all. Flat as the economy. And then she shot up, filled out, her face took on normal proportions and men started taking notice.
    She’d been taken aback at first, not knowing how to respond. Later, she discovered many men were jerks or whiners or manipulators, and sometimes there was the trifecta—all three. Regardless of type, they almost always reacted to her.
    What she was not used to was a man who treated her as if she weren’t a woman. As if she were barely human. As if he had a personal vendetta against her.
    That was exactly the attitude of Maresciallo Buzzanca. His hands were as proper as hands patting you down could be, but his face was grim, hostile, dark eyes boring coldly into hers.
    In a moment he’d verified what even a moron could tell him—she was unarmed. In fact, if anything, the man behind that ornate wooden door was more of a danger to her well-being than she could possibly be to his.
    The maresciallo stepped back, saluted the prince and murmured, “ Va bene .”
    Francesco inclined his head gravely and thanked him. Jamie knew perfectly well that no exception could be made for her but she found it impossible to thank the officer. She merely inclined her own head and turned to face the prince.
    “ Cara .” He took her hand in his. “It is my fondest wish that you pass a delightful evening. That you enjoy the food and wine my kitchen will provide for you. And that you convince Stefano to come back often. For you, he just might, and that would make me very happy.”
    The sound of the huge iron lock unlatching coincided with the touch of his lips to her fingers, as if the courtly gesture were the spell that unlocked the magic door.
    The right-hand panel was slightly open. Francesco pushed against it with one hand, the other at her back. “ Avanti, cara ,” he murmured, and she stepped into the room, both wary and excited almost beyond bearing. The heavy door closed behind her, locking out all noise from the outside world save for faint sounds of music.
    The room was sheer magic. It was lit by what looked like hundreds of candles. High overhead was a vaulted ceiling with frescoes, though she couldn’t see much beyond clouds and a few cherubs. A huge Murano chandelier hung from a heavy yellow silk cord from the center of the ceiling, its faceted crystal drops reflecting the candlelight.
    Across the room were French windows with gossamer curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. Outside was a stone-flagged terrace, and beyond that a formal garden lit with torches and candles in glass vases.
    A man rose from the table set before the window and her heart, still beating triple-time, started hammering. She could barely breathe as she watched Stefano cross the marble tiles toward her.
    He was even taller than in her memory. Even more handsome, even more charismatic…more everything. A man seemingly designed to please women, but beneath the looks and manners was pure steel.
    His face was somber as he crossed to her. At the very last second, he smiled and her heart simply turned over in her chest. Without a word, he bent and kissed her.
    She opened her mouth to him and, too late, realized it was meant as a social kiss. Whatever it started out as though, it changed in an instant. They both inhaled sharply, as if something had stung—or hurt.
    The kiss didn’t hurt; it was more like an electric shock. Something that crackled and burned.
    His eyes narrowed when he lifted his head. The kiss hadn’t been long enough to wet his lips but he already had the look of male arousal—lips suffused with blood, dark red over his cheekbones, nostrils flaring whitely. A vein in his temple pulsed.
    “ Dio mio ,” he murmured. “That was…something.”
    Jamie had no comeback. She didn’t even have any defenses.
    She was so cool with the guys. All her friends admired her sang-froid . She always felt in control, even slightly apart from what was happening, in and out of bed.
    Now she felt as if