Wanton Heat (A Feel the Heat Novel) (Entangled Brazen)

Other books by Nicola Marsh

Wicked Heat

Busted in Bollywood

Not the Marrying Kind

Wanton

Heat

a Feel the Heat novel

Nicola Marsh

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Nicola Marsh. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.

Brazen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit
www.brazenbooks.com
.

Edited by Tracy Montoya

Cover design by Heather Howland

ISBN 978-1-62266-497-9

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition February 2014

For Shanika Mazza, my go-to friend for the essential “naughty” Italian in this book.

Thanks, babe xx.

Chapter One

Zoe Keaton had never conformed a day in her life.

At nine months, she’d defied the coddling of her parents and walked.

At three, she’d ridden her tricycle straight through a stained-glass window in their Texan mansion, because they’d told her not to go too fast.

At ten, she’d run away twice, because they wouldn’t allow her to get a Mohawk and a nose ring, in that order.

By the time she’d hit puberty, her mom had given up on her, her dad indulged his “wild child,” and she’d been the coolest kid in school.

Zoe liked being a rebel. It suited her.

Which made having to schmooze some uptight, surly, silver-spoon-up-his-ass Italian prince for business all the harder.

Zoe wasn’t a monarchist. She was an anarchist.

And the only prince she had any respect for was the Artist Formerly Known As, one of her dad’s vintage faves. Though Prince William was kinda cute. She really liked the way those tight white polo britches highlighted a guy’s assets.

That’s about the only thing Prince Dominic Ricci of Osturo—a tiny Italian island off the coast of Naples—had going for him. His assets. And she wasn’t talking about the modern sandstone castle she could see at the end of a long stone-flagged driveway.

She’d Googled the prince. Several times. Just to make sure she was fully equipped to convince Prince Pompous-Pants that the ad campaign she’d devised for the resort on one of his other islands, Ancora, was just what his kingdom needed. She’d busted her ass working on a contemporary campaign for the outdated resort, which was owned by her company’s new lucrative client Kai Kaluna. Though she could’ve achieved her research objective with one session. Instead, she’d taken one look at the prince and bookmarked him.

His Lordship was hot. Seriously hot. The type of hot that made a girl want to find a dark-haired, blue-eyed look-alike and ride him until dawn.

It was a shame she’d sworn off flings for a while. She could’ve had fun flirting with a prince. What was the point of spending a week in a castle on a gorgeous Italian island in the Mediterranean if she couldn’t indulge in some hot island nights?

But having a fling with the guy she had to do business with was a disaster waiting to happen. She’d already messed up enough recently. Hell, she’d almost made AW Advertising, the company she co-owned, go under because of her gung-ho approach with their oldest clients. The company’s most valuable clients had walked, thanks to her. And what had she done? Rather than telling her BFF and co-owner Allegra Wilks the truth, she’d accepted a partnership as a step toward making amends.

Zoe saw it as her penance. With the constant doubts plaguing her after that spectacular failure, she needed to land this ad campaign for Kai Kaluna to prove she was more than a trumped-up Texan-turned-Californian who couldn’t achieve anything without the safety net of Daddy’s new money behind her.

As for failing again and potentially pissing off Kaluna…if he walked and took his business with him, AW Advertising would be finished. They’d be screwed, and she’d be the one personally responsible.

No way would she let that happen. And that meant schmoozing a prince with bedroom eyes and a sardonically sexy smile.

Fan-fricking-tastic. The last thing she needed to be reminded of before her all-important first meeting with the prince was how hot the guy was. Bad enough she had to curb another impulse to check out that bookmarked Google page on him again before seeing him in the flesh.

Flesh
…hard, bronzed, and ripped, from those pics she’d seen online…

Don’t go there, dumbass.

She shook her head, clasped her handbag tighter, hoisted her overnight bag higher on her shoulder, and followed the cobblestoned path toward the castle entrance. Like her mistaken assumption of the prince, whom she’d envisaged as being middle-aged, grim, and flabby, she’d imagined the castle to be a crumbly pile of old rocks.

Both her preconceptions had been blown sky-high. The L-shaped, three-story sandstone building perched on a cliff top overlooking incredible expanses of indigo Tyrrhenian Sea appeared as modern as its owner. Beautiful arched windows, immaculate manicured lawns, and an ash wood front door that would be monstrous up close.

Okay, so the fact that she had to stay here for seven days wasn’t all bad. If she could get the prince on board and her work done, maybe she could play princess in her downtime.

The thought of her lounging around a castle made her stumble, and she dropped her overnight bag. She bent to retrieve it, and when she straightened, the thing slipped out of her hand again.

Fricking hell.

Less than four feet away, dripping water onto the flagstones, stood the most gorgeous male specimen she’d ever seen.

Bare, bronzed chest glistening in the sun. Rivulets of water trickling toward a loosely knotted towel slung low on his hips. Long, lean legs. Muscled.

She dragged her gaze upward to the sizable bulge beneath the towel…

“Fuck.” The expletive slipped out before she could stop it.

Not exactly how she’d imagined her first word to Prince Dominic Ricci.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Something the matter?”

Zoe had one second to redeem herself. She could flounder and apologize and grovel. But she’d end up looking more like a fool. So she did what she did best. Revert to type.

“Nothing’s wrong.” She deliberately looked him up and down, trying her best not to linger on that towel. “In fact, all seems right with the world from where I’m standing.”

His other imperious eyebrow joined the first. “Do I know you?”

“Would you like to?”

Crap, she was flirting with royalty. Could they behead her for doing this?

To her relief, the corners of his lips curved upward. “You’re American.”

“Don’t hold that against me.” She resisted the urge to shuffle her feet under the intensity of his stare. “Born and bred Texan, but an LA girl at heart.”

He wrinkled his nose as if she’d presented him with a pile of doggy doo. “Flashy and fake.”

She puffed up in indignation. “Now hang on a minute—”

“The city, not you.”

This time it was his turn to do the surveying, and he started at her coral-painted toes and inched upward, his stare lingering on her calves, her knees, her hips. She’d opted for a sedate black-and-white fitted maxi-dress to meet the prince, but by the way her skin tingled? There was nothing sedate about his perusal.

She dragged in a breath, which drew his attention to her breasts. By the time he locked gazes with her, she could’ve sworn her heart had stopped.

She’d had her fair share of sex, had flirted and seduced, but no guy had ever made her feel so…
wanton
with just a look.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, closing the small distance between them. “But I think you already know that?”

Zoe would have usually thrust out her boobs and responded with an “abso-fricking-lutely.”

But there was something about this guy that made her strangely tongue-tied.

She shrugged, as if his compliment meant little. “I’ve had my fair share of flattery from guys willing to do anything to get what they want.”

“And what do you think I want,
cara
?”

Oh, boy. Courtesy of her crash course in Italian—the native language of Osturo—via her iPad on the plane, he’d called her “darling.”

In response to his semi-naked state, proximity, and polished Oxford accent with an underlying hint of his Italian background, she clenched her thighs together to prevent herself from collapsing at his feet and yelling, “Take me now.”

Squaring her shoulders, she flashed him her most dazzling smile. “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Defiance in one so beautiful.” He touched her cheek with a fingertip. “Enchanting.”

As he trailed his fingertip toward her mouth, that simple touch short-circuited Zoe’s common sense. She had no idea if it was the surrealism of the situation, the scent of lemon blossoms in the air, the heat of his touch, or the yearning in his eyes, but she found herself taking a step forward so their bodies were an inch apart.

She could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell an intoxicating blend of sea and sun and sexy male. And she couldn’t resist…

She touched him.

Her palm splayed against his chest, her hand small and insignificant against that bronze expanse.

He didn’t move, but his fingertip continued its leisurely exploration of her face. So she explored, too.

Her palm slid lower, gliding across his wet skin, tracing every tempting contour.

She heard his harsh intake of breath as her fingers skated close to the knot of the towel.

And that’s when she felt it. His hard-on nudging her hip.

Zoe bit back a moan and dragged her gaze away from his chest. She couldn’t do this. Not when so much rested on this deal going through.

“
Cara
?” His fingertip finally reached her bottom lip, where it lingered.

She would give anything to suck it into her mouth, to show him exactly what she wanted to do to him elsewhere.

Instead, she reluctantly stepped away.

The intimate spell enveloping them shattered when she glanced up and met his cold, steely glare.

“I was wondering how far you would go for your business proposition.” He spat the last two words, making it sound like she wanted to assassinate him.

Realization washed over her, with a healthy dose of humiliation thrown in for good measure.

He’d been baiting her? What a prick.

“Not as far as you’d like, obviously.” She pointedly stared at the front of his tented towel. “Or does that work on command like the rest of your serfs around here?”

The second the fiery comeback spilled from her lips, Zoe wished she could take it back. She shouldn’t taunt him, not when she needed him so badly. Needed his business, that is. Whatever.

Amusement flickered in those unfairly piercing blue eyes. “I test everyone who sets foot in my domain. Don’t take it personally.”

His domain? Oh, yeah, the next seven days would be peachy good fun. She could see it now: him snapping his fingers, expecting her to jump to his tune. As if.

“Zoe Keaton.” She stuck her hand out, the sensible greeting she should’ve delivered moments ago.

“From AW Advertising.” He made it sound as if she planned on opening a full-service brothel in the castle foreground as he shook her hand so quickly, she could’ve imagined it. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Was he using the royal pronoun or referring to a welcoming party that hadn’t shown up yet?

Hating how off-kilter he made her feel, she gestured at his torso. “In that case, you’re a tad underdressed.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you before,” he murmured, a flare of heat sparking the indigo of his eyes before he cleared his throat. “I expected you to be waiting inside the castle, not strolling the grounds hoping to accost me.”

“You wish,” she muttered, biting back a grin as a frown creased his brow. “My ferry docked early, so I apologize. If I’d been on time, you would’ve had plenty of opportunity to cover up all of that.”

She only just managed to avert her greedy gaze from the towel and
all of that
.

“Shall we?” He gestured for her to walk in front of him. “My grandmother will be waiting.”

“Lead the way,” Zoe said, eager to meet Queen Catarina Ricci, the figurehead matriarch who deferred everyday decisions to her grandson.

From Zoe’s research, she’d learned that the queen had been a rebel in her day, traipsing through Europe, partying from one end to the other. She’d married for love, had bucked tradition by raising equally free-spirited children, and continued to host lavish parties that drew A-listers from around the world. And despite losing her three sons, including Dominic’s dad, Franco, who’d died in a freak avalanche, she was renowned for her hospitality.

Too bad Catarina’s grandson hadn’t inherited some of his gran’s social graces.

“You’re wasting your time, you know.” He held out his hand for her overnight bag. “Nothing you say will convince me to allow Kaluna to make Ancora a focal point for thousands to desecrate.”

“I’ve got a week to change your mind.” She gripped her bag tighter, despite her shoulder aching from the load. “Your grandmother obviously sees the potential of positive PR for this region, and she insisted I stay seven days to explore all the possibilities an ad campaign for a rejuvenated resort could provide.”

He said something like “crazy Nonna” under his breath. “My grandmother is progressive for her age, but in the matter of promoting this region? We greatly differ.”

“I like your grandmother already,” Zoe said, glad to have at least one ally in her quest.

“And she’s going to love you,” he muttered, before rushing on. “Give me the bag.”

His command rankled. “Why? So you can snap your fingers and have some poor servant pop out from behind a tree to do your bidding?”

To her surprise, he laughed, a genuinely happy sound that did something strange to her chest. “You’re very outspoken.”

“It’s how I’ve always been.” She squared her shoulders, as if daring him to disagree. “I’m blunt and persistent and outrageous, but I get the job done.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “Something you’ll see very soon.”

He muttered something in Italian that sounded distinctly derogatory. “The faster you hand over that bag, the faster you can start
convincing
me to ruin these islands all in the name of progress.”

“And the faster you realize your islands are financially imploding along with the rest of the Italian economy, the faster you’ll use your business brain to see that what I’m proposing can only benefit everyone.” She hoisted the bag higher and tried not to wince as her shoulder pinched.