But so had Chloe. She had no father.
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. If she could just see Alex, she could break through his selfish stupor and he would realize what he’d done. He would realize that he loved his daughter. He would act like a decent father, and her daughter would be safe and warm, with two parents to protect her.
Lucy could still give her precious baby the life she deserved.
Whatever it took.
Whatever the catch.
To give her baby a good life, Lucy would do anything—work herself to exhaustion. Sell her body. Even risk her soul.
In sudden decision, Lucy softly kissed Chloe good-night. She spoke briefly with Mrs. Plotzky before leaving the elderly babysitter knitting in front of her game show.
Every step Lucy took was deliberate. Determined.
She found Maximo in the gold-and-cream hallway, leaning against the wall.
“Well?” he asked quietly. “What is your decision?”
She raised her chin. “My daughter will never worry about money again? She’ll have food and a warm house and be happy and safe?”
“Correct.”
“And I will be able to speak with Alex in person?”
His blue eyes glittered. “Oh, yes.”
“I accept your offer.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“VA BENE.” Maximo looked down at her with a strange light in his eyes. “Come with me.”
He took her hand, and she felt the same electricity, the same high-voltage shock. He pulled her back down the hallway and into the elevator. He was Heathcliff carrying her across the moors. He was Mr. Rochester demanding what he had no right to possess…
He was Prince Maximo d’Aquilla, taking her to his hotel room.
He stood behind her in the elevator, his hands possessively on her shoulders. Against her will, she closed her eyes. The weight of his hands felt like gold against her skin. Satiny-smooth, gleaming, heavy—forbidden.
Except Maximo wasn’t Heathcliff. Heathcliff had wanted Cathy so much that he’d been willing to kill for her, die for her. He’d been driven half-mad when he’d lost her.
The Italian prince standing behind her now, so close that she could feel the warmth emanating from his body, didn’t even see her as a woman.
You’re not my type. You’re too plain. Too badly dressed. Too young.
That’s wonderful, she told herself fiercely. She was done with men. Done with love. All she cared about now was Chloe, and giving her a good life at any cost.
The elevator stopped on the fifth floor, and Maximo led her to the end of a hall. She heard laughter, the chiming of crystal glasses, voices speaking in English and Italian over the sounds of violins. He pushed open the door to his suite.
Lucy stopped, her mouth agape.
In the far corner, a string quartet performed Vivaldi’s “Winter.” She recognized two Hollywood celebrities, a senator. Money and power poured from the suite like music.
She’d expected a hotel suite, but…
“This is a palace!”
“I don’t have any palaces in this particular country.” Looking utterly at ease, Maximo took off his coat and tossed it on the upholstered settee beneath the mirrored foyer. “This is just the presidential suite.”