After another few minutes working her way past the bar, she entered the small private room. He stood waiting in the middle of it.
‘Ms Sanchez, my name is Matteo. I am Prince Antonio’s assistant.’ He half bowed as soon as she’d closed the door behind her. ‘The Prince requests your company.’ He held a thick white envelope out to her.
Her name was on the front, inked in a scrawling hand and underlined with a couple of heavy pressed lines that suggested urgency. Demand.
Bella.
Her blood ran faster. She could hear his voice, whispering her name as he touched her, devastating her defences until she’d melted in his arms. But he wasn’t here now. He’d sent a messenger in the middle of the night. Had he even written her name himself?
‘He requests my company right now?’ she asked Matteo carefully.
‘Apparently an issue has arisen,’ Matteo answered, still offering the envelope.
Bella stared, unable to be sure that she’d heard innuendo in his tone or not, but his face was a blank mask. He’d learned from his master well.
‘And this issue can’t wait until morning?’ she asked.
‘If you would take the envelope, Ms Sanchez.’
She took it from him and turned it over, breaking the seal on the back. She drew out the single thick card and, with a cool glance at Matteo, turned away to read the note. But the card bore only two lines of that harsh writing.
We need to talk.
The bald statement was followed by a number and an address—she recognised it as an apartment building near her club and her pulse was not accelerating, but her breathing quickened. Her nerves tightened.
‘I will escort you there now,’ Matteo said, as if he were offering her the greatest service ever.
‘That won’t be necessary.’ She put the card back into the envelope with care. ‘I can’t go there now.’
The surprise that flashed on his face gave her an inordinate sense of satisfaction.
‘Prince Antonio requests your company,’ Matteo repeated.
‘So you said,’ she answered, determined to stay cool. ‘And I will get there when I can.’
‘You don’t understand—’
‘I understand perfectly.’ She smiled at him though her mouth felt dry as dust. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t understand and nor does he, obviously. I have a business to run. So you can tell him that I’ll get there if and when I can.’
Matteo didn’t reply but she wasn’t bothered by his scrutiny. She wasn’t afraid of him. But she was wary of how Antonio made her feel—and how much she wanted him.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my guests.’ She clutched the envelope and left him to find his own way out.
But she didn’t return to her guests. She climbed all the way to her own tiny apartment at the top. She put the card on her desk—the one he’d kissed her on—and stared at it.
Was this how a prince made a booty call? With just her name, an address and a lame ‘we need to talk’? Did he do this all the time? Send his aide to set up shag-a-thons for him in a private apartment in town so no one would ever know?
So much for the myth of heartbroken, isolated Prince Antonio. Turned out the supposedly heroic, self-sacrificing Prince of the People had feet of clay. He just wanted it like any other guy. On the side when it convenienced him.
She was livid. And she was ignoring him.
She went back down to the dance floor. She wasn’t going to drop everything at his beck and call. But she couldn’t concentrate properly. Time crawled. It felt like hours until four a.m. finally struck—yet it was only forty-five minutes since Matteo had left.
It was another hour before her staff had gone and she’d locked up and could shower. The cascading hot water didn’t ease her tension any. Sleep wasn’t happening. So she dressed in skinny jeans, a light tee and ballet flats on her feet.
It was five-thirty in the morning when she finally made her move. She’d go and see him and tell him to his face.
No.
She wouldn’t be his latest secret lover.
She walked out of the side door, ensuring the alarm was enabled, and saw Matteo leaning against the doorway of the building opposite. He crossed the street to where she stood.