Chapter One
“Please promise me you won’t bet my pearl earrings tonight.”
Antonia smirked at her best friend in the gilded mirror in her hotel room as she fixed her hair. Gabriella sent her a stern look.
“I promise I won’t bet your pearl earrings tonight,” Antonia repeated, clipping a barrette over the wisps of hair escaping her updo. As she fastened her own pearl earrings into place, she added, “But that doesn’t mean the rest of our outfits are off limits, right?”
Gabriella smiled, slipping into a pair of nude pumps. “Depends on who you’re betting against. I wouldn’t mind seeing what these Monacan men are made of.”
Antonia lifted a brow. “As long as we just look. I’m here to win, remember.”
“Win the poker tournament, yes. But that’s not until Monday. For now, we’re here to enjoy the weekend. You need to let off some steam before you go all in.”
Antonia huffed. “Playing poker helps me destress.”
“Yes, but sometimes it’s wise to destress in a new way.” Gabriella winked at her through the mirror. Antonia knew exactly what her friend was getting at and narrowed her eyes. Every time they took a girls’ weekend somewhere, the same pushiness emerged in her friend. Gabi made it a habit to acquaint herself with a man from every region, it seemed. They always booked separate rooms, so each could do as they pleased without any awkwardness. But if Antonia ever brought back someone—which was a rarity—they never made it past groping and kissing.
“You stick with your destressing methods, and I’ll stick with mine.” Antonia puckered her lips, liking the new dark lipstick she’d paired with the form-fitting maroon dress. Her eye makeup was sparse but fierce. A wisp of curly dark hair hung down at the front of her face. She was ready to take Monaco by storm and win all the bets.
“Fine.” Gabi smirked and the pair wandered toward the door of her suite. The two of them looked killer, which was par for the course. Gabi liked it because it helped her meet men; for Antonia, it was more of a gaming strategy. Most men took one look at her and figured she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. She even had a little shtick to back it up, playing the part to the hilt.
The Grand Monaco hotel was a sprawling oasis of luxury. Even on the “low-rent” seventh floor, the rooms were still spectacularly plush. Her poker tournament was slated to begin Monday—and depending on how long she could stay in the game, she might be here for another full week. She wasn’t complaining—it sure beat her room in her parents’ home back in Milan. She really had to move on, she told herself for the millionth time in the last six months.
Even a weekend away from the family business would help her mood. Her father had been driving her nuts the past few months with trade negotiation drama. She just wanted it to be over. A few hands of poker would start the weekend off right.
“I’ll go get us drinks while you head to the poker table,” Gabi offered during the elevator ride to the lobby. “That way you can get started, and I can start prowling.”
Antonia grinned. Though they were odd best friends, they worked. “Sounds like a plan.”
The elevator doors parted on the ground floor and Antonia strutted out, blowing Gabi a kiss as her friend peeled off toward the bar. Smoothing her dress, Antonia took a few measured breaths before pulling open the gilded door of the casino.
Clamorous voices greeted her inside; cigarette smoke wafted from somewhere despite the no-smoking rule, and rows of blackjack, poker, and roulette tables arched toward the far wall.
As always, it was mostly men playing, their well-groomed companions watching disinterestedly. Antonia wasn’t sure where she’d gotten her gambling streak—nobody in her family shared the affinity, and certainly nobody was as lucky in cards as she was.
She strutted down the main aisle, scanning the room for the perfect table. She wanted men—burly, bulky men with glinting rings and roaming eyes who would size her up and peg her to lose. That sort was her easiest kill. The gold-flecked carpet contrasted nicely with the sweeping fabrics pulled into elegant bundles on the sides of the room—fabrics that she herself had designed at her family’s studio in Milan.
The casino at the Monaco Grand was her biggest buyer to date—and seeing her handiwork firsthand never got old.
Especially when she’d soon be raking in thousands of euros.
There—at the far end, the perfect group. Excitement prickled beneath her skin, and her chest tightened. Let the games begin. She nodded at the dealer as she eased into an open seat at a table full of dark-haired, dark-eyed men. All eyes fell on her as she sat down. She cleared her throat, settling into the demure version of herself.
She glanced between the men at the table then at the dealer, eyes wide. The dealer approached her, shuffling cards. “You wanted poker, right?”
Opening her mouth, she didn’t answer right away. Already she saw question marks swirling in the others’ eyes. “Yes. I want to try.”
The dealer smirked. Just as he was about to deal, the man next to her excused himself from the table, phone pressed to his ear. The dealer shook his head. “Almost had it. Waiting on one more.”
Antonia fiddled with her earring, casting nervous smiles toward the other men. They had no idea what would hit them. She’d sweep the table, leave in their Ferraris, take home their firstborn.
The dealer whistled as he shuffled, eyes lighting up as someone approached from behind her. “There’s our last.”
A man hurried to the open seat, nodding at the dealer as he joined the table. His arm brushed against her, his figure full and tall beside her. As he sat down, a whiff of exotic cologne greeted her—something musky and mixed with vetiver. Her mind clouded over. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, his wide, tanned hands snagging her attention.
“We can begin.” The newcomer spoke French—probably he was from Monaco. She glanced at him, eager to catch a glimpse of his face.
He was looking at her as she looked toward him. Cool green eyes greeted her, a hint of amusement on his face. Her heart stalled. His clothes fit his trim body so perfectly, they had to have been custom tailored. Each strand of his dark hair lay precisely in place. So much so, she wanted to reach up and muss it—just a little, just to see what he’d do. Her voice disappeared in her throat, and she fought to rip her gaze off him.
“Bets, please,” the dealer called as he dealt the first hand. Antonia pushed two chips toward the ledge, heart pounding as the stranger’s face lingered in her memory, as if she’d been staring at a lightbulb too long. At her side, she sensed him shift. Goosebumps emerged on her forearms.
“Good luck.” His rich voice resonated through her. It was so husky and unexpected, she looked around to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else. It had to have been directed at her. She forced a girlish laugh, glancing at him nervously.
She knew enough French to understand him, but she responded in Italian. “I’m sure I’ll need it.” Except I won’t. The dealer finished laying the last two cards to each player and she lifted her hand to look at it.
“Have you played before?” The stranger switched flawlessly to Italian.
“Here and there.” A King, Queen, Jack and two low cards stared at her. Her throat tightened. Almost a straight flush. The stranger’s heat at her side distracted her from her hand.
“Let me know if you need any help.”
***
Louis couldn’t believe his luck. He’d come to the casino tonight for one thing only—to start sniffing out Antonia Giovanni, the only daughter of Francisco Giovanni, Monaco’s previous sole linens supplier. He had no idea that she’d put herself in his path when he’d barely started the hunt.
Almost a straight flush stared back at him in his hand. Unbelievable. He was good at poker, though never usually so lucky. But winning the game didn’t matter to him—he was here on a mission. He just hadn’t expected she’d fall into his lap so quickly—or be so breathtaking in person.
He’d read up on her before arriving, only able to find a handful of dated pictures from when she was still in college. He hadn’t planned for the striking elegance that shrouded her, the plumpness of her lips, or the way those dark eyes raked across him whenever she looked his way.
Made his job more pleasant, then. Because he was here to seduce her. Plain and simple.
She looked nervous beside him; maybe a little out of her element. As one of the only women in the sea of men populating the card tables, he could understand why.
“Get a good hand?” He was here to seduce her, so if it took going easy on her in poker and losing a few hands, he’d be a gracious loser.
“I guess we’ll find out.” She shifted beside him, releasing a waft of sultry perfume. His forearms prickled. Even if he hadn’t been hell-bent on getting back at her father, the Italian merchant who had made his life hell the past couple of months, he’d be pursuing her. That face, those eyes practically guaranteed it.
The dealer asked for bets again as he dealt the last two cards of the hand to each player in turn. A few people at the table folded. He laid down his cards—he’d managed a straight flush. And so had she. And she had the higher top card.
He lifted a brow as she flushed with accomplishment. The dealer pushed the chips her way and collected the cards to deal another hand.
“Impressive.”
“Same to you.” She flashed a coy grin. “But I think it’s just beginner’s luck for me. We’ll see.”
“What’s your name?” He already knew it, but was eager to hear it from her own lips. Her voice came out like a sultry sing-song. It left him wanting more.
“Antonia.” She offered her hand, and he shook it, letting his gaze linger on her face. “And you?”
“I’m Lou.” Giving his full name would tip her off. And if she hadn’t recognized him by now, there was a good chance she had no idea he was the heir to the throne. That meant his plan could go off without a hitch—seduce and destroy. Get back at her father for the heinous lies he’d spread in all their business and social circles, denouncing him as a traitor, a liar, a diseased womanizer. Gossip magazines weren’t kind to him from the get-go, even as a royal. Her father had gone so far as bribing women to claim they’d been his lovers and denounce him. Pure trash. Disgraceful lies.
So wouldn’t Signor Giovanni find it quite a surprise when his only daughter was linked to the supposedly scandalous Prince Louis of Monaco? Oh, he could already taste the other man’s fury, and it was a sweet nectar.
The only revenge he deserved was one deliberate, painful. This would get him where it hurt. And his daughter being a bombshell made it even easier for Louis. Antonia would fall over herself for a chance in bed with him, he was sure of it. He wasn’t a playboy, but it wasn’t hard to get women to fawn over him. He knew how to work charm, power, and looks to create a landslide effect.
She was practically already in bed with him.