“Well, cara?” he said huskily. “What do you say?”
Lilley turned back. She felt dizzy from his attention, half-drunk beneath the intensity of his dark gaze. She said slowly, “I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand?”
Lilley cleared her throat. “I don’t get the joke.”
“I never joke.”
“You don’t? Too bad. I joke all the time,” she said. “Usually by accident.”
He didn’t even smile. He just looked down at her, his face unmovable and oh, so handsome.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“But—it’s the Preziosi di Caetani ball,” she stammered. “The biggest charity event of the summer. The mayor will be there. The governor. The paparazzi.”
“So?”
“So you could have any woman you want.”
“And I want you.”
His four simple words made Lilley’s heart twist in her chest. She clasped her trembling hands together. “But you have a girlfriend. I’ve read—”
His expression hardened. “No.”
“But Olivia Bianchi—”
“No,” he said tersely.
Biting her lip, Lilley looked up at him. He wasn’t telling her the whole truth. And the waves of danger emanating off his body nearly scorched her. If he found out who Lilley really was, she would lose her job—or possibly get dragged into court on charges of corporate espionage. Every instinct of self-preservation told her one thing: Run.
“Sorry,” she said. “No.”
His eyes widened. She’d clearly shocked him. “Why?”
She bit her lip. “My work—”
“Give me a real reason,” he bit out.
A real reason? How about the fact that she was the daughter of a man he hated, and the cousin of another man he hated even more? Or the biggest reason of all: his strength, power and masculine beauty terrified her, making her heart pound and her body break out in a hot sweat? No man had ever had this effect on her, ever, and she didn’t know what to do. Except run.
“My boyfriend … my ex-boyfriend,” she stumbled, “will be at the ball tonight with my friend—Nadia. So you see I couldn’t possibly go.”
“He’ll be at the ball?” Alessandro’s eyes sharpened. “Do I know him—this man who made you weep?”
“He works in the Preziosi jewelry-design division.”
His eyes gleamed. “All the more reason to go. When he sees you on my arm, he will remember your value and beg you to come back to him. You can accept his groveling or spurn him, as you choose. And the woman will suffer when she sees you as my date.”
She stared up at him in amazement. “You don’t have self-esteem issues, do you?”
He looked at her with an even gaze. “We both know it is true.”
Lilley pressed her lips together, knowing he was right. If she went as his date, she would be the most envied woman in the city—possibly in all of California.
The thought of Nadia and Jeremy groveling at her feet and begging for forgiveness was a delicious one. All the times Lilley had worked late, all the times she’d asked Nadia to please explain to Jeremy and entertain him, and they’d betrayed her. She had no friends in this city now. None.
She lifted her eyes to Alessandro’s. “I’m not a very good dancer.”
He slowly looked her over. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I took ballroom-dancing lessons as a kid, and my teacher asked me to quit. I was like one of those dancing elephants with tutus. All my boyfriends have complained about me stepping on their feet.”
His expression changed, became softer. “Even if that were true,” he murmured, “the fault would be your partner’s, not yours. It is the man’s responsibility to lead.”
She swallowed. “Um. I… I never thought of that. I just assumed I was to blame.”
“You assumed wrong,” he said simply, then lifted his eyebrow. “But just out of curiosity, how many is all?”
“What?”
“All your boyfriends.”
Oh heavens. She couldn’t tell him her pathetic number. She lifted her chin and said with false bravado, “A few.”
“Ten?” he persisted.
The heat in her cheeks deepened as her shoulders slumped. “Two,” she confessed. “A boyfriend in high school, and …” A lump rose in her throat. “… and Jeremy.”
“Jeremy. That is his name? The man who broke your heart?”
“He betrayed me.” She looked at the floor. “But that’s not what broke my heart.”
He waited, but she did not explain. “So go out tonight. Your dancing skills are irrelevant, because we will not dance.”
She looked up at him with a crooked grin. “Afraid of getting your toes stomped?”
“I do not dance.”
Her eyes widened. “What—never?”
“No.”
“But you’re the sponsor of the Preziosi di Caetani ball!”
“It raises money for my favorite charity and gets good press for Caetani Worldwide,” he said coldly. “That’s what I care about. Dancing does not interest me.”
“Oh,” Lilley said uncertainly. She bit her lip. “I see.”
But she didn’t see at all. How could a man like Prince Alessandro, the heartthrob of women around the world, sponsor a ball and not dance? It didn’t make sense.
He started to reach for her hand. “Come. We must hurry.”
She backed away. She was afraid to let him touch her again, afraid of his strange power over her body. She gulped. “Why me?”
“Why not you?”
Setting her jaw, she folded her arms. “You’re famous for many things, Prince Alessandro, but taking file clerks on charity dates isn’t one of them.”
He threw back his head and laughed. Turning, he went to the large modernist painting above his desk and swung it open to reveal a safe. Turning the combination to open the door, he pulled out two platinum and diamond cufflinks, then faced her with new intrigue. “You interest me, Lilley Smith. Not one woman in a thousand would have asked me why before saying yes.”
“I guess I’m weird that way.” She watched him put on his expensive cufflinks one at a time, saw the strength of his wrists and the sensual movement of his hands. He paused.
“My date for the ball fell through ten minutes ago.”
“Miss Bianchi?”
“Yes.”
She’d seen pictures of the Milanese heiress, who was blond, thin and beautiful—everything Lilley was not. She looked down. “I’m nothing like her.”
“That