The Playboy Prince (Piacere Princes, Book One) by Lyla Payne

upper crust, but he thought that Stefano was going to send the invitations to everyone and just ensure the wording made clear who should attend.  
    Salvy didn’t elaborate on the reason for the ball. She would find out soon enough, he supposed, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he was looking for a wife. In the light of her beautiful face suddenly and unexpectedly back in his life, he felt even more ridiculous about the entire thing. Maggie had never had patience for fools, and he feared that was what the endeavor made him.
    “There was something on the table but I didn’t open it.” She gave herself a little shake and her gaze sharpened. “This is a huge job. We’ll have to rearrange our other clients.”
    “We’re willing to pay handsomely, of course, and that the crown takes priority has always been our arrangement with your father. I trust that’s still intact.”
    Maggie nodded, biting her lower lip in a way that made him want to do it for her. “Of course. I’ll start making arrangements immediately, though the end of the month doesn’t leave us much time. We’ll get started first thing tomorrow, if that’s amenable to you?”
    “Yes. I’ll be here, and I’ll make sure Father and Nico will be, as well.”
    “What about Luca?”
    Salvy shrugged. “I’ll see. He’s not exactly keen on being helpful, and Nico says he’s been out of the country lately.”
    “Very well.” She stood and smoothed her skirt, then lifted her bag over her shoulder.  
    Salvy reached out as she walked past him, his hand grazing the soft, bare skin of her arm. Maggie paused, her warm gaze flitting to him and away. In it, he saw a war between irritation, disgust, and familiar affection.
    He waited until she looked at him again, and this time he did not allow her to break the connection. His fingers curled around her arm, the tips brushing the inside of her wrist as heat flowed between them. How had he been so stupid as a boy to never have noticed how she made him feel?
    “Maggie,” he breathed. “It is so very good to have you back in the palace.”
    Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and his heart skipped. She said nothing, frozen like a deer in the hunter’s sights as he tugged her closer, closing the small gap of space between them.  
    He wanted her, right then and without hesitation, but he didn’t deserve her. He had always known that.  
    Gently, slowly, he slipped his hand under hers and raised it to his lips. The kiss he brushed across her knuckles felt intimate, so much so that he wanted to pull away.
    Salvy dropped her hand and waited for her to make the next move. He supposed it was too much to hope for, that she might start to strip off his clothes—or her own—but he didn’t expect her to flee.
    But she did.

Chapter Six
    Magdalena

    Magdalena made it out of the palace and into her car without breathing, it seemed. Her heart raced and her knuckles, so recently touched by Salvadore Piacere’s lips, felt like they were on fire. The blood in her veins was too hot, ran too fast, and she sat behind the wheel just breathing for a good five minutes.
    The man was a menace. A playboy, a prince who took no responsibility for his people, and probably carried a dozen communicable diseases. She could never hate him, but she had spent years cultivating a disdain for the way he had chosen to live his life in order to protect herself, and now?  
    Ten minutes in the room with him and her body was about to spontaneously combust.
    She could handle it. She’d had a crush on him the whole of her girlhood and had managed to hide it, at least until he’d broken their trust and read her diary. He obviously hadn’t felt the same way—if he had, he never would have kissed that girl ten minutes later. He would have come after her.  
    That had never happened no matter how many dreams she had where it did.
    This was a disaster. Not only as far as the reminder of her taped-together ego, but in that she would