Free HOLIDAY ROYALE by Christine Rimmer Page B

red sports car gleamed under spotlights in the center of the room.
    “It’s so beautiful,” she told Dami at the sight of the new car.
    “It has to be,” he said. “After all, it’s called the Montedoro.”
    They made their way around the exhibit. Lucy took her time, studying the photographs and scale drawings and reading the descriptions that detailed the creation of the new car. The Montedoro would be available to exclusive individual buyers that coming May and offered for sale in upscale auto dealerships all over the world in the fall. Many of the drawings were signed DBC.
    Evidently, Dami saw her checking out his initials. “See? There’s more to life than painting and sketching fat cats in windows.”
    “Noah told me that you took a degree in mechanical engineering and design.”
    “I like to keep busy.”
    “You’re way too modest.”
    “Oh, no, I’m not.” He leaned closer and his warm breath brushed her temple. “I have a lot of interests. And I become bored very easily.”
    “You hide your abilities behind your jet-setter facade.”
    “Does anyone actually say jet-setter anymore?”
    She drew her shoulders back. “I do. It’s a perfect way of saying shallow-rich-people-who-fly-all-over-the-place-in-their-private-jets. Just IMO, of course.”
    He pretended to hide a yawn. “I hope this isn’t the beginning of one of your lectures concerning my wasted artistic talent. I thought we had an understanding about that.”
    “You’re right.” She did her best to look contrite. “We do. And I didn’t mean to insult rich people with too much time on their hands.”
    “As opposed to hardworking rich people, you mean?”
    “Well, you have to admit, a hardworking rich person is much more admirable.”
    “Spoken like an American.”
    She scolded, “And would you please stop telling me how easily you get bored?”
    He leaned even closer and whispered, “Done.”
    She breathed him in. He did smell wonderful. “Terrific.”
    He touched her hair, tracing the line of it along her temple and cheek then following the shell of her ear. A little shiver of pleasure went through her and he whispered, “Not bored now. Not with you....”
    They were sharing a lovely, intimate smile when she heard the disturbance by the wide arch that opened back onto the Hall of Tapestries. Dami was facing the entrance. He could see what was happening. His tender look turned to a scowl. Lucy followed his gaze to the stunning woman surrounded by admirers and eager photographers just entering the exhibit.
    It was Vesuvia.
    And she looked even more magnificent than she did on the covers of all those glamorous fashion magazines, with magnetic almond-shaped eyes, cheekbones to die for and lips so full they should be X-rated. She was very tall, with shapely shoulders and long, graceful arms. Her lion’s mane of tawny hair fell to the middle of her back and her perfect round breasts seemed to defy gravity. She wore a low-cut white gown that clung lovingly to every curve and was slit high on the right side to reveal a whole lot of toned golden-skinned leg and a pair of Grecian-inspired metallic sandals with the straps wrapping halfway up her otherworldly calves. She laughed and tossed her acres of hair and the photographers went into a frenzy of picture taking, calling encouragements to her and begging, “Vesuvia, this way!” and “Vesuvia, over here!”
    Dami leaned close again, “Don’t stare, Luce. It only encourages her.”
    Lucy turned back to him, feeling slightly dazed, the way you do when you stare directly into the sun. “Sorry, Dami. How can I help it? She’s pretty amazing to look at, you know?” She glanced again at his ex-girlfriend just as the woman raised her golden arm to send Dami a little wave, a come-and-get-me smile on those impossibly large lips. And that had Lucy whipping her head back to catch Dami’s reaction.
    But his gaze was waiting for her. “You look as though you’re watching a tennis