Monte Carlo Affairs: The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal

“Non.”

Had she imagined his hesitation? “Do you keep in touch?”

“I have not seen Lisette since the divorce.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Absolument.”

Absolutely. She studied Franco, trying to gauge his sincerity. His direct gaze showed no doubts, no prevarications.

Her father hadn’t willingly let go. Had that been because he’d loved her mother so much or because he’d considered her a possession, as the therapists had said? Stacy shook off the questions to which she’d never have answers and focused on her date. “Have you always lived in Monaco?”

“Non. I grew up outside Avignon, France. My family home is still there. I relocated my residence and Midas Chocolates headquarters here eight years ago after my divorce.” His expression turned speculative. “You are trying very hard not to enjoy our evening, Stacy. Why is that?”

He read her too easily. “You’re mistaken.”

“Then prove me wrong by dancing with me.”

When he put it that way how could she refuse? “I’m not much of a dancer.”

He rose, pulled back her chair and offered his hand. “Pas un problème. I will guide you. Relax. I am not going to devour you before dessert.”

But after dessert, then what? She wanted to ask, but she was too overwhelmed by his proximity to form the words. He laced his fingers through hers and rested their joined hands over his heart. She could feel the steady thump against her knuckles. He looped his other arm around her waist, spreading his palm over the base of her spine and pressing his chin to her temple. He held her as close as a lover with his thighs brushing hers. Too close. She tried to retreat, but the muscles hidden beneath his expensive suit flexed and held fast.

Her breath quickened. His scent, a blend of tangy lime and something totally masculine filled her nostrils. Her mouth dried and her skin steamed. She could barely hear the music to which he swayed over her thudding heart. Regardless of how unwise it might be she could feel herself weakening and wanting to give in to the desire that welled inside her each time he was near.

Pressing her palm against his lapel, she angled her upper body away from his. The move had the unfortunate consequence of aligning their faces. His mouth was much too near. If she rose on her tiptoes she could—

No. She couldn’t.

“Where is the music coming from?”

His indulgent half smile sent a spiral of need through her. “There is a string quartet on the terrace.”

He danced her through the open doors and then raised his arm for her to spin, but instead of letting her turn a full circle he caught her with her back to his chest and held her facing the flower-filled courtyard below the balcony.

Stacy gasped at the hot length of him spooning her back and then she lifted her gaze from the couples whirling around the flagstone dance floor and the air left her lungs in a long, appreciative, “Wow.”

The rocky terrain of Monaco spread out in front of her. One thing about having a country clinging to the side of the mountain was that no matter where you looked you had a postcard-worthy view. Lights twinkled on the landscape like constellations blanketing a clear night sky, and in the distance she could see a brightly lit cruise ship anchored in the harbor. “It’s beautiful.”

His breath stirred the hair at her temple a second before his lips touched her skin. “And so are you.”

He cupped her shoulders and turned her to face him. His palms glided down her arms and then he grasped the railing on either side of her, caging her between a twenty-foot drop and temptation. Either one could leave her broken. The warmth of the iron railing pressed her back, but the heat of his hips and thighs against hers set her afire. He feathered a kiss on one corner of her mouth and then the other. Teasing, fleeting, tantalizing kisses. Insubstantial and unsatisfying.

Her insides quivered and she wanted more. She wanted him to kiss her—to really kiss her—in a way she’d never wanted any man before, and that was dangerous territory. It had to be Madeline’s talk of a vacation affair making Stacy yearn for what she couldn’t have.

“Come home with me tonight, Stacy. Je veux faire l’amour avec toi.”

I want to make love with you. Blood rushed to her head and then drained with dizzying speed to settle low in her belly. She closed her eyes, bit her lip and shook her head. “I can’t.”

But she wanted to. She really, really wanted to. Sex had never been the exciting event for her that everyone claimed it was. She had a feeling it would be with Franco, but he was exactly the kind of man she’d sworn to avoid.

“Non? Because even though your mouth tells me no, this—” his head bent and his lips scorched a brief kiss over the frantically beating pulse in her neck “—this says yes.”

Torn between desire and common sense she pressed her palms against his chest and prayed for the strength to keep refusing. A flash of movement beyond his shoulder caught her eye. She sent up a silent thank-you for the reprieve. “The waiter is back.”

Ever so slowly Franco straightened, but the banked fires in his eyes promised “later.” He released his hold on the railing beside her, stepped back and gestured for her to precede him into the room. Her legs were almost too weak to carry her.

Close call. Good thing this was their one and only date because she doubted she could continue saying no.

And saying yes would be far too dangerous.

“What is it you want, Stacy?”

Stacy’s yearning expression as she gazed at the moonless midnight sky hit Franco with the impact of a sailboat boom. Whatever it was she wanted, he wanted to give it to her. Within reason, of course. And he would reap the rewards for his generosity.

She stopped in the corner of Hôtel Reynard’s garden. “What do you mean?”

Why her? Why did this woman arouse him so easily? He didn’t have the answer to the question he’d been asking himself since seeing her outside Midas yesterday, but he would find it. Sipping from her soft, fragrant skin at the restaurant tonight had only whetted his appetite. “What is it you wish for when you look upon the stars?”

“What makes you think I’m wishing for anything?”

“Your eyes give you away.”

She bit her lip and hesitated. “Financial security.”

“Money?” He almost spat the word. It always came down to money, but he had expected Stacy to at least make an attempt to hide her greed. Disappointment dampened his satisfaction over being right about her. Had he believed Stacy was different from any of his father’s ex-wives or from his own? Non. Life had taught him a hard lesson. All women were the same. Yes, they came in different sizes, shapes and colors, but the craving for money is what made their mercenary hearts beat. And Stacy’s greed played directly into his hands.

“My mother struggled to make ends meet when I was a child. Sometimes she had to choose between rent and food. Until I landed the job with the accounting firm I wasn’t in much better shape, and now I—” She turned her back abruptly and dipped her fingers into the fountain. “I don’t ever want to be in that position again.”

“Your father?”

Her spine stiffened and her hands fisted. “Not part of the picture.”

The personal insights—of which she’d shared few during dinner—softened him and he couldn’t afford sentimentality. Time to close the deal. “And if I could offer you that financial security?”

“What do you mean?” She frowned at him over her shoulder. “Are you offering me a job?”

He joined her beside the fountain. “I am offering you a million euros to be my mistress for the remainder of your time in Monaco. One month, is it not?”

Shock parted her lips and widened her eyes. “You’re joking.”

“Non. I realize you have obligations to Candace and Vincent, but the remainder of your time would be mine. There will be no declarations of love. No false promises. Just passion and for you, profit. Tu comprends?”

She shook her head as if confused. “No, I don’t understand. Are you offering to pay me to sleep with you? Like a prostitute?”

“In France, being a man’s mistress is a respected position.”