Monte Carlo Affairs. Emilie Rose

a foyer bigger than her den back home from a living room larger than her entire apartment.

      She glanced at Franco and found him watching her intently. “Welcome to my home.”

      “It’s um …” Gorgeous. Huge. Intimidating. “Very nice.”

      The million euros he’d offered her should have been a clue to Franco’s wealth, but she’d had no idea he was filthy rich. Most women would find his affluence a turn-on. But for Stacy it had the opposite effect.

      “We will have refreshments on the terrace.” He led them through the living room. Stacy trailed Candace past the dark wooden tables that interspersed the black leather sofas and chairs. Woven carpets in shades of ivory, black and red dotted the floor.

      Red. Like blood on the white floor. She shuddered and skirted around the rugs.

      Curved floor-to-ceiling French doors punctuated the exterior wall revealing an expansive patio that put the last home’s to shame. Franco opened one of the doors. His bare forearm brushed Stacy’s as she passed through. Accidental? Doubtful. Awareness trickled over her. She moved into the sunshine to bake the goose bumps away.

      Candace crossed directly to the swimming pool located at the far end of the stone terrace and leaned over the railing. “Stacy, you have to see this. The pool pours over the side of the patio in a waterfall.”

      “It empties into a whirlpool below,” Franco told her and then he moved closer to Stacy, dipped his head until his breath teased her ear. “Half of the spa is concealed beneath the house by the falling water. I would like to make love to you there.”

      Stunned by his sneak attack, Stacy struggled to catch her breath and formulate a prickly reply, but her brain refused to cooperate. Her heart raced and her palms moistened. Her skin flushed hot and then cold when she realized that in the split second before reason intervened she’d wanted to make love with him too.

      That kiss clearly addled your thinking.

      “Make Candace sit and rest,” he murmured quietly along with a brief, but electrifying caress over the curve of her waist. “I will return with refreshments momentarily.” He went inside.

      Shakily, Stacy crossed to the railing. Not because she wanted to see the whirlpool below and visualize the decadent scene Franco had planted in her head. No, definitely not that. She looked because the view of Monte Carlo and Larvotto Beach from Franco’s patio was more beautiful than any of the postcards she’d bought as souvenirs of her trip.

      To her right a stone staircase wound down to the lower level of the terraced yard. Trees and flowers dappled the lush slope of green grass with shadows and brilliant splashes of color. And fight as she might, Stacy couldn’t prevent her gaze from dropping to the exposed half of the spa.

      Why not? You want to.

      She’d have to be crazy to risk it. From what she’d seen of his home Franco had to be ten times wealthier than she’d suspected. And ten times sexier. He arouses you with nothing more than words. Why not give those big hands a try? It’s not like you’re ever going to let yourself fall in love with anyone. So why hold out?

      “Amazing, isn’t it?” Candace interrupted Stacy’s illicit thoughts. “I can’t imagine living like this.”

      Stacy pushed aside the tantalizing images. “Neither can I. It must be a real power rush to have enough money to buy whatever you want. We should find a shady spot to sit and wait for Franco.”

      “He knows about the baby, doesn’t he? Did you tell him?” Candace asked as they strolled toward the shady covered loggia.

      “Yes, he knows. Vincent told him.”

      “I should have guessed Vincent would. He’s very protective, and he would trust Franco not to betray our little secret.” Candace plopped onto a rattan lounge chair covered by a deep white cushion, lay back and closed her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be great to live in paradise like this only two doors apart?”

      Stacy chose a chair. She couldn’t relax in Franco’s home—not with him stalking her like a predatory beast. And then Candace’s meaning sank in. “There’s nothing like that between Franco and me.”

      “Oh please. He undresses you with his eyes whenever he thinks I’m not looking. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

      Stacy had noticed, and she was ashamed to admit the desire simmering in Franco’s gaze sent a reciprocal surge through her. At least she assumed that achy, itchy tension was desire. No one had ever made her feel as attractive or feminine in her life, and she’d certainly never looked at a man and wondered how his hands would feel on her body. What would it be like to experience that kind of passion? Did she dare risk it?

      “Sex is all he wants.”

      “Honey, that’s all any man wants at first.” Candace yawned.

      “True. But I’m not looking for a husband.”

      “Then why not do as Madeline suggested and enjoy what Franco’s offering? Other than Vincent, Franco is unquestionably the sexiest man I’ve ever met. My God, his accent just melts me, and you have to admit he’s not hard on the eyes. You’ll never get a chance to live like this again. I confess I’m thoroughly enjoying the five-star treatment. But I wish Vincent was here.”

      Stacy wanted to tell Candace about Franco’s insulting proposition, but she didn’t dare because telling her friend meant confessing how tempting Stacy found the offer. “Doesn’t Vincent’s wealth ever … concern you?”

      Candace rolled to her side and met Stacy’s gaze. “You mean do I worry that he’ll use his money and influence to hurt me? No, I don’t. I trust Vincent. Stacy, you haven’t said much about your past, but from the bits you’ve let slip I’m guessing some rich guy did a number on you. Whoever he was, you can’t let him screw up the rest of your life. Not all rich men are jerks. And you know, I don’t think you’ve dated or gotten laid since I met you. Aren’t you overdue?”

      “I’ve dated.” Twice, in three years. Pitiful. But sex? No. She needed more than a couple of dates to let her guard down with someone. If she ever could. And now that she thought about it, she probably never had, which was very likely the reason her last brief relationship had ended.

      “Stacy, you’ve heard my sob story about the visiting surgeon who wooed me, bedded me and then returned home to the wife and kids I didn’t know he had. Loving and losing that jerk burned me, but then I met Vincent and realized that sometimes you have to trust your heart and move on or be stuck in the past forever.” Candace yawned again. “Do you mind if I close my eyes until Franco gets back?”

      “No, go ahead.” Questions and doubts tumbled through Stacy’s mind. Was she stuck in the past? Had she given her father and that one tragic night too much power over her life? Or was she merely being prudent? If she didn’t face her fears would she continue running from them indefinitely? Running, the way she and her mother had done for eleven years of Stacy’s life. After losing her mother, Stacy had sworn she’d stop running and put down roots.

      Roots a million euros could buy.

      She stared at the pool and the water pouring over the ledge. She’d said no to Franco’s proposition and she’d meant it. Deep in her heart she knew sleeping with him for the money was the wrong thing to do, but her practical side couldn’t completely dismiss the idea of a lifetime of financial security in return for a month of intimacy with a man she desired like no other.

      The mental debate circled her thoughts like an annoying, persistent mosquito no matter how often she swatted it away. Was Franco’s offer too good to be true or was this an opportunity to put her past to bed and secure her future?

      Trusting him when she barely knew him went against everything her mother had taught her about being wary of strangers. If only she had more time to discover whether power and money had corrupted Franco, but he’d given her only twenty-four hours to make a life-altering decision. Half