Monte Carlo Affairs. Emilie Rose

night.

      “I’ll call a taxi for you.” Franco disentangled their bodies and stood. He stepped over the low wall separating the indoor and outdoor halves of the spa and ducked beneath the waterfall. The cooler water from the pool sheeted down on his head and splashed over Stacy’s skin. Seconds later he climbed from the whirlpool.

      Stacy rose on legs so rubbery it was a miracle they supported her, and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Candace said there’s nothing on the agenda for tomorrow—today. I—I can stay.”

      Muscles rippling beneath his wet skin, he disappeared into an adjoining room without responding and returned moments later with a black towel around his hips and another in his fist. When she didn’t take it from his outstretched arm he dropped it beside the spa. “I have other plans for the weekend.”

      Plans? With another woman? Stacy didn’t care to identify the uncomfortable emotions stirring inside her. She had no claim on Franco’s time. In fact, she should be glad he wanted to spend it elsewhere. But strangely, she wasn’t.

      “There is a change of clothing for you in the bathroom.” A tilt of his head indicated the room he’d just vacated. He flicked a series of switches. The wall slid closed, the whirlpool stilled and silence and darkness descended on the room. Then overhead lights flashed on leaving Stacy feeling naked and exposed under his thorough perusal. Her damp skin quickly chilled.

      “You may shower, if you like, and then join me upstairs.” He gathered his discarded garments and left.

      Dismissed. He’d had his way with her and now he was done. How could he be so conscientious of her satisfaction one moment and then such a cold bastard the next? Shame crept over her.

      What are you doing? Falling for the first guy to give you an orgasm? So he’s a good lover. He bought you. Just because he’s doing favors for Vincent and he watched out for your friends at the club doesn’t make him a nice guy.

      And he has plans. Plans that don’t include you.

      Irritated with herself, Stacy climbed from the water, dried off and wound the towel around her nakedness. She grabbed her shoes and clothing from the weight bench and let curiosity lead her into a humongous tiled bathroom. A large glass shower stall took up one corner and a wooden sauna occupied the other. And was that a massage table? Did Franco have a personal masseuse?

      A V-neck sundress in a muted floral print of blues and greens and a matching lightweight sweater hung in an open closet beside a white toweling robe. She ran her fingers over the dress’s flirty ruffled hem. Silk, whereas her dresses were cotton. Designer instead of department store. Other than the sexy but impractical sandals in a box on the floor of the closet, the outfit was exactly the style she would have chosen for herself if she had an unlimited budget. Which, of course, she’d never had.

      The dress tempted her, but she didn’t want anything else from Franco, nor did she want to explain to her suitemates why he kept buying her presents.

      Her reflection in the long mirror caught her eye. Ugh. Her makeup was ninety percent gone and her hair clumped in wet tangles over her shoulders. She dumped her clothes on the counter, washed her face in the sink and then finger-combed her hair as best as she could. She unhooked the diamond bracelet and left it on the long marble vanity and froze. Her heart stalled. Her watch. She hadn’t removed it. Panic dried her mouth. Where had she misplaced it?

      She backtracked, but didn’t see it on the bottom of the spa or anywhere around the weight bench. It hadn’t been expensive, but its value couldn’t be measured in dollars. She remembered putting it on tonight. Wherever it was, she had to find it.

      Maybe Franco could help. She returned to the bathroom and quickly yanked on her dancing outfit. The cool, sweat-dampened fabric made her grimace. After smoothing the wrinkles with her hands, she followed the direction Franco had taken earlier. The stairs led to a hallway, and while she would have preferred to explore this end of the house and perhaps learn more about Franco, she tracked his voice to the living room. With his back to her, he swore, dropped the phone on the cradle and shoved his hands through his damp dark hair.

      “Is something wrong?”

      He turned, his gaze narrowing over her choice of clothing. He’d changed into jeans and a black polo shirt. “The taxi is unavailable for an hour. I will drive you back to the hotel. Why are you not wearing the dress?”

      “I told you. You don’t have to keep buying me gifts. I accepted this one because I didn’t have anything suitable to wear tonight, but otherwise …” She shrugged. “I don’t need anything.”

      His lips compressed and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “And the bracelet?”

      “I left it downstairs on the counter. It’s beautiful, but not practical for an accountant. If I wore it to work people would wonder if I’d been embezzling from their accounts, and I never go anywhere dressy enough to need something like that.”

      Surprise flicked in his eyes. “You will continue to work when you return home?”

      “Of course.” As soon as she found another job. “Once I pay taxes on the money and buy a house there won’t be enough left to live a life of idle luxury.”

      “Taxes? And what job will you list as a source for your income?”

      Good question. She twisted the thin gold strap of her evening bag. “I haven’t figured that out yet, but suddenly opening a bank account with more than a million dollars would red-flag the IRS. And I’m not stupid enough to keep that much cash lying around my apartment.”

      “Why not use an offshore bank?”

      “Too cloak-and-dagger. I’d feel like a money launderer. Besides, not reporting the income would be illegal.” Did he think she was crazy not to hide the money? She couldn’t tell from his neutral expression. “Franco, I lost my watch. I didn’t see it downstairs. Could you give me the number for the limo service, the taxi and Jimmy’z? I’ll call to see if anyone found it. It wasn’t expensive, but it was … my favorite. I need to find it.”

      “I will make the calls.”

      “Thank you.” She agreed because the language barrier might be an issue, but then shifted in her sandals, reluctant for some stupid reason to see the night end. “I enjoyed tonight.”

      He folded his arms and leaned his hips against the back of the sofa. “You sound surprised.”

      She rubbed her bare wrist and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a clubbing kind of person.”

      He studied her so intently her toes curled in her shoes, and then he reached behind him and lifted a small plastic shopping bag. “This is one gift I insist you accept. A cell phone. My numbers are already programmed into it.”

      She’d be at his beck and call. But that’s what he’d bought. And the phone might come in handy when she needed to reach Candace or if one of the women needed to reach her. “Am I allowed to use it to call anyone else?”

      “Not your lover in the States,” he replied swiftly.

      She took the bag from him and peeked inside to see a top-of-the-line silvery-green picture phone. “I meant Candace, Madeline or Amelia. I don’t have a lover back home. If I did, I wouldn’t be involved with you.”

      Again he looked as if he didn’t believe what she said—a circumstance she was beginning to get used to. He pushed off the sofa. “Come.”

      She followed him outside and slid into the passenger seat of his car and waited until he climbed in beside her. “Why did you choose MIT?”

      He didn’t answer until he’d buckled his seat belt and started the engine. “They have an excellent Global Leadership program.”

      “Couldn’t you get that at a university closer to home?”

      He pulled onto the road and drove perhaps a half mile before replying. “My mother was from Boston and