Monte Carlo Affairs. Emilie Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ would he bother? He’d bought her whether she liked sex with him or not. “If you say so. You probably should have asked about my sexual experience before offering your bargain.”

       “Ce n’est pas important.”

      Not important? How could her lack of experience be unimportant?

      He released her hair and laced his fingers through hers. “Come. The kitchen is not the best place for our first time.”

      Nerves twisted tighter in her stomach with each step. She knew where they were headed long before they reached the carved double wooden doors. His bedroom. Once inside the large chamber he faced her. “I have pictured you here. Sprawled on my sheets. Naked except for the flush of passion on your skin.”

      She wheezed in a breath at the sensual image his words painted and blurted, “Do you have condoms? Because I’m not on the pill.”

      “And even if you were, the pill is not protection against sexually transmitted diseases—of which I have none,” he stated matter-of-factly.

      Her discomfort with the current conversation further illustrated her lack of qualifications to become Franco’s mistress. A more experienced woman could probably have this preliminary chat without as much as a blush. But not her. She shifted on her feet. “Me neither.”

      “I have protection.” He turned her toward the bed, reached for the zip of her dress, swiftly pulled it down to her hips and then flicked her bra open.

      Oh God, were they going to just do it? She shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed. Despite what the magazines said, in her experience, that’s the way it happened. Rushed, fumbling hands followed by awkward contact and grunting. At least it would be over soon.

      Air cooled her skin and then warm hands slipped inside the gaping fabric of her dress to trail down her spine with a feather-light touch. Goose bumps rose on her skin and her toes curled in her pumps.

      Franco’s thumbs worked upward from her lower back, massaging her knotted muscles all the way to her neck. His fingers drew ever-widening circles over her shoulders, down to her waist and back again. Her eyelids grew heavy and she shivered as unexpected pleasure rippled over her.

      A hot, open-mouthed kiss on her nape surprised a gasp from her, and then her dress and bra fell from her shoulders. Startled by the swift disrobing, she grabbed at her clothing, but too late. The garments puddled around her ankles. She crossed her arms over her chest, covering her breasts.

      “Non. Do not hide.”

      Her eyelids jerked open. She found her gaze locked with Franco’s in the large gold-leaf mirror hanging over the dresser. Slowly, painfully, she lowered her hands and fisted her fingers beside her. Her heart pumped harder as his gaze devoured her breasts, her black hipster panties and then her legs. In her opinion, her body was okay, her breasts merely average, but if Franco was disappointed in what he’d bought he didn’t show it.

      Behind her, he discarded his coat and tie, tossing both toward a chair without breaking her gaze. His belt whistled free and then thumped into the chair. Each movement stirred the air around them and teased the fine hairs on her body. He unbuttoned his cuffs and then his shirt and tugged his shirttails free, but didn’t remove the garment. Part of her wanted to turn and examine him as he had her, but the governing part of her stood transfixed, muscles locked and rigid.

      “Tu es très sexy, Stacy.” His hands, shades darker than her pale skin, curved around her waist.

      Her lungs failed, but whooshed back into action when his palms splayed over her belly, one above her navel and one below. An unaccustomed urge to shift until his hot hands covered more intimate territory percolated through her, but she remained as still as a statue.

      “Your skin is like ivory. You do not sunbathe?” he whispered against the sensitive skin beneath her ear a second before his lips made electrifying contact.

      “I d-don’t have the time. When I’m not working I volunteer my time mentoring at-risk teens.” Kids who were lonely outsiders like she’d been.

      His gaze searched hers for a moment and then lowered to the tiny birthmark above her right hip bone. He traced the small reddish splotch with a fingertip. The delicate caress made her feminine muscles clench.

      His mouth opened over her skin, laving her pulse point. At the same time he pulled her back against his bare chest. She hardly had time to register the heat of him seeping into her or the tickle of his chest hair before his hands swept upward. His thumbs stroked beneath her breast once, twice, three times. Her nipples tightened painfully. She mashed her lips on a whimper.

      Involuntarily, her head tipped back against him. He trailed kisses down her neck, across her shoulder and back to her jaw. She shouldn’t be enjoying this. She didn’t know him and wasn’t certain she could trust him, but the rasp of his hands across her skin aroused her unbearably.

      And then he covered her breasts. His fingers tweaked her nipples and something inside her detonated, radiating a delicious sensation from her core. A moan slipped between her teeth.

      Franco murmured words in French as he caressed her, words she was too distracted to translate. Stacy squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to maintain control, to remember this was a business transaction, and then Franco’s hand slipped into her panties and his fingers brushed over her most sensitive spot. Her thighs automatically clamped together against the intrusion, but Franco continued to stroke. He delved into her wetness and plied it over her flesh again and again. Circling. Tormenting. Tempting her to let go.

      His foot nudged hers apart, opening her for deeper access, and his fingers plunged inside her. Her lungs emptied. Warmth expanded in her belly and her body trembled with need—need she fought to restrain. He pulled her hips flush against his. The length of his erection nudging the base of her spine fractured what little control she had maintained. And then suddenly the tension snapped and orgasm washed over her in waves of pulsing heat, buckling her knees and making her clutch Franco’s arms to keep from falling to the floor. His caresses slowed, easing her though the aftershocks buffeting her.

      So that’s what all the fuss is about.

      Winded and stunned by the intensity of her response, Stacy forced her lids open and met Franco’s gaze in the mirror. Questions filled his eyes and her skin baked with embarrassment. Feeling raw and exposed, she ducked her head. He must think her totally shameless.

      But then shameless is what he’d bought.

      Five

      Franco could not believe the evidence before him, but the wonder on Stacy’s face and her current embarrassment could only have one cause. “Your first orgasm?”

      She winced and dipped her chin in the slightest of nods.

      Franco swiftly withdrew his hands. Not because her revelation repulsed him, but because her confession sent a volatile cocktail of emotions through him. Anger rose swiftly toward those who’d misused her, and possessiveness wasn’t far behind. Stacy would be his, certainement, but only temporarily. The third and possibly the most dangerous reaction was understanding. Inexperience, not manipulation, explained the mixed signals she’d been sending him. None of those responses had any place in this relationship.

      “Stacy.” He waited until she eased open her eyes again. “Your first, but not your last.”

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