Monte Carlo Affairs: The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal. Emilie Rose

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      Would she be worth a million bucks?

      Stacy’s stomach clenched. She had absolutely no appetite and her taste buds had deserted her, but she forced down another bite of tender steak to drag out the meal as long as possible. Throughout dinner she’d watched Franco’s hands as he cut his meat or cradled his wineglass, and her mind had raced ahead. Those hands would soon be on her. Cupping her flesh. Stroking her skin. Was that anticipation or dread making her dizzy?

      What if after they did this Franco decided she wasn’t worth the money? After all, she wasn’t experienced. She could count her intimate encounters on one hand, and her knowledge was limited to the basics—which in her opinion were overrated. If he expected anything like the fancy stuff she’d read about in the women’s magazines she’d borrowed from work, then he’d be disappointed.

      Franco placed his knife and fork on his empty plate. “The food is not to your liking?”

      Chew. Chew. Chew. Gulp. “It’s delicious. Did you cook?”

      His knowing eyes called her a liar. “No. It is catered. Perhaps your appetite lies elsewhere.”

      Her fork slipped, the tines screeching across the china. She winced. Franco had probably never encountered a more gauche female. He was sexy and sophisticated down to the soles of his shoes and she was … not. So why had he chosen her?

      She abandoned her utensils, blotted her mouth with her cloth napkin and then knotted her fingers in her lap. “I guess I’m just not very hungry.”

      “I am ravenous.” He abruptly pushed back his chair and stood. “But not for food.”

      Stacy’s heart stalled and then raced, but Franco reached for their plates instead of her, piled them on the tray and carried them toward the kitchen.

      Time’s up. Time to deliver your end of the bargain.

      Stacy slowly exhaled and then lurched into action, nearly overturning her glass in the process. She gathered the stemware and then followed Franco inside, wishing she’d drunk more than one glass of wine. If she had, maybe she wouldn’t be so nervous. But she’d never acquired a taste for wine. She preferred girly drinks with umbrellas, and she drank precious few of those because she kept herself on a strict budget. Unfortunately, sobriety left her tense and clear-headed enough to doubt her sanity in accepting his proposition. Besides, getting drunk would be stupid. She needed to stay in control.

      Whatever had possessed her to believe she was qualified to be Franco’s mistress? How could she satisfy a worldly man like him? And how could she become intimate with a man she barely knew? Franco wasn’t much of a talker. If he’d shared half as much conversation as he had lingering, desire-laden, toe-curling glances, then she could write an in-depth biography about him. But he hadn’t. Then again, neither had she.

      Details aren’t necessary. This isn’t about friendship or forever.

      Stacy stiffened her spine. She could get through this. She’d survived attending fourteen schools in ten years, her mother’s shocking and unexpected death and her father’s betrayal. Four weeks as Franco’s plaything would grant her the economic freedom to buy a home and to stop feeling like a visitor in her own life—a visitor who might have to pack up and leave at any moment.

      But thinking about the money made her feel a little like a hooker. A lot like one, actually. So she shoved those thoughts aside and tried to focus on the man. About how sexy and desirable Franco made her feel …

      When she wasn’t thinking about the money. She winced.

      Franco deposited the tray beside the sink and then took the goblets from her and set them on the counter.

      “Let me help you wash those,” she offered, hoping to buy time.

      “The dishes can wait. I cannot.”

      Before Stacy could do more than blink, Franco’s arms surrounded her and his mouth crashed onto hers. Possessive. Hungry. Demanding. He cupped her bottom, pulling her flush against the length of his hot muscle-packed body, and his tongue found hers, stroking, tasting, tangling. Arousal simmered beneath Stacy’s skin, but it couldn’t completely overcome her stomach-tightening trepidation or doubts.

      Franco was a wealthy, powerful man who had the money to buy whatever he wanted—including her. Would he play by the rules? She was on foreign territory here—both in Monaco and in this affair. Who would protect her if this turned ugly?

      She pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss. “Wait.”

      “For?” His barely audible growl swept across her damp lips, and his passion-darkened eyes bored into hers.

      She licked her lips and tasted him. “What if I don’t meet your expectations?”

      “I find that unlikely.” His hand covered her breast, his thumbnail unerringly finding and caressing her nipple with a back and forth motion.

      Tendrils of sensation snaked through her defenses. She had to stay clear and focused. Letting go meant becoming vulnerable. Perhaps she should just take care of him? But how? Drop to her knees and take him in her mouth? If so, she had a problem, because her one and only experience with that in high school had not gone well. She shuddered.

      He gripped her upper arms and set her from him. “Stacy, what game are you playing?”

      “I’m not playing a game. I just …” She bit her bottom lip. “We don’t know each other very well.”

      “What is there to know except the pleasure we can give one another?” His fingers threaded through her hair, tugging gently and tipping her head back. “Have you never experienced immediate attraction for someone you have just met and let passion lead?”

      “Uh …no.”

      His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How old are you?”

      “Twenty-nine. But I, um …”

      “You haven’t had many lovers.”

      Was it obvious? Heat scalded her cheeks. She wanted to hide her face, but his grip on her hair prevented it. “No.”

      His nostrils flared. “I will teach you what pleases me, and I will satisfy you, mon gardénia.”

      He stated it with surety and she wanted to believe him, but why 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 СКАЧАТЬ