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

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СКАЧАТЬ make her vulnerable.

      But there had been nothing impersonal in what they’d just shared. At least not on her part.

      Sex for money. She clutched the thought close—like a talisman. As ugly as it sounded, it was safer than trusting her heart to a man like Franco Constantine. A man with more money and probably more power than her father.

      The moment he disappeared into the bathroom Stacy vaulted from the bed and snatched up her clothing. Her hands trembled so badly it took three tries to fasten her bra. In her haste she pulled her panties on wrong-side out, but she didn’t dare take time to remove them and put them on again. She wanted to be dressed before Franco returned. Dressed and ready to leave.

      She stumbled over her shoes—she couldn’t even remember removing them—and shoved her feet inside, and then snatched up her dress and dragged it over her head. The zipper stuck in the middle of her back. Frustrated tears stung her eyes as she tugged in vain. She bit her lip, blinked furiously and willed them away.

      Gentle hands nudged hers aside. Stacy nearly jumped out of her pumps. She hadn’t heard Franco return. His knuckles brushed against her spine, raising goose bumps as he fiddled with the zipper, freed the fabric and pulled up the tab.

      Stacy stiffened her resolve and met his gaze in the mirror. His broader naked form framed hers. Her hair was a mess and her lips were swollen, but she didn’t care. “I want to go back to the hotel.”

      His jaw shifted. All signs of passion had vanished from his face, leaving his features hard and drawn. “I’ll drive you.”

      “I’ll wait in the living room.” She bolted.

      “Stacy.” His voice halted her on the threshold.

      Reluctantly, she turned. Her breath caught at the sight of Franco in all his naked glory standing with one knee cocked and his torso slightly angled in her direction. The man had a body worthy of the beefcake calendar someone had given Candace at her bridal shower. His chest was wide and covered with dark curls, the muscles clearly defined, but not bulky like a body builder’s. A line of hair led to a denser, darker crop surrounding a masculine package any centerfold would be proud to claim, and his legs were long and strong.

      “Are you all right?” The question seemed forced.

      Physically? “Yes.”

      Mentally? She was a wreck. She’d never felt more alone or confused or ashamed of herself. She needed to reassess. Maybe financial security wasn’t worth it. On the other hand, she’d enjoyed sex for the first time in her life. But sex with a man she’d known only three days. Brazen, that’s what she’d been.

      “I will be with you in a few moments,” Franco said, reaching for his shirt.

      Stacy nodded and fled. Agitated and anxious, she paced the length of the living room, skirting the red rugs and ending at the kitchen archway. She needed to do something to channel her thoughts and nervous energy. Her gaze lit upon the dirty dishes. Seconds later she had them submerged in a sink filled with hot soapy water. She scrubbed the fine china probably harder than she should have.

      Franco had turned cold immediately after he’d … finished. Had she turned him off with her fumbling and inexperience? What if he drove her to the hotel and told her to forget the deal? At this moment she wasn’t sure that wouldn’t be a good thing. She wasn’t sure about anything except that she needed to be alone.

      She cleaned the second plate, rinsed and dried it and then tackled the stemware.

      “Que fais-tu?” Franco asked from behind her, startling her into almost dropping the last glass.

      She didn’t turn. “I’m washing the dishes.”

      “My housekeeper comes tomorrow.”

      She finished drying the wineglass, set it on the counter and carefully folded the damp towel, delaying facing him until the last possible moment. When she did she focused on the cleft in his chin rather than his eyes. “It’s done.”

      “You are my mistress, Stacy, not my maid.”

      Mistress. Her mother would have been appalled. Her mother, who’d always told Stacy the right man would treat her like a princess. Her mother, who’d led a secret life Stacy hadn’t known about until the investigation into her mother’s murder had revealed details of a life that looked like a fairy tale to outsiders, but had actually been a nightmare.

      “Am I? Still?”

      Franco closed the distance between them. He’d dressed in the clothing he’d worn earlier, but without the tie or jacket, and he’d left the top few buttons of his shirt open. Her traitorous nipples tightened at the memory of those dark, wiry curls teasing her breasts.

      He reached out and lifted her chin, forcing Stacy to look into his eyes—eyes that no longer burned with passion, but were completely inscrutable instead. “Unless you find my touch repugnant, and I don’t think you do, mon gardénia, then our agreement stands.”

      She couldn’t speak and didn’t know what she’d say if she could find her voice. Did she want the affair to continue? His fingers stroked down her neck, making her pulse leap and her skin tingle. Apparently, no matter what her brain said, her body was all for the affair.

      He withdrew his hand. “Come. I’ll drive you to the hotel.”

      “You look shell-shocked.”

      Stacy pivoted and found Madeline behind her in the hotel lobby. “Hi.”

      “Was that Franco I saw leaving?”

      “Yes.” After a silent ride from his home, Franco had insisted on walking her inside. Stacy hadn’t invited him upstairs.

      “Okay, Stace, what gives?”

      “Nothing. I … we had dinner.” He hadn’t kissed her goodnight, and she didn’t know whether that was good or bad.

      “Uh-huh, and what else?”

      Her cheeks burned. She wished she and Madeline were closer, because she needed to talk to someone, and she was certain the more experienced woman would be able to help her unravel her tangled and conflicting emotions.

      “Stacy, did he hurt you?”

      “No, no, it’s nothing like that. We should go up. It’s late.”

      “It’s barely midnight, and we’re not going upstairs until you tell me what has you fluctuating between blood-red and hospital-sheet white.” Madeline hooked her arm through Stacy’s and half led, half dragged her toward the bar.

      Within minutes Madeline had snagged them a secluded table, an attentive waiter and a couple of fruity cocktails. “Drink and spill.”

      Stacy didn’t know where to begin or how much to share with this woman whom she’d only met a week ago.

      “Okay, let me start. You slept with him and …” Madeline prodded.

      Stacy choked on her drink. “How did you know?”

      Madeline shrugged. “Was it good? СКАЧАТЬ