by Mia Madison
“Wow, you have a friend that lives off the coast in the south of France. How come I don’t know this friend?” I ask trying to get his mind off the fact that mom has hijacked not only his life but his life savings.”
“He’s a guy I went to school with in Boston, that one year I did at private school before...”
He trails off, but that last painful episode from his past I have heard about. When Gran-dad lost everything, my father had to leave his exclusive boarding school and return to Chicago to attend a regular public school.
“Lucy,” the squealing on the beach calling out for some girl named Lucy blasts into our seriousness. “Over here, Lucy.”
The phone pings furiously again Daddy immediately reaches for it.
“Shit,” he snarls.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing, Baby.”
“Daddy, I can tell it isn’t nothing. Stop trying to protect me. I’m not that little girl now. Tell me what's happening. I want to help.”
He gives me an adoring smile of gratitude.
“How did my little girl get to be such an amazing woman all by herself?”
“Is it Mom?”
“Not this time.” Daddy’s face visibly collapses like the muscles refuse to support the strain of hiding things from me another second.
“So what is it then?”
“I made a small error.” “What kind of error?” I ask frightened now.
All the brouhaha on the beach is starting to annoy me. I can’t see what’s going on but from the commotion and people running from all sides to take a look, I figure it’s one of those film starlets taking off her bikini to get front page coverage and a million likes.
“Right before we left I made a couple of risky trades, trying to recoup some of my losses.”
“Oh, and they didn’t pan out?”
“Not exactly.”
The waiter, annoyed that my father made him take back the champagne and then waved him off when his glass was emptied, slams down the check on the table. Daddy glances at it then balks. His face turning the color of volcanic ash. I’m starting to hate the South of France. All this glitz comes at a price that’s painful if you can’t afford it. And somehow I can just tell that we no longer can. Especially when my father looks through his wallet then asks if I have any money.
“Everything's in the hotel safe,” I say.
“It’s just that my credit cards have been frozen.”
“Oh my god, Daddy. Why would they do that?”
“It’s okay, baby. You stay here while I go get the cash.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“We can’t run out on the bill. You’ll have to wait ‘til I come back.”
“We don't have enough for two drinks? What about the hotel?”
“That’s what I’m going to take care of now. I need you to stay here Kenny and wait for me.”
“Okay,” I murmur. “You won’t be long right?”
The hotel is on the beachfront two blocks down but the way my father’s acting scares me. I’ve heard of men that lose everything jumping from rooftops
“Ten minutes.”
“Promise?”
“Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll take care of everything like always.”
The waiter rushes out of the cafe to claim his money then scowls when he sees me still sitting at the precious small table. I pick up my now warm champagne and take a tiny almost imperceptible sip. I glance at the bill and see they charge almost twenty five dollars cover, just for sitting down. Holy crap, I hope I have enough cash in the hotel safe to cover this.
Another round of squeals and laughs from the beach across the street affords me something to look at other than my toenails.
“What’s going on down there?” I ask the surly waiter, making conversation in an effort to distract him from the idea that we’re trying to bail on the check.
“Some idiot come over from Monato to steal our women,” he sneers in a hoarse French accent.
“Where?
“Monato, of course,” he says.
“That isn’t part of France?”
“No it’s a principality, its own country,” he replies, rolling his eyes like I’m the dumbest foreigner he’s ever met. “He comes over from his island looking for our girls on the beach.”
“He’s used up all the girls over there?” I say trying to make a joke.
The waiter glares harder letting me know my lame chatter won’t irritate him enough to stop him standing guard over his missing funds. Then even he is distracted by the crowd of people surging up off the sand toward the bar. An Amazing hunk leads the throng. Typical muscle head. He’s not wearing a shirt, so his abs are visible, carving a ladder up his stomach to his broad shoulders. His arms would be mouth watering impressive, the biceps bulging at exactly the right amount, except that he has a blonde half naked girl, a pair of matching bimbos hanging off each one.
“Wanna get lucky, Lucy?” One of the stupid girls with bobbing flesh balls says as they pass my table.
‘Lucy’ tips his head down like he’s about to bite her in reply. Then his eyes land on me. His full lips curve into a smirk as they trail down from my face to my breasts, which are more exposed than they would be back home. Though nothing to compare to the two topless girls dangling from his forearms or all the others pressing in all around him.
I lift my gob-smacked jaw up off the table with effort and throw him a grimace of disgust. Him and his type are exactly the sort of man I can’t stand.
Chapter Two
Lucien
I head inside the bar with my entourage and order the drinks. I’m set for an amusing afternoon but my eyes refuse to leave the girl. I can still glimpse her through the cafe’s large window, sitting alone at a table looking miserable. That isn't usually appealing but she seems a little frightened, and exceptionally angry.
Even when Charlene wants me to help her re-lodge her big round tits inside her thumbnail size bikini bra, I’m more distracted by the queen on the sidewalk.
“Can’t you tell management not to be so square, Lucy?” she pouts up at me.
“Hmmm.”
I can’t stop staring at Alone Girl and wondering what’s affecting her so deeply she can’t enjoy this beautiful scene. The sun glinting across the flat turquoise water and turning the sand so stark white it could have been left behind by drug lords.
“Take me to the toilette,” Charlene tiptoes to whisper in my ear, her lips moistening the lobe. Her sliding up my chest has my hand moving down her waist and over her hip, barely covered by a thong bikini and a minute triangle mini sarong that exposes more than it covers.
She’s only wearing enough clothes to satisfy the bar’s management otherwise I know she’d be standing beside me completely naked along with most of the other girls surrounding me. I slide my fingers a couple of inches across her skin until I find her slit.
“In a little while, Poochie,” I assure her.
I watch Alone Girl drain the dregs from her glass. Terrified that she’ll get up and leave, clearly she isn’t waiting for anyone as there’s only the flute and the check on her table, I indicate to the waiter to send her another.
“But I want to go now,” Charlene pouts, clamping her hands on my jaw to drag my attention back to her. “I’ve missed you so much, Lucy. Why haven’t you called?”
Because I don’t make phone calls.
There are always a dozen women hanging off me whenever I step foot outside my home. Why do I need to pick up a phone? If I needed a girl, I could send Jacques or Renaud out to bring me one, like so much take out. I used to find pouting sexy, now I find it irritating. I pinch Charlene’s bulging lips together through the tiny scrap of fabric until she squirms.
I look up again through the window and Alone Girl’s arguing with the waiter. Apparently she’s trying to send back the drink I’ve sent over. Finally the waiter walks away in disgust, leaving the glass sitting there. No way he’ll give up his co
mmission.
“What was that about?” I ask in French when he steps behind the bar to grab something.
He gives a shrug of distaste. Charlene is wriggling around trying to encourage me to slip my fingers under the material of her bikini and inside her pussy. I yank my hand away from her and indicate with a glance at the waiter that I require the bar cloth. As I wipe my hands off thoroughly, the waiter shrugs again then says something about getting back outside to watch her. He can tell she’s trying to skip out on the bill.
“Just charge her bill to me,” I order him.
He looks at me in shock, no doubt thinking I’ve never done an altruistic thing in my life so why am I starting now. His leer reads the question ‘you’re surrounded by ten hot girls waiting for you to pick from, why are you bothering with some tourist hobo?’
It’s a good question.
Alone Girl looks so real. She’s so unique when I line her up beside these blonded, buffed beach babes that spend all day erasing a single tan line. They have nothing in their minds but getting some rich old fool to marry them and I’m the biggest catch between here and London. Every girl wants her Prince Charming and I can be very very charming. They don’t ever see the beast until it’s too late. By then I’m out the door.
Maybe it’s sadness that makes her seem like a woman with feelings, instead of a smiley doll. All the times I’ve told a girl to look happy and I end up fascinated by one that’s angry. I’d like to be able to make it better for her, to see how she looks when a real smile beams at me instead of that disgusted glare. Without requiring any verbalization she informed me she’s not impressed, never could be, and thinks I’m a douchey pig.
Can I help it if women are hanging off me? What would she like me to do, beat them off with a stick. I might need to do that with Charlene pretty soon.
The waiter heads back outside to serve his other tables and I see him take the ticket from Alone Girl’s table and rip the top to indicate it’s paid. Again they seem to be having a heated conversation where something’s getting lost in translation. At six four I’m tall enough to see over the tops of all the bobble heads around me. No one can block my view of Alone Girl. Until Charlene clasps my chin again to pull my face back around and claim my attention.
“What are you looking at out there?” she mewls. “Don’t you like what you see in here?”
She pulls her friend over and they start stroking each other provocatively. The way that would normally have my wood solid in about three seconds, but today seems tired. I give Charlene some phony baloney that might keep her quiet for a little while.
Until I can think of the way to get rid of her because I’ve gone right off my original plan to take her and her lookalike friend to the bathroom together. I’ve done the two girls together thing to death. It used to seem hot that young women are now eager to embrace their bisexuality and anything else that might turn me on. Now it seems like they’re desperate to entice me.
Fuck, maybe misery is contagious. I’m getting on a real downer here. I put my hands on two different tight little waists and pull the girls in toward me. They giggle and writhe around eagerly, their bodies emanating the steam of lust like a pair of geysers, but I still can’t feel the heat.
My eyes are drawn back to the girl with the long black hair falling in waves down her back and the bluest eyes that would make a blond envious. I’m yearning for the moment she’s going to thank me for the drinks, giving me the chance to get her talking. For now, I’ll gaze at her and imagine the things I could do with those delicious firm curves.
Except when my eyes seek her out again, she’s gone.
I’m outside on the sidewalk before Charlene’s squeaks of protest gather force.
“Where did she go? Which way?” I demand of the waiter.
He shrugs me off, then remembers to tip his head.
I take off up the street, hoping left was the right one. I’m running hard, ignoring the stunned faces that do a double take as I pass. But I can’t see Alone Girl anywhere. Shit, I should have turned right. As I turn back, I catch the sensual sway of a perfect round ass up ahead.
It stops me dead in my tracks.
Then I’m drawn by the way her flesh quivers just a tiny bit with every little step she takes in the high-heeled sandals she doesn’t seem that used to wearing. I want her flesh trembling like that under my hands with every thrust I make inside her. I hold back, keeping my distance so she doesn't think I’m a fucking stalker. Then I saunter along, hands in the pockets of my black linen pants. My security detail, Jacques and Renaud, are invisible as ordered. Not too far off, merging with ordinary people.
I’m formulating my plan. Which phrase should I use when I accidentally run into her on the sidewalk. Then suddenly a man comes toward her and she throws herself into his arms.
A rage of heat brings my blood rushing to the surface and I want nothing more than to stride across the street to rip that asshole away from her. I’ve never been jealous of another man in my entire life but him I’d like to end. They’ve shifted so I only see their profiles, but I can tell that my Alone Girl is really delighted to see the dude and is clinging to him like he’s her life raft.
Where was that ass when she was sad and worrying about her bar check? It should be me she’s wrapping her arms around, and her legs. To make it even more humiliating that guy is no young hunk, the same age as her. He looks easily as old as me.
Chapter Three
Kennedy
I’ve never been so glad about anything as I am to see my father heading back to the bar to fetch me. Even when I got into college on the gifted program, I wasn’t as happy as I am to see Daddy. I’d gotten myself all worked up about our financial issues for no reason at all because he’s assuring me everything is fine now.
“Don’t worry, Baby,” he says, his gaze flicking away and over my shoulder. “I took care of everything. We just have to -”
He’s distracted again, not by the phone this time.
“Have to what?”
He’s squinting, as though trying to make something out in the distance,
“Have to what, Daddy,” I repeat, glancing back over my shoulder to see what’s pre-occupying him this time.
Oh crap.
“Let’s go,” I splutter, all frazzled, my heart racing all of a sudden. “Come on, Daddy, please.”
But his face is alight with the hugest grin I’ve seen on him in a while.
“Lucy, is it really you?” he says.
This is ‘Lucy’?
The cocky douchebag from the cafe is now actually wrapping my father in a huge manly bear hug, complete with all the back slapping and hand hammering.
What the fuck is happening?
Two minutes ago the guy was enveloped in the cleavages of a pair of blond bimbos. How did he pop up beside us with no girls anywhere? I can’t help but notice how everyone passing by on the well-heeled sidewalk takes a sneaky peek at him. Most, especially the women, but also the men, do a double take at him.
Okay, so up close he really is gorgeous. Like, stupid gorgeous. Not like your typical French man, all dark hair and eyes. This one has scruffy blond hair and hazely green eyes. He’s older than I first thought from a distance, probably that was due to the company he chooses to keep.
There are light creases at his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Far from making him looked bagged out, they only serve to sculpt his perfection further. He has a jawline that could plow a sand dune and of course he’s golden bronzed, from lying around on the beach all day long. I wonder how you get to own a boat like that being a bum. He pulled on a tee at some point because his bare chest is covered up now but still, the rippling muscle beneath is evident through the cotton as are the hard ridges laddering up his abdomen.
“When did you get so old, man?” he joshes my father offensively but in the sexiest voice I have ever heard.
His English is perfect and with the French accent underneath, unbearably hot. When I cross one leg over the other t
o squeeze the throbbing between them, I notice the squelch of wetness there. I’m so revolting – this guy is old enough to be my father. But shit, you would never know it. Looking at then together, Daddy looks wilted and small, like he’s receding from life.
“I’ve had a few worries to contend with over the years,” he admits to the hunk, sheepishly. “Unlike you I guess.”
“You’d be surprised,” ‘Lucy’ shrugs with a surprising burst of humility I never would have expected from someone like him. “It’s not all ease and luxury.”
“No, I’m sure, but still you look good man, really good.”
I've never known Daddy do bro talk like this. Hes always really formal and businesslike with the men I’ve heard him speaking to. Which aren’t that many. He doesn’t have a real friend that I know of. This is like hearing him as a young man, talking sports and girls with a buddy.
Ugh, those tacky girls. I hope Daddy was never an arrogant douche like this one he seems to know from way back.
“Kennedy, this is -” Daddy brings the broad-shouldered guy around to face me.
“Lucy,” I interrupt.
“You’ve met?” he questions.
In passing.
“That’s what you called him,” I say instead.
“Is this, really -” the meathead asks my father like he can’t believe it.
“Yes, my daughter Kennedy. All grown up.”
Lucy gazes at me with his eyes half-hooding, barely able to disguise the lust pooling in them although my father doesn’t seem to notice.
“Lucien Leopold Max-Callandar,” he announces his full name so pompous its almost as if he’s adding a row of titles and honorifics to it. He reaches for my hand which I've been brought up too well to ignore, much as I’d like to. When he tips forward to kiss the knuckles, his full lips linger just slightly too long, making my nerves stand on end.
His mouth presses into my skin just enough to bring images I should not be having and a shiver of something too filthy to analyze runs through me. This guy is too sexy for words and he knows it. I withdraw my hand, snatching it at the fingertips so he gets the message not to mess with me. Still daddy doesn’t detect anything.