“Fifty bucks says the Marlins whip Boston,” Vincent said, drawing Franco’s attention back to the baseball game. “Women aren’t logical. And they’re full of contradictions.”
“I agree, and I accept your bet.” He had finally found Stacy’s weakness. She could be bought but only if the gifts benefitted her friends. Such altruism had to be a pretense.
“Women are like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Frustrating. Unsolvable. And I ought to know. I must have put a hundred puzzles together during my hospital stay.”
“You will get no argument from me.” Each secret he uncovered about Stacy suggested she was not like the other women of his acquaintance, which only meant he needed a more complete picture to uncover her strategy. He glanced at his watch. When would she call?
Vincent had phoned immediately after Franco had left Stacy at the hotel ninety minutes ago. Watching baseball with his friend was not the sexually satisfying afternoon Franco had planned, but he could not concentrate on work, and he had been a Red Sox fan since his days at MIT.
Vincent’s expression turned to one of bewilderment. “When I told you I’d keep Candace busy I honestly thought she and I would spend every spare minute of the next three days making up for four weeks’ abstinence. But this morning I mentioned my parents were flying in today and that I wanted to tell them about the baby, and she freaked.”
“Due to your parents’ arrival or to revealing the pregnancy?”
“Don’t know. That’s the illogical part. Candace and my parents get along, and in another month or two she’ll be showing. No point in trying to hide it. Besides, I don’t want to. I spent years avoiding getting a girl pregnant, but the minute I found out Candace was carrying my baby I wanted the world to know. Candace is the one who insisted we keep a lid on it. Besides, my folks will be thrilled to finally have a grandkid on the way since my sister isn’t anteing up.”
Franco’s father was impatient as well. Impatient enough to force Franco’s hand. Franco’s mind flashed back to the image of Stacy in the nursery rocking chair, her wistful expression before she’d known he was watching and the sadness in her eyes when she’d talked about her mother.
Stacy’s life had been tragically difficult, but it had not broken her. He had to respect her strength even though he disliked her willingness to sell herself for financial security. How hypocritical of him, since he benefited from her mercenary streak.
Vincent swore as a Sox batter hit a grand slam. “If they keep this up I’ll owe you for more than the tickets to the ball and that killer dress you bought for Candace.”
“There is no need to repay me.”
“Bull. You and Toby are babysitting these women at my request. I’ll cover all the costs, and I’ll grant you a year’s lease on a Midas Chocolates location in the galleria of the Aruba hotel.” He popped a handful of nuts in his mouth and washed them down with a sip of beer.
“The hell of it is, Franco, that when I was stuck in labor negotiations, Candace is all I thought about. And I got pissed—not because the union rep was being a prick, but because he was keeping me away from Candace. It’s hard to care about dollars and cents when I’m scared as hell that I’m going to blow it with her. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and if having my lady-killer mug back meant never having met her, I’d rather keep the face that frightens children.”
Surprised by the emotional speech from a man previously not given to sentiment, Franco drained his beer. Stacy had invaded his concentration at work as well this past two weeks. No woman had ever done so—not even Lisette. The only positive in the situation was that his preoccupation would end as soon as she boarded the plane bound for the States. “The scars are less noticeable with each surgery and graft.”
“Yeah, but unlike you, I won’t win any beauty contests.”
The doorbell rang, wiping the smile from Franco’s lips. He was not expecting anyone. Normally, he would be at work on a Monday afternoon. Stacy? No, she would call and his cell phone had not rung. He had checked twice to make sure it was turned on. “Excuse me.”
He crossed the entrance hall and opened the door. Stacy stood on the porch looking as delicious as a juicy peach. A wide-brimmed straw hat covered her chestnut hair and a pale-orange sundress outlined her curves. Her bare legs looked magnificent despite the bulky walking sandals she insisted on wearing.
The breath stalled in his lungs, but his heart raced. He caught a glimpse of a taxi’s taillights turning out of the drive.
A tentative smile wobbled on her lips. She removed her sunglasses, revealing her azure eyes. “Is it too late to go boating?”
“Vincent is here.” He found her fading smile and obvious disappointment surprisingly gratifying since it mirrored his own. He used his thumb to free her bottom lip from her teeth. “Come in.”
“I don’t want to intrude. I’ll just call a cab.” She reached for her cell phone, but he caught her hand.
“Non. Stay.” He dragged his knuckles along her arm. She shivered, reminding him of last night, of tasting every inch of her delectable skin until she whimpered and squirmed. “You may sunbathe by the pool. I will drench your body in suntan oil, and when the game ends I will send Vincent in search of Candace and we will have the sybaritic afternoon we anticipated, but on dry land. My patio is private. No one will see or hear when I make you cry out in ecstasy.”
Her breath hitched and her nipples pushed against her dress. “Okay.”
He motioned for her to precede him. Stacy crossed the foyer and entered the den. Franco noted that she avoided stepping on the rugs. He filed the odd fact away for later.
Snapping his cell phone closed, Vincent rose. “Hi, Stacy. Rain check on the game, Franco. Candace called. I have to go.”
Vincent shook his head when Franco smirked. “You’re laughing now, but one of these days a woman will have you dancing to her tune.”
“That will not happen, mon ami.”
“Just wait, bud. Your day will come. I’ll see myself out.” A moment later the front door closed behind Vincent. The engine of his Ferrari roared and then faded in the distance.
Franco turned to Stacy. “Remove your clothing.”
She gasped and clutched her bag tighter. “Here? Now?”
“Oui.” He tugged his shirt over his head and pitched it onto the sofa. He retrieved the condom from his wallet before dropping his trousers and briefs and kicking off his shoes and removing his socks. Stacy watched wide-eyed and then licked her lips as she stared at his growing erection. The slow glide of her tongue over her rosy flesh made him pulse with need.
She turned her back. Franco swept her silky hair aside, unzipped her dress, flicked open her bra and shoved both to the floor. He dragged her panties down to her ankles, pulled her back to his front and cupped her breasts. For several seconds he fought the urgency to be inside her and simply savored the feel of her warm, soft skin against his and the weight of her breasts in his palms. He inhaled her scent and his control wavered. He stepped away. “Come.”
He led her outside, dropped the condom on the table and then arranged the double-width lounger to his liking. He took the straw tote which she held in front of her like a shield and set it on the tiles. Despite Stacy’s apparent shyness, her nipples were erect and desire flushed her face and neck.
“Lie face down.”
She crawled onto the chaise, presenting him with her delectable bottom. He fisted his hands against his rampant hunger.
“You have suntan oil?” His voice came out an octave lower than usual.
“I have lotion in my bag.”
“Pas le même chose. Not the same. I will return momentarily, and then, mon gardénia, I will make you moan.”
An all-over tan had never been one of Stacy’s goals. She didn’t even have the courage to try on one of the thong bikinis so prevalent on the beaches here. And forget going topless.
She could not believe she was naked on Franco’s patio. Glancing left and right, she verifie
d that this spot was indeed private, thanks to the vine-covered trellises at each end of the house. The sun warmed parts of her it had never seen before. And then Franco returned, striding boldly, nudely, in her direction. He had a pair of towels tucked under his arm, a bottle of suntan oil in one hand and one of water in the other.
Her heart pounded faster. She dampened her dry lips. If anyone had ever told her a month ago that she could become a hedonistic creature she’d have called them delusional.
“Close your eyes,” he said as he dropped the items he carried beside her on the chaise and straddled her legs. Stacy did so, admitting she’d probably brought this on herself by telling him his masseuse had not turned her on. What Franco had done after the masseuse left, on the other hand…. The memory sent a delicious tingle through her. Suffice to say she would never view the long wooden benches of a sauna in the same way again. If she ever saw the inside of another sauna.
Warm oil trickled over her shoulders and back, quickly followed by Franco’s firm hands. The scent of coconuts filled her nostrils as he massaged her with long, slow strokes across her shoulders and down her spine. His fingertips teased the sides of her breasts, her waist. The occasional drag of his sex against her buttocks made her breath catch. He paused, shifted and then oil dribbled onto the small of her back and over her bottom. It seeped into the crevice and between her legs to her most sensitive spot. She squirmed on the chaise.
Franco’s hands stilled her hips. “Non.”
He alternated feather-light brushes with muscle-deep massages over her back, her bottom, down her legs and across the soles of her feet. Throughout the process the wiry hairs on his legs teased her hyper-sensitive skin. And then he stroked his erection between her slickened cheeks. Stacy yearned to rise to her knees and let him take her from behind as he had once before, but he moved away. The memory of that night in front of his bedroom mirror, the way he’d cupped her breasts and nibbled her neck, the undiluted hunger on his face as he’d plunged into her again and again made her shiver.
“Attente elle,” he ordered in a gravelly voice.
Wait for it. One of his favorite phrases. But Stacy didn’t want to wait. She wiggled impatiently, but Franco didn’t quicken his torturous caresses. Arousal pulsed through her. She no longer cared about prying eyes, but focused instead on the man who seemed bent on driving her out of her mind with desire. He rose from the chaise and she tensed in anticipation.
“Turn over.”
Stacy hastily complied. Franco’s shaft glistened with suntan oil. She reached for him, but he shook his head and pulled the brim of her hat over her face. “No peeking.”
She settled back into the cushion. Oil trickled over her breasts and slowly ran down her sides like tiny, warm fingers. He poured another pool in her navel and then drizzled more over her curls. His palms covered her breasts and she gasped. He teased and tweaked, rolling the slick tips between his fingers and buffing with the flats of his palms. She shifted her legs, but that only intensified the ache. His massage continued down her torso and her legs, skipping her neediest parts.
Stacy was ready to beg when Franco bent her knees, knelt between them and stroked his shaft along her soft, slick folds and against her center. A moan slipped from her lips as she rose swiftly toward the peak. She heard a snick of sound, and then icy-cold water splashed her nipple. She squealed and tried to rise, but Franco planted a palm on her breastbone and treated the opposite side to the same cold, fizzy bath. The carbonated water teased in an unbelievably sensual way, and then his hot lips covered a cooled tip. He alternated between icy baths and hot suckling until Stacy batted her hat away.
“That was sneaky.”
He sat back on his haunches, his grin unrepentant. Two could play that game. She sat up, snatched the water from his hand and drenched his erection. His howl turned into a groan when she took him into her mouth.
Franco fisted his hands in her hair, but he didn’t thrust or try to gag her the way her high-school lover had. Franco let her take the lead and as much of him as she could handle. Pleased and surprisingly turned on, she released him and showered him with another splash of water and then another deep kiss. His back arched. He hissed with each splash and muttered what sounded like encouragement in French each time her lips encircled him. She smiled and repeated the process until the bottle was empty.
She had never expected to like doing this, but the tendons straining Franco’s neck and his knotted muscles attested to his enjoyment. And she liked pleasing him.
“Tu es une sirène.” He tugged gently on her hair, but firmly enough to make her release him.
A siren? Her? She smiled.
He reached for the condom he’d tossed on the table earlier, tore the wrapper with his teeth and then sheathed himself. Stacy reclined and opened her arms. Franco guided himself to her center and plunged deep. The sun-warmed latex over his hot shaft added yet another new dimension to his erotic play. She savored the sense of fullness, rightness, and then tangled her legs around his waist the way he’d taught her and held on tight. He took her on a roller-coaster-fast ride to the top and then she plunged over to the sound of him calling her name as he climaxed.
Their gasps filled a silence broken only by the hum of the pool filter and an occasional bird call. Stacy stroked a hand down his sweat-dampened back. “Wow.”
He levered himself up on his elbows. “You have hidden talents, mon gardénia.”
A blush warmed her cheeks. How could she still blush around this man? “I’ve had an excellent teacher.”
“And there is yet much to learn,” he said gently as he pulled away. And then he stilled and stiffened. “Le condom, c’est cassé.”
Stacy’s heart missed a beat. Her muscles turned rigid. She prayed she’d mistranslated. “What?”
Franco’s serious gaze locked onto hers. “The condom broke.”
A wave of panic seized her. Her gaze dropped to the damning evidence, and her heart nearly beat its way out of her chest.
Dear God, was she going to repeat her mother’s mistake?
Calendars, dates and biology scrambled in her head, and then sanity slowly invaded, making sense of it all, but leaving her cold, drained and eerily calm. She exhaled shakily. “My…um, period is due in a few days. We should be safe. I’m…um…unlikely to conceive now.”
“How regular are you?” he asked without blinking.
She flinched, and feeling exposed, dragged a towel over her nakedness. Would she ever get used to these intimate conversations? “Like clockwork.”
“Bien. But to be certain you will visit my doctor before you return to the States. I will make the appointment.” As if that settled everything, he straightened, crossed to the pool and dove in.
But Stacy was far from settled. She pressed a hand to her chest. Close call. Too close. She wasn’t prepared to have a baby or let a man into her life.
Or was she?
Ten
A baby.
And not just any baby. Franco’s baby.
The words reverberated in Stacy’s head as the taxi carried her back to the hotel. Guilt nagged her for sneaking out while Franco was in the shower, but she couldn’t calmly sit across the dinner table from him or go back to bed with him until she figured out the chaotic emotions churning inside her.
Her chances of getting pregnant today were slim. And that was good news. Wasn’t it?
Absolutely.
This was the wrong time, the wrong place and the wrong man.
But there was a tiny spark of something that felt suspiciously like hope glowing deep inside her. Illogical, foolish hope. The idea of having a baby appealed, even though she hadn’t once thought about having children since learning the truth about her mother’s murder.
Had being around Candace activated some twisted kind of approaching-thirty biological clock?
She pressed a hand to her agitated stomach. Franco had the means to buy and sell her a hundred times over, and after his painful experience with Lisette
there was no telling how he’d react if Stacy turned up pregnant.
Would he want the child or tell her to get rid of it?
“Mademoiselle, we have arrived,” the taxi driver’s words jerked Stacy back to the present before she could pursue that disturbing line of thought. She blinked and saw the hotel entrance outside the car window. The ride had passed in a blur.
A uniformed hotel employee opened her door. She dug the appropriate money from her wallet, paid and tipped the driver and climbed from the cab.
Standing on the pavement, she debated going up to the suite. But Madeline was far too perceptive. She’d zero in on Stacy’s disquiet in seconds, and as much as Stacy longed for a dose of the savvier woman’s no-nonsense advice or the support she knew her trio of suitemates would offer, she needed to get her thoughts in order first.
Stacy stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward Monaco-Ville with no particular destination in mind. She loved the old-world charm, the sense of history and permanence in the oldest part of the principality. That it happened to be in the opposite direction to Larvotto Beach and Franco’s view was an added bonus.
For the past ten years she’d focused on her safety and her financial security, but she’d completely neglected the emotional component of her life. She’d been afraid to let anyone get close and had paid for it with loneliness. Not even the teens she counseled were allowed past her emotional barriers. She cared about them, but knowing they might pack up and move without notice led her to maintain a protective distance.
But she didn’t want to be alone or afraid anymore. She liked having friends, liked feeling connected and wouldn’t mind having a family.
If she were pregnant, she wouldn’t get rid of the baby no matter what Franco said. With his million euros she could afford to keep it, and even without his money she could manage once she found another job.
But could she deny a father his child or a child its father, live life on the run, always looking over her shoulder and never set down roots or make a home? No. She wouldn’t wish her childhood on anyone. Not unless she truly feared for her own or her child’s safety.
Blogger Bundle Volume VIII: SBTB's Harlequins That Hooked You Page 55