“She lied.”
She abruptly faced him with her head held high, her hands fisted by her side and fire in her eyes. “To protect me, yes.”
“My father lied as well, but during a school vacation I researched the newspaper archives and learned the truth about my mama. She was a spoiled party girl always looking for excitement. Shopping. Drugs. Men.”
The sympathy softening Stacy’s eyes made him regret the confession. Confidences would lead her to expect more from him than he was willing to give. He was a cold bastard—or so he’d been told. Stacy would do best to accept his limitations and his money and move on.
“I’m sorry. I assumed living in a wonderful place like this meant you’d automatically have a happy childhood.”
“I was not unhappy.” And why was he sharing that? Because he did not want her pity.
“Are you and your father close?”
“When he is not enthralled with his latest paramour, oui. We used to go to the races together.” She was getting too personal. He had to derail this tête-à-tête.
Franco approached her, pinning her in the window by planting a hand on either side of her. He leaned closer, inhaling her unique scent and aligning his hips with hers. Desire thickened his blood. “I have not made love in this room either and we have an hour before dinner.”
That he considered sex less personal than conversation was telling, he realized. The understanding he saw in Stacy’s eyes took him aback. She saw through his actions, but rather than call him on his evasive tactics, she smiled and cupped his cheek. “I’m all yours.”
For two more weeks. Longer would be too dangerous. Stacy had a way of breaching his defenses. He would have to find a way to stop her before he crumbled like castle ruins at her feet.
Nine
Franco’s laughter stirred something deep inside Stacy.
She crossed from the luxurious en suite bathroom to one of the tall tower windows of Franco’s bedroom and looked outside. Franco and Mathé were kicking a soccer ball around on the lawn below. Franco’s teeth flashed in the early-morning light as he laughed again.
He’d be a good father. The kind of father she wished she’d had. And his children would have all the things she’d lacked. History. Roots. Security.
According to Monsieur Constantine, this room hadn’t changed in over two decades. Franco could have had something new with each of his stepmothers’ re-decorations, but instead he’d stuck with the furnishings he and his father had chosen together. That told Stacy Franco liked stability. And he might even have a tiny sentimental streak. Like her.
She touched a finger to her watch and then smoothed a hand over the scarred wooden headboard pushed against the wall between two windows. Last night she’d slept spooned with Franco on the narrow mattress. This morning she’d awoken alone, but surprisingly well-rested. Letting her guard down enough to sleep had apparently not been an issue after all. But then again, he had exhausted her before letting her sleep. Warmth rose under her skin and settled in her pelvis. The man seemed determined to make up to her for the mediocre lovers of her past.
“You are exactly what Franco needs, my dear,” Monsieur Constantine said in heavily accented English behind her.
Startled, Stacy turned and found him in the open bedroom doorway. Hadn’t Franco said he’d told his father the whole truth? “How can you believe that?”
The older man shrugged. “I am sure you had your reasons for agreeing to accept money in exchange for spending time with my son. But you are not like any…how you say?…gold diggers I have ever encountered. I have met many in my seventy-five years, and I have even had the misfortune to marry a few. Between my wives and Lisette, my son has become quite bitter and distrustful of women.”
Stacy nodded. “He told me about Lisette.”
Bushy white eyebrows rose. “That is surprising. Did he also tell you that he continued to love her until she admitted she had married him for his money, and that she had the abortion because she was planning to divorce him?”
Poor Franco. “Um…no.”
“My divorce settlements put us in financial difficulties. Difficulties over which Franco eventually triumphed, but his wife did not have the integrity to lessen her expenses and stand beside him through adversity. When one truly loves one takes the good with the bad…as I did with Franco’s mama.”
He joined her by the window and looked down on Franco and Mathé. “He will not tell me what Lisette said to him in that Paris hospital, but it changed him. He is not the son I once knew. He keeps much locked inside now.”
The weight of his gaze settled on Stacy. “My boy has a wounded soul. It will take a special woman to heal him.”
What exactly was he implying? “Why are you telling me this, Monsieur Constantine? I’m not that woman.”
“I believe you are.”
A choked sound of disbelief erupted from her mouth. “I’m sleeping with your son for money.”
“And the agreement troubles you, yes?”
“Of course.”
“And that is but one of the reasons I know you are not like the others.”
Keeping up with the bizarre discussion was beyond her. He might as well be speaking a foreign language. “One of the reasons?”
“Oui. If you cared only for financial gain you would be garbed in jewels and designer clothing instead of your inexpensive American pieces. Franco is a generous lover. Except in matters of the heart.”
True. But his loyalty to Vincent and Mathé came from the heart, so he wasn’t incapable of caring. “Dare I ask if there are more reasons?”
The older man smiled. “Only the most important one. When I gave you the tour of the chateau yesterday you asked many, many questions about the history of the house and furnishings. You never once asked the value of a single item.”
No, she hadn’t. She’d been more concerned with the sentimental significance than the monetary worth. “I guess I never thought about the costs.”
“Exactement. For a woman who claims to be motivated by money, it seems to have little importance to you.”
Other than the security it represented, he was right. She didn’t want to be rich. She just wanted a home. Otherwise, she would have sued her father’s estate as Franco had suggested. Heaven knows the lawyers had aggressively solicited her and encouraged her to do so before she’d fled Tampa and started over in Charlotte. But she hadn’t wanted to be tied to blood money. She’d rather be poor than feel guilty for profiting from her mother’s murder. “Okay, you have me there, but I’m still not the right woman for Franco.”
“We shall see, Stacy. I am hoping my son will see what a treasure you are before it is too late.” He offered his arm in the same courtly gesture Franco often used. “Now come, breakfast waits and you should eat before you make the drive back to Monaco.”
“And once every inch of your ivory skin is slick with the sun-warmed tanning oil I will thrust deep into your body again and again until you cry out as le petit mort overcomes you,” Franco resumed his tantalizing tale after they crossed Monaco’s border and turned toward the harbor.
Stacy’s heart raced. She licked her dry lips and squirmed in her seat, attempting to alleviate the ache between her legs.
Franco had filled the past half-hour of their trip with a lengthy, detailed description of the sensual afternoon he had planned for them on his sailboat. His verbal seduction was a timely reminder that their relationship was all about sex. Only sex. Any emotional connection she might feel with him after the personal insights she’d gained into his character at the chateau had no place in the bargain they’d struck.
His fingertips trailed up the inside of her thigh. “And I will not stop until—”
An annoying sound interrupted him and dampened her arousal. A cell phone. Hers. Stacy blinked, exhaled and dug her phone out of her purse. “Hello?”
“Candace is having a meltdown,” Amelia’s voice said. “Madeline and I have tried everything we know to calm her down. It�
��s your turn.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s freaking out and talking about cancelling the wedding. We can’t figure out why. You have to try. Tell her how much money she’d be wasting or something. Not that money would matter if she was really unhappy, but she’s absolutely crazy in love with Vincent. We can’t let a flash of panic ruin that. Please, Stacy, just get over here convince her to sit tight until rational thought returns.”
Alarmed, Stacy glanced at Franco. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
She disconnected and turned in her seat. “I’ll have to take a rain check on the boat ride. That was Amelia. She wants me at the hotel.”
“Something is wrong?”
“Um…Candace needs me.” Because he was Vincent’s friend she couldn’t tell him why. But she wanted to. She wanted to ask him how someone as deeply in love as Candace could have doubts.
“And what of our plans?”
Stacy had never been on a boat, but that wasn’t the appeal. She wanted to spend more time with Franco, wanted to learn more about him. She’d planned to ask questions during the car ride home, but his verbal seduction had waylaid that. Had he done it deliberately?
“Franco, I would love to spend the afternoon with you. And making love on the boat sounds amazingly sexy even though I’m not sure about doing it outdoors on the deck where we might be seen by anybody with a good set of binoculars. But when Candace needs me I have to go, and you promised our relationship wouldn’t interfere with the wedding stuff.”
His jaw hardened. “Vincent assured me your presence would not be required for several days.”
She should have tried harder to check with Candace before leaving for Avignon, but the bride-to-be hadn’t been in the hotel suite Sunday morning or answering her cell phone. In the end, Stacy had let her curiosity about Franco lead the way. “Vincent was wrong.”
Franco turned the car away from the marina and toward the hotel. Moments later he stopped the vehicle outside the entrance. A doorman opened her door and helped her alight. She thanked him and joined Franco by the trunk.
She reached for her bag, but Franco held it out of reach. “I will see you inside.”
Not a good idea since she had no idea what she’d be walking into. “No need. I’ll…um, call you later.”
He looked ready to argue, but instead he relinquished her suitcase and stroked her cheek. The passion simmering in his intensely blue eyes snarled a tight knot of desire beneath Stacy’s navel. “Dinner tonight. I will send the car.”
“I’ll have to clear it with Candace first.”
He nodded. “I will let you go, but first—”
Heedless of the hotel staff members and vacationers around them, he took her mouth. Hard. Hot. Intimately. His tongue delved, stroked and then he suckled hers. By the time he lifted his head Stacy clung dizzily to his belt. “Do not keep me waiting one moment longer than necessary, mon gardénia.”
He stroked a thumb over her damp bottom lip and then left her standing in the driveway on trembling legs, torn between desire and friendship. She wanted to go with Franco, but Candace needed her.
Stacy shook off her indecision. Her friendship with Candace would continue beyond the next two weeks, but her relationship with Franco would not. And she’d better not forget it. Passion and profit were all she could expect from him. No promises, he’d said. And that wouldn’t change no matter how well she understood him.
She marched inside and across the lobby. The elevator whisked her to the top floor. Stacy shoved her keycard into the lock and entered the suite in time to hear Candace ranting, “I can’t believe he expected me to drop everything and spend three days in his bed.”
Amelia spotted Stacy, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the sitting area. “Good. You’re here. Tell her how crazy it would be to cancel the wedding at this late date.”
Stacy let her purse and overnight bag slide to the floor. “What’s wrong?”
Candace pivoted. A white line of tension circled her compressed lips. “I can’t marry Vincent.”
Stacy blinked. “Why?”
“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” Candace glared at them and then paced in front of the long window. “Can’t you just accept I made a mistake and leave it at that?”
“No,” Amelia and Madeline chorused.
“Don’t you love him?” Stacy persisted.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
And the love in Vincent’s eyes at the ball had been impossible to miss. “Did something happen to make you no longer trust him? Did he scare you? Threaten you? Hurt you?”
“No.” She sounded surprised Stacy would even suggest it, but then she didn’t know Stacy’s past. One day, Stacy realized, she’d have to tell her. But not today.
“Then I don’t understand why you’d throw this all away. Do his scars suddenly repulse you?”
Anger flushed Candace’s pale cheeks. “No. They. Do. Not.”
“Then why can’t you marry him? You love him and he clearly adores you.”
“It’s like you said. He’s rich and powerful and I’m…not. I don’t fit into his world. The balls, the limos, the designer gowns, they’re not me.”
“They’re not any of us, but we’ve had fun faking it,” Amelia said.
Stacy recalled Monsieur Constantine’s words about Franco’s ex. “Candace, would you still want to be with Vincent if he lost all his money?”
“Of course I would. I don’t know what you’re getting at, Stacy, but I am not marrying Vincent for his millions. I thought you knew me better than that.”
“My point is, doesn’t he deserve a woman who’ll love him for who he is as a person and not for the penthouse lifestyle he represents? And doesn’t the fact that you don’t care about the scars or the superficial trappings and that you could live without the limos and designer clothes make you the perfect woman for him?”
And didn’t Franco deserve the same thing? His father was right. It would take a special woman to appreciate the man beneath the glitz. Someone who didn’t assign dollar signs to everything or mind slowly chipping away at his hard shell to discover his secrets.
Someone like you.
Stacy gasped in surprise as the thought sprouted and took root. It would be so easy to convince herself she was the woman who could heal Franco’s embittered soul. But that would be foolish. Besides, he wouldn’t be interested in a nobody like her when he had a continent full of glamorous, sophisticated women to choose from. And she…well, she couldn’t risk it.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Candace sank onto the sofa and buried her face in her trembling hands.
Madeline sat beside her and passed her a tissue. “You have been happier this year than I’ve ever seen you. Do you really want to throw that away because of bridal jitters?”
“What I want doesn’t matter.” Candace blotted her tear-stained face. “Vincent’s parents are arriving tonight. He wants to tell them about the baby, and once they find out they’re going to think I trapped their precious son with a pregnancy to get my claws on their fortune.”
Tension seeped from Stacy’s muscles upon hearing the true reason for the panic attack. This was a salvageable situation. She glanced at her suitemates, but neither Amelia nor Madeline looked surprised about the baby news. Hmm. Maybe the baby wasn’t a secret after all.
Stacy sat on Candace’s opposite side and tentatively laid a hand over her clenched fist. “You’re afraid to tell your future in-laws you’re pregnant?”
“They’re Boca Raton and I’m trailer trash. They’re not going to want somebody like me raising their grandchild.”
Stacy understood the feeling of not fitting in all too well, but running had never made it better. “Number one, Candace, you’re not trailer trash. You’re a registered nurse. Number two, I suspect the Reynards are going to want someone raising their grandchild whose love will stay strong through the good times and the bad.”
“That would be y
ou,” Amelia said.
Stacy nodded. “Don’t forget what you’ve already been through with Vincent. I’m sure they haven’t.”
After a moment Candace’s lips curved into a quivery smile. She looked at each of them in turn and then took a shoulder-straightening breath and lifted her chin. “You’re right. I am the perfect woman for Vincent, and if the Reynards don’t agree, well…I’ll just prove them wrong.”
“We’ve got your back,” Madeline vowed.
Stacy wished she had half as much confidence as her friend in matters of the heart. But she didn’t. She was an emotional coward and probably always would be.
“Don’t ever fall in love, man,” Vincent groaned into his beer.
“That is not what you have been telling me for the past six months,” Franco replied as he sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Vincent and pressed the remote control to his plasma television. He tuned his satellite dish into an American sports channel. “You have been singing the praises of a woman to warm your bed.”
Vincent wore a besotted expression similar to the one Franco had seen on his father far too often—one Franco swore never to wear again. Lisette had cured him.
“It’s more than regular sex. It’s waking up beside her and watching her sleep. Or knowing she loves you enough to let you see her without her makeup on or to kiss her before she brushes her teeth.”
The back of Franco’s neck prickled. He shifted his shoulders to ease the uncomfortable sensation. He had watched Stacy sleep this morning at the chateau, but that had nothing to do with love. It had been lust. Nothing more. And the kiss on her brow had been an attempt to wake her and satisfy his hunger. If in the end he had elected to take a cold shower and let her sleep, it was only because he had driven her to orgasm so many times last night that he doubted her capable of coming again so soon, and he never left a woman unsatisfied in bed.
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