The Monte Carlo Shark: An International Legacies Romance

by Stevens, Camilla

  Magnus walks me straight to the docked boats. I glance back at his motorcycle, which is only slightly out of the way of traffic.

  “What about your bike? Shouldn’t you move it?”

  Without looking back, he answers. “I’ll have the person bringing our food move it for me.”

  Which just poses even more questions in my head. Shouldn’t there already be food onboard? I’m sure a yacht the size of the Mako has a state of the art kitchen. Just how long is this boat ride going to be if he’s having food delivered specially?

  As we pass the police guarding the marina, he casts a quick, aggressive glance down at the bottle in Magnus’s hand, but immediately straightens up, breath held in when he notes the person to whom that hand is attached. It must be heady to wield so much power that even the police cower in your presence.

  I’d be lying if I denied that being attached to such power by nothing more than a held hand is a bit of an ego trip.

  I’m surprised when Magnus turns down a pathway leading to the smaller boats instead of further up where the Mako awaits.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My boat,” is the only answer I get without so much as a glance my way.

  My eyes slide to the Mako, then back to the row of motorboats we’re walking past. I suppose this is what he meant when he said he was taking his boat out. A man like Magnus can obviously afford more than one.

  Silly me.

  Stupid me.

  It only now occurs to me that it will be just the two of us instead of us and an entire crew.

  All alone on the water.

  My eyes fall to the hand gripping mine. They blaze a trail up the taut, sinewy muscles of his forearm and bulging bicep, over the round mass of his shoulder and across the back that ripples underneath his t-shirt with each step he takes.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Getting answers, that’s what.

  I realize this is quite fortuitous in retrospect. Going out with him on his little motorboat may end in danger. Or it may end up getting me exactly what I need.

  Not obtaining the information I came to Monte Carlo to get will most certainly end in danger, possibly even death.

  Worst case scenario in my current predicament, I can jump overboard if things get too dicey. Thank God, I know how to swim.

  “Here we are,” he finally announces, stopping by a boat slightly larger than the others nearby. Certainly nothing compared to the Mako. That doesn’t mean it isn’t impressive to look at. It’s sleek and dark with mahogany paneling so polished it shines brighter than the sun reflected off the water. The seating is bright white, looking brand new. The whole thing looks like a Rolls Royce in boat form, old-fashioned in a way, but incredibly sophisticated. Rivamare, reads a chrome label on the side of it.

  “I need to call to have our food delivered,” he says, handing me the bottle of wine.

  “Actually, I should make a phone call too. Just to let someone know where I am,” I say, looking directly into his eyes, in case the reason is lost on him.

  An amused smile touches his lips, and he sets the bottle down on the wooden planks of the dock.

  While he reaches into his back pocket to pull out his phone, I dig mine out of my purse. Once it’s in my hand, I stare at it, wondering who in the hell I can call.

  There’s no way I can tell any of my friends about this. The same is doubly true of my family.

  Except, of course…

  I close my eyes and sigh, pulling up my brother’s number.

  Magnus is speaking rapid French into his phone, and I casually widen the distance between us until I’m sure he won’t be able to hear my low voice as I speak.

  “Sloane,” Theo answers after the first ring. His voice sounds panicky, as it should. “Is everything okay? Did you get the information already?”

  “Of course not,” I hiss in a whisper. “I haven’t even been here a day.”

  “Oh,” he says, sounding both disappointed and worried. “What is it then?”

  “As it turns out, I’m currently with Magnus Reinhardt of all people. He’s taking me out on a boat, just the two of us.”

  “That’s great!” he says, sounding hopeful and surprised.

  “Not exactly. You don’t honestly think he’s just going to reveal insider secrets about his company to me while we’re galavanting around the Mediterranean, do you?”

  “Yes but—”

  “Or maybe I can just get the ten-million dollars, plus daily interest, directly from him?”

  “I already apologized, Sloane.” Now he sounds petulant. “Your name just popped into my head when they took me. I guess I thought…with all the stuff you do for Mom and Dad and grandpa, and your high-paying job—”

  “That I had that much money just lying around? Theo, I bought grandpa season tickets to the Knicks and sent Mom and Dad on a cruise. That hardly makes me a multi-millionaire.”

  “Again, I’m sorry, Sloane. I was just so desperate. I didn’t mean for you to get wrapped up in this. I really didn’t. Linus, he just—”

  “He just used you as usual,” I say bitterly. “You’re brilliant, Theo, you really are, but sometimes so dumb it boggles the mind. That brain of yours should be put to better use.”

  It’s true. Theo has an IQ that’s almost off the charts. I feel bad about being so blunt with Theo, but maybe that’s what my brother needs. His brain is literally like a calculator or even a computer. His heart is the stupid organ, too easily aligned with the wrong kind of people.

  Case in point: Linus Caldwell and his never-ending, harebrained, money-making schemes.

  Don’t even get me started.

  I see Magnus hanging up, focusing his attention back on me.

  “I’ve got to go. If I don’t check in by…ten o’clock tonight, my time, then I suppose you should call in the Calvary.”

  “If something happens to you, something happens to me too, Sloane.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll meet you in the afterlife,” I sigh before hanging up, just in time for Magnus to come within hearing distance.

  “All your safeguards in place?” he asks, a tiny smile dancing at the edges of his taunting lips.

  “I was just calling my brother to let him know where I’ll be.”

  He stares at me for a moment, long enough for me to wonder if he heard some of my conversation.

  “It will take a few minutes for the food to arrive. Let’s get settled.”

  Once again, he reaches out his hand. Now, I’m wondering if this is less an act of chivalry and more an act of dominance.

  I take it.

  On the way into his boat, he easily reaches down to grab the bottle of wine. Something about the movement is deceptively playful, like he’s nothing more than a teenager taking a girl out for a joyride on his father’s expensive boat.

  It would be amusing if I bought it for even half a second.

  I’m a firm believer in women’s intuition. While the alarm bells in my head for some reason don’t speak to danger, I’m fully aware that I’m probably being played just as much as I plan on playing Magnus.

  So we’re both after something.

  The only question is, what the hell is Magnus Reinhardt after?

  Chapter Five

  Magnus

  While I didn’t hear this supposed conversation with her brother, I certainly read Sloane’s body language and facial expression as she so vehemently spoke into her phone.

  I would understand if she was simply letting someone know where she was going and who with. Safety first.

  But this was no simple check-in.

  What are you up to, Sloane Alexander?

  I fully plan on finding out.

  Especially considering everything that’s happened recently.

  “Careful,” I say, maintaining a hold on her hand as she gingerly steps onto the rocking boat. My eyes fall to the dark brown leg that stretches out, and I wonder if the rest of that glorious skin is as smooth underneath her dress.
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  When I meet her eyes, they stare back with indignation, as though she reads my mind perfectly.

  Keep reading, Sloane.

  She’ll learn only that which I choose to reveal to her.

  I release her hand to disappear into the small cabin area, seeking out a glass for her to finish off this bottle. No sense in letting it go to waste—in more ways than one. Perhaps it will loosen both Sloane’s inhibitions and her lips.

  The inside of the Riva Rivamare is just as detailed as the exterior. The bar is fully stocked with everything needed to enjoy a drink or a meal on board. I pop back up with a clear glass and pour for her. She eyes it warily as I hand it to her.

  “You’re not joining me?”

  I nod my head toward the helm. “I have to drive. You might as well enjoy it while we wait for the food to arrive.”

  She considers that for a moment, then takes the glass.

  I sit on the U-shaped seating area in back and motion for her to sit next to me. Once again, she takes that under consideration before following through. At this point, it’s irritatingly amusing. Whatever it is she’s after must be important if she’s this skittish.

  “So, what brings you to Monte Carlo?” I ask in an idle tone.

  She eyes me over the edge of the glass as she takes a sip. After swallowing, she looks out at the marina around us. “It’s a beautiful city. I thought I’d visit.”

  A plausible enough excuse.

  “How long are you here for?”

  This time as she ponders the question, she takes her time, as though wondering how to answer.

  “Long enough,” she says, now staring into her wine.

  “That’s an ambiguous response.”

  She lifts her eyes and gives me a wry smile. “Forty days. Though I certainly don’t plan on using the full amount.”

  “Why on earth not?” I say with a grin. “There are plenty of ways a woman such as yourself could enjoy Monte Carlo for forty days.”

  Her eyes narrow, completely unimpressed with the insinuation.

  Before we can continue, Daniel arrives with the food I had prepped for this little adventure of mine. With the new plus one, I doubled the order earlier when I called on the phone. On the way back, he’ll take my motorcycle up to my home—his reward for this chore.

  “Merci, Daniel,” I say as he takes the basket down to the cabin. He comes back up and silently exits the boat, disappearing as efficiently as he appeared. As he steps back on to the dock, he releases the rope without my having to ask.

  “Shall we?” I ask before heading to the helm to start the engine.

  Sloane smiles and lifts her glass. “Bon voyage.”

  I grin and start the ignition.

  Chapter Six

  Sloane

  I’m in the passenger seat next to Magnus, sipping my wine as he slowly guides the boat through the marina. We pass the Mako, and I can’t help but turn to look at it looming above us. Up close, it’s even more impressive—and intimidating.

  Once we’re past the massive cruise ship and on the open waters of the Mediterranean, he accelerates. I grip the glass in my hand as we bump across the waves, water spraying up behind us.

  It’s a beautiful summer day, and there are plenty of boats on the water. Magnus expertly guides us around most of them.

  “Believe it or not, that’s a prison,” he shouts, pointing to a large structure sitting on a cliffside overlooking the water, “the Maison d’Arrêt.”

  As we speed past it, I can’t help but think that even prisoners in this country seem to live a slightly elevated existence from the rest of the world. The view those windows have of the Mediterranean is probably better than most hotels.

  Not that it matters with regard to the illegal activity I’m getting myself entangled in. It’ll be a good old fashioned American federal prison for yours truly.

  Insider trading. Securities fraud. Corporate Espionage. Take your pick. Any one of them will ruin me.

  It’s still preferable to death.

  I let those thoughts ease from my mind as we coast along the water. I’ve never been in a boat like this. My law firm has held a few parties on large floating vessels that specialize in upscale corporate festivities along the East River or the Hudson.

  This is far more intimate. And fun, if one ignores the circumstances. My eyes slide to Magnus, who stands as he steers the boat.

  Also if one ignores the company.

  Still, I can see why he enjoys this. A day on the azure waters of the French Riviera, wine flowing through my veins, the midday sun casting an intense warm glow. It’s heaven.

  I’m almost lulled into a sense of complacency when I feel him slow down. We’re in a small cove area, with floating buoys nearby. He stops near one of them and attaches the rope from the boat.

  I look around, and my eyes stop at the small area that a few sunbathers have decided passes for a beach. It’s a tiny shore of mostly pebbles at the base of the cliffs that serve as the main boundary between the sea and land in this part of the Mediterranean. I briefly wonder how those people even got down, then notice a treacherously tiny cliffside stairway. Other than by boat, that seems to be the only way to get to this place, making it somewhat private.

  Which is a good thing.

  Because almost all of the people on that beach are naked.

  I gape at the frankness with which they lie there, as nonchalant about their nudity as Adam and Eve probably were before swallowing a bit of knowledge.

  “I don’t know what it is you’re expecting, but it’s not happening,” I say to Magnus.

  He squints one eye toward the beach then turns back to me with a grin. “Welcome to the French Riviera.”

  I cross my arms over my chest as if to stress my point. I knew that topless sunbathing—something I’m not entirely scandalized by—was common in parts of Europe, but these people have taken the idea to it’s most extreme.

  Granted, it isn’t as though they are having some wild orgy. In fact, they seem about as hedonistic as a cluster of lazy cats, just lounging there, basking in the sun without a care in the world.

  But still.

  My eyes snap back to Magnus, who is taking off his shoes.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Moi? I’m going swimming. I have a race to train for. I come here because there are fewer swimmers in the water and buoys for me to hitch my boat to,” he says without looking up as he removes his second shoe. When it’s off his eyes come back to me, filled with dark mischief. “Vous? The Mediterranean is nice this time of year. You can dive in with me.”

  Magnus stands up and reaches his fingers down to grab the edge of his t-shirt. He drags it up his torso, pulling it off over his head.

  Unless they’re completely blind, there isn’t a set of eyes in the world that would be able to resist gazing at what he’s revealed. Even perfectly straight men (or gay women) would have to admire the perfectly chiseled set of abs and sculpted pecs. Both are just as impressive as the shoulders and biceps Magnus exposes as he drags the shirt down his arms.

  With a body like that, it’s no wonder he’s been a world champion in pentathlons. Twice. Frankly, with a body like that, it makes you wonder who won the other handful of times he competed.

  My sinful idol-worship of his body comes to a screeching halt when I see him reach for the fly to his jeans.

  “Are you swimming naked?”

  His only response is to flash a wicked grin and unzip. My mouth goes dry at the thought of what he plans on revealing this time around. When he slides his pants down, leaving him in nothing but a black speedo, I manage a silent sigh of relief. Maybe a wee twinge of regret.

  Then again…

  Magnus in nothing but a tiny, skin-tight piece of fabric still manages to elicit a gasp of awe. I wonder how much of his success in racing is simply from distracting his competitors with that thing.

  “If the prize I were after required me to be naked—” I manage to drag my eyes back up to hi
s, only to find them boring into me. “—then I would be naked right now.”

  I squeeze the glass in my hand so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.

  “I train the way I compete. Thus, when the real race begins, I’m prepared. Anyone who doesn’t do the same is only setting themselves up for failure.” Once again, his gaze is hard, staring at me as though trying to dig deep enough to read my thoughts.

  I realize his words hold some meaning for me. All of his words.

  If the prize I was after required me to be naked…then I would be naked right now.

  Suddenly his body isn’t something to be worshiped, but something to be avoided at all costs. None of this was an accident, except perhaps him originally running into me back at the marina, though I wouldn’t put even that bit of happenstance past him.

  “Happy training,” I say with a bright smile.

  His lips curl into another grin, and he laughs. “Enjoy the rest of your wine. It will go well with the food I’ve had packed for us. Feel free to indulge while I swim.”

  Before I can reply, he makes a perfect dive into the sea. My eyes linger on the surface where he’s disappeared. For a long time, there’s no sign of him. I crane my neck, waiting.

  By the time the seconds threaten to turn into a full minute, I’m half leaning over the edge, ready to dive in after him.

  His head bobs up further out. I meet his amused grin with an accusatory glare. I thought for sure he had drowned.

  Magnus laughs. How he manages it after holding his breath for so long is beyond me, but now, I’m also beyond caring. When he brings one arm up for his first stroke, I fall back into my seat on the boat.

  My eyes fall to the bottle of wine I purchased, which still has at least an entire glassful. I empty it into my glass. It’s only too late that I realize I underestimated how much was left. Red liquid sloshes over the side, down my hand. I lift it to lick away what is the equivalent of liquid gold, at least in terms of value. That causes a few drops to splatter onto my white dress.