With the exception of Simon next to me and his wife across the table, everyone seems enthusiastic about the idea, especially Sebastian. The husband and wife make their goodbyes and leave, Simon seemingly satisfied with his takeaway for the night.
I personally have had enough of El León to last a lifetime, as entertaining as he is. Besides, I’ve never smoked cigars, and for once, I’m trying to limit my alcohol intake. Other than the introductory champagne, I’ve only had a single glass during our meal.
Like a good hostess, or at least the partner of the host, I follow them down to the lower level. Sebastian’s two cohorts are performing like geishas, cutting and lighting his cigar, and bringing him his brandy. One even comes around to massage his shoulders while he takes his first puff.
Ruben is well past three sheets to the wind, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to go out like a lightbulb in the middle of smoking his cigar and set the boat on fire.
I walk further out to the deck for some fresh air and to enjoy the marvelous view. With my back turned on the rest of the party, I once again find myself in awe of the city spread out above me.
New York is comparatively flat and even the bright lights of that city—at least beyond Times Square, which is almost gleeful in its overly-stimulating commercialism—still manage to have an industrial feel about them. You know that each one of those lights on the skyline of the Big Apple is some worker bee putting in extra hours because that city never sleeps.
Just the name Monte Carlo seems to tinge each one of those lights above me with a majestic air. No pushing paper or slaving over computers up in those dotted hills.
“It does tend to mesmerize, doesn’t it?”
I turn to find the woman who was sitting across from me walking out, holding two champagne flutes. She hands me one. “It helps that at least the champagne is quality.”
I eye it for only a moment and, realizing that my prior drinks have yet to have much of an effect on me, I take it. It can only enhance this surreal experience.
“Lara,” she says by way of introduction. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself what with El León regaling us over dinner.”
A diplomatic way of putting it. I turn to look inside at the men doing their manly thing. Sebastian seems to be holding court, with Magnus seeming to pay attention to his every word, and Ruben in a half-daze.
“Ruben Bakker seems…interesting.”
She laughs lightly. “You’re too kind. The man is a perfect boor.”
“Hmm,” I say into a sip of champagne.
“You can go ahead and ask,” she says with a cunning smile.
I blink in surprise and look at her in a new light.
“So, you’re a…?” I avoid saying the word, not wanting to offend her.
“Yes,” she says with a smile.
I surreptitiously look her up and down again. Lisette had more of a sex kitten vibe about her.
Lara, wearing a long, champagne-colored spaghetti-strap gown, has the sort of blue-blooded patrician looks that seem better suited for accompanying a diplomat to a state dinner. Which I suppose is the point.
“I prefer the word courtesan,” she says, no doubt noting my curiosity. “It harkens back to a more refined era when such things weren’t so frowned upon. Once upon a time, women like me were the most powerful women in Europe—and the most liberated,” Lara says, lifting her glass loftily into the air with a slightly ironic gaze.
She turns back to me. “Don’t get it wrong. This isn’t me claiming that grad school or a nine-to-five job is for suckers. I just decided to forgo that form of torture for one that had a bit more champagne wishes and caviar dreams.”
“Can I ask why? You seem like you could do almost anything.”
“Well, I didn’t graduate Harvard, magna cum laude for nothing.” She pinches two fingers together. “Missed summa by just a sliver.”
My champagne goes down the wrong tube, and she laughs, patting me lightly on the back. Still not fully recovered, I eye her in surprise at this revelation, which is a little too close to my own pedigree for comfort.
I think back to Magnus’s comment regarding the woman whose place I took tonight—paid more for what’s between her ears than what’s between her legs. I might as well take this opportunity to use what’s between my own ears to get more information about what happened tonight.
“What was that stuff about Brussels that Sebastian mentioned? You and Simon both seemed very interested in that bit of news.”
“Didn’t you know? Magnus is a huge football fan, or as we Americans call it, soccer. It’s well known that he’s secretly in works to buy a club, despite the prohibitive cost of most of them. Now that he knows where Sebastian is looking, he is probably going to be putting in a bid soon. With one of the best players in the world, it’ll cost a fortune, but no doubt, be worth it.”
So that’s it. Magnus wants to buy a soccer—football team, apparently in Brussels, where El León is headed. That’s why he’s been selling off his assets and hoarding money all year.
I’ve finally discovered what I came to Monte Carlo to get.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sloane
“You know, Arabella was pretty disappointed at having been replaced,” Lara says.
“Arabella?” I ask, still absorbed in my thoughts.
“Magnus’s original date for the night.”
Now, my attention is fully on Lara. I recall exactly how Magnus described his original plus-one for this dinner. News about her replacement has obviously already made it through whatever grapevine these women use to spread the news.
“I’m not a…courtesan,” I assert, trying to maintain my dignity without being too insulting.
“That much is obvious,” Lara says with a laugh. She must see the sudden look of offense on my face and smiles apologetically. “That was meant to be a compliment. You’re the only one here not putting on a facade, at least not an obvious one. Everyone you see in there is wearing a mask, putting on a show, including your Magnus.”
I’m in the process of wondering how invisible my “facade” here in Monte Carlo must be if she doesn’t assume I have one, which I most certainly do. Then, something she’s said strikes me.
“My Magnus?”
She stares ahead at him with a smile that’s almost sentimental. When she turns back to me, it’s with one eyebrow raised almost mockingly. “Yes, your Magnus.”
“Have you and he ever…?” I say, hoping it sounds like nothing more than idle curiosity.
“Do you really want to know?”
The effect it has on me is visceral, my stomach clenching hard against the gut-punch of jealousy that hits me.
She laughs and lifts her champagne flute toward me as if to stress a point. “There. That’s exactly what I mean. You’re real. I don’t think you could maintain a mask long enough to be with someone like Ruben Bakker, for instance.”
“That’s good to know,” I say, my voice dripping in sarcasm.
“This time, it’s not so much a compliment.”
“Should I be offended?” I retort.
“No, you should be careful,” she says, getting serious. “This city lives for the facade, the pretend. They throw their money around as a way to deflect. Real scares them; someone with nothing to hide can be terrifying.”
“How do you know I have nothing to hide?” Perhaps I shouldn’t have had this champagne. This facade she assumes I don’t have is beginning to show itself.
She tilts her head to the side to scrutinize me. “Now that you mention it, I don’t. You might just be the best player here.”
Now, you’ve gone and done it, Sloane.
“Is that one a compliment or criticism?” I reply, putting up a front of being offended.
“It’s an observation.”
I let that one flit away as the non-answer it is.
“You still want to know, don’t you?” She asks with a smile.
“I don’t know what you’re
talking about.”
“Yes, he’s used me before.”
I inhale sharply, following it with a curse for being so obvious.
“But not in the way you’re thinking,” she says with a laugh.
“And what way am I thinking?” I ask cooly.
She raises one eyebrow, as though disappointed I’d even have to ask the question.
My breath escapes slowly. “Well, he did say your kind is paid more for what’s between your head than what’s between your legs.”
“My kind?” she asks with more amusement in her voice than offense.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Lara smirks. “Don’t try to spare my feelings, Sloane. This job has turned this flawless, silky-smooth, overly-pampered skin you see into toughened leather. You think you’re the first woman—or man for that matter, to think lowly of me?”
“I don’t think lowly of you, I just…I don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get. I wanted a life of luxury, and this was the easiest way to get it,” she says, looking ahead at the yacht we’re on as though to stress the point.
“You seem well equipped enough to marry into it.”
“I suspect I wouldn’t like the power dynamics of that.” She turns to me with mild curiosity. “Do you want to get married?”
“Of course,” I say without thinking. I thought every woman did. I surreptitiously eye the woman next to me and think maybe some find more attractive alternatives. Whatever works for her.
She gives me a sly smile. “And yet you’re so well-equipped to do what I do.”
I give her a sardonic smirk. “I suspect the power dynamics wouldn’t suit me.”
She laughs, raising her glass in salute. “Well, keep doing whatever it is you’re doing, and you might just get the brass ring.”
“The brass ring?”
“Marriage and money.” She directs her gaze back inside where Magnus is.
“Magnus Reinhardt? What makes you think I want him?”
“I don’t. But I do know that he wants you.”
“What?” I ask with a laugh, even though my face heats up with all the absurd pleasure of a teenage girl whose heartthrob has graced her with eye-contact at a concert.
Lara gives me a knowing smile, her eyes dancing up to the earrings hanging from my ears. What the hell is it with her? No wonder she makes the absurd amount that she does. She can read people like a book. Then again, I’m apparently not prancing around Monte Carlo with a “mask” on like everyone else.
But aren’t you Sloane?
I compose myself and put on an air of indifference. “Again, I suspect the power dynamics wouldn’t suit me.”
Lara gives me a thoughtful look. “There are different kinds of power. You seem like a smart cookie. Why put yourself into a lunch box when you could be served on a silver platter?”
“And, just for shits and giggles, how would I go about doing that?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound as interested as I actually am.
“Scheherazade.”
It takes me a moment to place it. “From A Thousand and One Nights?”
“Exactly. You already have his devout attention—at least based on what I’ve heard and seen. Forty days is it? Or should I say nights?” She smirks.
I blink in surprise. “What the hell? Does this town have any secrets?”
“None at all.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I think you could do in forty nights what Scheherazade took a thousand and one to accomplish. Just keep him interested, and he’s yours.”
“Night after night,” I say in a sarcastic voice, turning to look out over the edge of the railing.
She laughs again. “Oh, Sloane, you struck me as smarter than that. I don’t mean sex—at least not just sex. Sex in and of itself is easy. Hell, if that was all it took, I’d steal him from you right now.”
I jerk my head to face her, only to find her giving me that infuriatingly knowing smile. Whatever mask I have on has definitely slipped tonight.
“But you don’t strike me as easy by any means,” she says with a smirk.
“Is this you trying to butter me up for future business? Because I can tell you right now, wrong team. Besides, I doubt I could afford you.”
She laughs in a slightly heartier tone this time. “You probably couldn’t.”
I raise one eyebrow with indignation.
“But that’s not what I’m after,” she says, breezing right along. She leans her elbows on the railing next to me and stares ahead. “I like empowering women, helping them get what they want.”
She turns to me with one of her own eyebrows raised now. “Even if they don’t realize it yet.”
Before I can respond, she pushes away from the railing and turns to look inside again. “Duty calls.”
I watch her walk away in a very practiced manner—one which I’m not entirely opposed to incorporating myself in a pinch. Sensual but not provocative. I suppose there’s something to be learned there.
Good grief, I’ve been in this city for less than forty-eight hours, and already I’m considering taking lessons from a…what exactly? Prostitute? Whore? Escort? Courtesan?
Before she’s gone more than a few steps, she turns back to me. “Enjoy your second night, Sloane. Try to put it to good use.”
As she continues to walk away, I look past her at Magnus, watching him through the glass as the warm French Riviera breeze flows over me. He must feel my eyes on him because his slide away from Sebastian to stare at me. His gaze is penetrating, invading me in a way that feels almost obscene.
A thousand and one nights.
I only have thirty-eight left.
How many stories would I have to spin before I find the real information I need from Magnus?
How many before he falls for me?
How many before I fall for him?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sloane
The evening has progressed into well past midnight. The guests have all been whisked away in their carriages back to various hotels, and some will no doubt continue where they left off here.
I’m leaning against the same railing where I had the very educational conversation with Lara. Magnus comes out to join me, settling on one elbow resting against the railing.
Time for me to start spinning a tale to keep him occupied.
Just how far am I willing to go to play the role of Scheherazade to confirm what I learned tonight about him buying a soccer team?
The way Magnus looks in that suit with Monte Carlo still in full swing as a backdrop makes him look like the next James Bond. A man who could kill me as easily as seduce me.
“Did you enjoy tonight?” He asks. In the dim but varied light surrounding us, I can still feel his penetrating gaze.
“It was an interesting mix of people.”
He laughs, low and deep. “It all served a purpose.”
Yours and mine both.
“I’m glad it was a success.”
“Is that you speaking as a hired employee or my date for the evening?”
“What happened to strictly business?”
“Are you sure that’s how you want this relationship to operate?”
I’m taken aback by the frankness with which he’s asked that, all but suggesting there could be something more than just business between us.
But hasn’t he been suggesting that all along?
And haven’t I been dabbling with it in my own fantasies?
I turn to face forward. “I don’t sleep with clients.”
“Then you’re fired.”
I laugh despite myself, then quickly silence it. I turn to him with a sly look. “You have complete control of me while I’m here. That ten-million dollars back at Douglas & Foster pretty much guaranteed it.”
He comes in closer—dangerously closer. I jump when his hand reaches out to take my chin. “If that were true, you’d already be in my bed.”
Once again, his boldness stupefies me, leaving my head spinn
ing and my body weak.
“Tell me, Sloane, do you really want me to remain strictly business?”
I’m under no illusion that this is his way of asking permission. He’s no gentleman making sure the woman he is with is one hundred percent willing. After all, there are no gentlemen, just sharks savoring the hunt. And this shark has his prey right where he wants her.
I don’t know if Magnus reads it in my eyes, but he takes what’s his anyway. His hand, still on my chin, lifts it up to give him easier access so he can start with my lips.
The first touch of him is sensational in every way. It’s like my skin is coming alive, tingling with this taste of the forbidden.
Magnus seems to sense the excitement in me and feeds it, urging my lips apart so I can consume more. His tongue leads mine in a wicked dance performed to some tune that only his body seems to know.
The hand on my chin slides along my jaw, fingers blazing a path down to my neck. It brushes past the heavy earring causing it to swing uninhibitedly, and my ear begins to tingle. When his palm is finally at my neck, cupping the nape in his massive grip, he brings me into him—almost painfully.
That’s when I feel the danger.
His kiss isn’t sensual, it’s demanding. His body comes closer, pressing my back into the railing behind me. I feel his dick, thick and throbbing with some violent surge of need, force itself into the soft flesh of my stomach. The thumb of the hand gripping the back of my neck makes a menacing trek back over my jawline to rest against my throat.
Then, he squeezes.
At first, I think it’s just some unbridled passion, an uncontrollable reflex that has him wanting all of me. Then he pulls away, and I see the danger in his dark eyes.
He knows…
That kiss was just him swimming right beneath me in the final moments before the attack. Now, I’m trapped in his jaws as he takes the first bite of me.
“I think it’s time you told me the truth, Sloane.”
But what can I tell him that he doesn’t already know? The fact that he’s gone this far means that he must at least suspect a good portion of what I’ve been after since yesterday, even if he doesn’t know the details.
The Monte Carlo Shark: An International Legacies Romance Page 14
