Dirty Player: An International Alphas Romance

by Lula Baxter

  “To new beginnings,” he says, pouring the golden, bubbly liquid into each glass. When he sets the bottle down on the round table, I hand him his glass and we toast.

  “To new beginnings,” I repeat, tapping my glass to his and then taking a sip. The bubbles tickle my nose and make me giggle. Alexandre laughs, eyeing me with those damn gorgeous green eyes over his glass.

  “Let’s go onto the deck and enjoy the Mediterranean the way it should be enjoyed.” With the hand that is still holding his glass, he deftly picks up the bottle between two fingers. With his other hand, he grabs my free hand and leads me out onto the deck.

  Now, I get why people are so impressed by this. Once again, I have a panoramic view of the dark water and increasingly distant land. It honestly feels like we’re the only two people in the world. I look up and I can see so many stars it looks like glitter in the sky.

  It’s magical.

  Alexandre comes up behind me and I feel his hard body press into my back. I lean into him, enjoying the solidness surrounding me. Even though I once upon a time scoffed at this lifestyle, I want to freeze this moment right here, right now, forever, if only because of him.

  “It’s spectacular, Alexandre. It really is.”

  “You make it even more so,” he murmurs over my head.

  I wait a moment before continuing, not wanting to ruin the mood. “Back in New York, you said something to me. It was part of the reason I said yes to coming here with you.”

  “What was that?”

  “You told me that you would never ask me to be anything other than myself with you.”

  “And I meant it.”

  I turn around in his arms and look up at him. “I want the same thing from you, Alexandre. I want you to be yourself with me and this,” I look around at the yacht, “I don’t think this is you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Alexandre

  I feel my body tense up. That odd prickle I had in the back of my head on the plane is now practically a jackhammer. I should have known this was all wrong.

  I’m still trying to impress Astrid, lure her in, the same way I do prospective clients and CEOs I plan to take down. Once upon a time, it was also the surest way to maneuver a quick round of sex with someone I’d picked up in one of the outdoor bars, usually without even having to leave the marina.

  “Why would you say that?” I ask, pulling away from her.

  “How often do you actually ride on this yacht?”

  If this were a game of Marco Polo, she’d be hotter than the Sun in terms of how close she is to the truth. I’m still curious as to how she’s figured me out so easily.

  “Why?” I ask, my voice slightly wary.

  She gives me a sympathetic smile and sighs. “When I first met you, you were riding this Harley Davidson, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and you took me for a ride on your ‘little boat’,” she smiles at the memory of it. “I have a feeling that’s the real you. Everything since then has felt like…like, you are putting on an act.”

  “Do you think I was acting on the plane? While eating pizza back in New York?” I reply, feeling a mixture of amusement and irritation set in.

  “No,” she says with an openly earnest look. “That’s the only time I think you have shown your real self.”

  “So why do you think I’m faking it otherwise?” I can hear the annoyance come out in my voice now.

  “You said Monte Carlo was your home, after you left America?”

  “Yes,” I reply, and I have a sense of where she’s going.

  “I’m guessing you weren’t living like this?”

  I don’t bother answering. She knows my past well enough.

  “There’s also something about you that seems to, if not resent, at least not be impressed by all of this,” she says, waving her hand around us. “Which is why it’s odd that you’d want to spend the month living this way.”

  “You aren’t enjoying yourself?”

  “Of course I am, but…I didn’t come for a luxury vacation, Alexandre. I came to be with you, the real you. I want to see the Alexandre Richmont that no one else gets to see. The part that isn’t dressed to the nines. The part that doesn’t treat people to five-course meals. The part that doesn’t make reservations at Per Se. I saw how much you enjoyed that pizza.”

  I sigh and take another sip of my champagne. That damn sledgehammer in my head is starting to give me a headache.

  ‘A lot of women have no idea how much those would really cost them.’

  Those were her very words the first day I met her. She was referring to boats like this. Even though I’ve asked nothing from her other than her companionship, she knows I’m using this yacht, the private plane, the five-course meals, the wealth and luxury to try and win her over. To try and win the only way I’ve known how.

  When really, all I had to do was be…me.

  “You’re right,” I say finally. I look out at the water that seems to go on forever. “This isn’t me. I do actually prefer that little boat.”

  She laughs lightly. “So…what would the real Alexandre be doing during his vacation?”

  “The real Alexandre doesn’t do vacations.”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Maybe the real Alexandre needs a vacation? I’m going to ask you the same question you asked me. If you could do anything, what would it be?”

  “Riding my motorcycle. Riding my boat. Escaping from it all.”

  “Sounds like a fun way to spend a month,” she hints.

  I laugh and bring her back closer to me. “But this month isn’t just about me.” I stop to consider something for a moment. “I have an idea. Name a city within…fifty miles of here.”

  “Nice,” she says instantaneously, then her face creases in confusion. She laughs. “That’s weird, it just came to me.”

  I look at her for a long moment. “You like the city?”

  “I love it. Maybe even more than Monte Carlo.”

  “You and my mother have similar tastes,” I mutter offhandedly.

  Where the hell did that one come from?

  I know exactly where it came from. More than anyone in the world, Astrid reminds me of my mother. That’s more a credit to her than it is an insult. It creates an odd mix of unease and comfort in me, like I’m facing someone who knows all my flaws and failings, but loves me despite them.

  “Your mother likes Nice?” she asks, her eyes wide with pleased surprise.

  “My mother lives in Nice,” I reply, then give her another thoughtful look. “Would you like to meet her?”

  Now her eyes are even wider. “Really? Wouldn’t that be…? Do you think she’d like me?”

  “She’d love you,” I say in all seriousness.

  Certainly much more than she likes me.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Astrid

  What am I doing?

  This is absolutely insane.

  For the second time, I’m saying these very words to myself as I take off on another adventure with Alexandre. Only, this time is even more terrifying than before.

  This time, I’m meeting Alexandre’s mother. And I thought going to a nude beach was scary.

  It’s daytime again and Monte Carlo has that same sedate feel it had when I first met him. It’s somehow fitting, as though this is how Monte Carlo, our Monte Carlo, should be experienced, not the flash and noise that greeted us last night.

  The only hint of a dark cloud is that Alexandre seems oddly tense, as though he’s having second thoughts about this visit. His grip on the steering wheel is tight as we wind through the streets of Monte Carlo, west toward Nice.

  We’re in a snazzy little retro car. A convertible 1961 Jaguar E-type, according to him. It went straight over my head, but if I ever wanted to feel like Grace Kelly to his Cary Grant, I certainly do now.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask.

  He blinks as though I’ve snapped him out of some deep internal conflict and he turns to me with a dazzling smile. �
�Of course!”

  I must not look very convinced since he tones it down. “Of course I do, Astrid,” he assures me. “It’s just that I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “How long is a while?”

  He pauses before answering, turning back to the road. “A little over a year.”

  A year! I keep my surprise to myself, but Alexandre can feel it.

  “She’s like you. She doesn’t entirely agree with my…lifestyle,” he says with a grim smile, as he stays focused on the road.

  I turn to face the streets ahead of us, absorbing that. It was already going to be awkward enough facing her, now I have the additional discomfort of being with the son she hasn’t seen in forever. I can’t imagine not seeing either of my parents for that long. Even my mother, who can be a bit much sometimes, I’d miss after a while.

  I leave it alone, instead enjoying the scenery. The sun is more intense this time of year, but the wind blowing through my hair makes it bearable. Soon I settle into the pleasure of it all, feeling the easy glamour of this place envelope me.

  Grace Kelly can have Cary Grant. I have Alexandre Richmont.

  “Where are we going?”

  We’ve been driving through narrow, winding streets forever. It’s been gorgeously scenic, with the sea on one side of us and small village after village on the other side. Now we’re on what could possibly be called open road and Alexandre has taken advantage, using the car for what it was created: speed.

  “I had a lunch packed for us. There’s a nice spot here where we can eat.”

  I realize that I’m starving as soon as he says it. The fruit and half a croissant I had this morning definitely didn’t stick.

  He takes us through more of the same impossibly narrow roads that seem to be the norm in this part of the country. Eventually, we arrive at a small landing above cliffs that fall straight down into the sea. Alexandre pulls out a blanket and a basket from the trunk. The spot where he lays down the blanket is just big enough for us. One accidental stumble and I could be plunging to my death hundreds of feet below.

  But my god, the view!

  I’m wearing one of my better dresses for the occasion. It’s a pink, knee-length dress with spaghetti straps and a ruffled neckline. The skirt billows around me as I sit on the soft blanket. I rake my fingers through my hair and find it a wild tangled mess from the open-top drive.

  “Don’t” Alexandre says, smiling at me as he pours me some sparkling water. He’s in a pair of gray pants and a casual white button-up shirt and loafers. “It makes you look like you just woke up from a night of fantastic sex.”

  I laugh as I take the cup. “I’ll leave it alone for now, but we’re damn sure stopping so I can make myself presentable before we get to your mother’s house. I don’t want her thinking we had sex in the car.”

  “Knowing my mother, she’d like you even more,” he says with a laugh. “She’s a firm proponent of enjoying life to the fullest.”

  “Well, I think I like her already,” I say, cutting into the Brie and tearing off a chunk of baguette to spread it on.

  “So,” I say with my mouth full, not caring, “tell me more about her.”

  “She was a dancer. Not professionally, but she did teach when we lived in Los Angeles,” he says as he folds a piece of salami on a chunk of bread. “I suppose that’s why she and my Dad got along so well. They both had an appreciation for music. Me, I was more analytical. I liked music, but never had a talent for it…or dancing for that matter.”

  “I doubt that,” I say, eyeing his lean, muscular build.

  He just grins. “When she moved back to Monaco, she worked at a casino, as I told you. It’s actually in the hotel where I met your parents.”

  “The one you own?”

  He nods. “That’s where she met Jules Bernard, the man who became like a father to me. He’s the one who started Bernard Financiers, which I now co-own. He and my mother were together for a while but,” he looks out into the water with a slight frown, “it didn’t last.”

  “Why not?” I’m being nosy, I know, but I’m curious as to what that look is about.

  Alexandre stares at the water a bit longer, then exhales and turns back to me with a tight smile. “She’s the artistic type. She wasn’t particularly fond of being with…with, a businessman.”

  I wrinkle my brow in confusion. It seems like an odd reason not to be with someone, especially if you love them. I consider myself an artistic type and Alexandre is definitely a businessman. It would certainly take more than that for me to break up with him.

  Especially if I loved him.

  That thought fills my stomach with warmth. There have certainly been moments where I wanted to walk away and never see the man again. Even then, I felt regret and loss, knowing I’d think about him for longer than I wanted to. This man has shown me experiences beyond my wildest dreams. He’s exciting and intriguing and fun and intelligent and charming. Even though he’s older than me, he makes me feel like a kid.

  I think about what’s going to happen when this month is up. Will I see him again? He lives here in Europe and I’ll be back in Boston, going to school.

  What then?

  The fact that I don’t want to think about that at all tells me more than I need to.

  I think I’m falling in love with Alexandre Richmont.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Alexandre

  Lunch made me forget about the purpose of this little excursion for a while. Astrid looked so damn delectable sitting there in that pink dress with her hair wild and untamed.

  Now we’re in Nice, driving around the same kinds of winding roads we left behind in Monte Carlo. We eventually arrive in the Cap de Nice neighborhood where my mother lives. It’s one of the nicer areas of the city and she lives in a pleasant yellow house with orange shutters, chosen specifically for its view of the water and the city in the distance. The gate to the driveway is open, of course. Mom never was the type to be suspicious or cautious. Yet another thing we don’t have in common.

  “Oh, this is gorgeous!” Astrid cries. “And look at that view!”

  She hops out of the car, before I can open the door for her, and runs over to the side fence which is surrounded by those trees with the pink flowers that I’ve never bothered to learn the name of. She stands on tip-toe to peek over the edge at the water. I smile as I look at her from behind.

  Talk about an amazing view.

  “It is lovely isn’t it?”

  We both turn to see my mother walking out of the front door. Anyone who saw us next to each other would know instantly we were mother and son. Although Jeanne Richmont’s features are obviously more feminine than mine, there’s no mistaking those same clear green eyes, aquiline nose, and generous mouth.

  She’s still a very attractive woman, with blonde hair that has yet to lighten into white, a slim dancer’s build and only a hint of laugh lines around her eyes. She’s wearing a loose, blue-green top and white jeans with bare feet.

  Her attention was on Astrid, who is now furiously raking her hair with her fingers. My mother smiles at the attempt before looking my way. The smile softens when she takes me in.

  “Alexandre,” she says, opening her arms.

  I walk over to hug her, smelling that familiar hint of lemon verbena that always fills the air around her. The guilt hits me immediately. My mother is nothing but accepting of me as a son and a person. Our only point of contention has always been Jules Bernard, specifically, my choosing to follow in his footsteps.

  “And you must be Astrid,” my mother says, her smile brightening as she takes her in. I did call and tell her I was coming for a visit and bringing…a friend. Being the touchy-feely sort, her arms are open once again for Astrid. “I’m Jeanne, Alexandre’s mother.”

  Astrid smiles and falls into her embrace, as though she’s her long-lost daughter. I was right when I predicted they would like one another instantly. My mother pulls away and holds Astrid at arm’s length.

 
“Très belle,” she says, smiling at Astrid, then turning a raised eyebrow my way.

  “Come in, it has been too long since I have seen you, Alexandre,” she says in a teasing tone, which only makes me feel even more guilt. “And I want to know all about you, Astrid.”

  She and Astrid walk in, arms around each other’s waist as though they’ve been friends forever.

  I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

  “So, I suppose I should ask the question I’m sure you are tired of already. How did you two meet?”

  We’re sitting on the wide veranda overlooking the truly spectacular view of the main part of Nice and the far reaches of the sea. Mom has set out some nuts and fruit and poured white wine for us.

  Astrid looks my way with an embarrassed smile and a hint of color touches her cheeks. It isn’t lost on my mother, who has a habit of catching everything. Her eyes slide from Astrid to me with an amused gleam.

  “Astrid?” I offer, allowing her to tell the tale. I’m actually curious to see how her version matches with mine.

  She finishes her sip of wine and exhales with a laugh. “Well…I was just sitting there in Monte Carlo, sipping wine, when I heard this loud noise and…there was Alexandre on his motorcycle. He was…” she looks my way with sparkling eyes, then her cheeks color again. “He caught my eye. Then he offered to take me out on his little boat.”

  “And you said yes?” Mom asks, looking at Astrid with thoughtful consideration.

  “Mmm hmm,” Astrid says behind her wine glass. She darts her eyes toward me and smiles. I like her version almost as much as mine.

  My mother smiles and looks out at the view of the sea, running her finger along the rim of her glass. “That reminds me of how I met Alexandre’s father.”