“What did you say?”
His lips thinned, as if he regretted speaking. Finally he said, “I have missed your scent.”
Her heart stalled and her breath caught. “Me too—yours.”
A muscle in his jaw bunched. His fingers flexed against her hips, urging her closer to his thickening arousal. A corresponding heat pooled low in her abdomen. “We must stay until Vincent arrives and then we go. I want you nak*d and hungry for me.”
She gasped and jerked in surprise, but Franco held her close. “Vincent’s coming? I should tell Candace. She’ll be thrilled.”
“It is a surprise. He should be here any moment.” He tucked her head beneath his chin. “I must go to Avignon tomorrow. You will accompany me.”
She wanted to see where Franco had grown up, but at the same time, her duty to Candace came first. “I don’t know if I can, Franco.”
“I have paperwork I must peruse. It cannot wait and neither can I.” He smoothed a hand over her bottom. The song ended, but he made no effort to release her or leave the dance floor.
Stacy’s pulse drummed in the silence. She glanced to where she’d left her suitemates, but they weren’t there. “I’ll have to check with Candace.”
“I have already discussed it with Vincent. He has not seen his fiancée for a month, and he assures me he will not let her leave his bed for the next few days.” A flame burned in his eyes. He tightened his arms and melded his h*ps to hers as the orchestra began another song. “I understand his needs.”
She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. Franco wanted her and he made no attempt to hide his desire. What would it be like to have that forever?
Stop it. This isn’t about forever—especially not with a man like him.
She tried to pull back, mentally, physically, but the steel band of Franco’s arms held her captive. His hands and body subtly rubbed and nudged hers. The rich and famous faces around her blurred as she focused on the man who seduced her at every turn. Moisture gathered in her mouth and much lower. Dancing with him was like foreplay. Her arousal grew so intense she was tempted to find a coat closet and drag him inside. Her face burned and she buried her nose against his neck. How had he turned her from a sexually reticent woman into one who craved his touch so badly she was considering public indecency?
What seemed like eons later Franco said, “Vincent is here. Come.”
She glanced toward the entrance and saw a handsome man with brown hair. He resembled the man in the photos she’d seen, and yet Franco led her in the opposite direction. That wasn’t Vincent? But then the man in question turned his head to scan the room and Stacy saw the tight, burned skin on the right side of his face. Definitely Vincent. She caught her breath in sympathy. She couldn’t imagine the pain he’d endured. Candace had told her about the series of surgeries he’d already undergone and those yet to come.
Franco shot her a hard look and his grip on her hand tightened. “His scars repel you?”
“Of course not. Besides, I knew what to expect. Candace showed me a picture. She’s very protective of him.” And from the hard and cool tone of Franco’s voice and the warning glint in his eyes, it seemed as if he might be as well. Loyalty to his friends was yet another interesting facet of Franco’s personality, but reading him was like trying to decipher a foreign language. There were bits she couldn’t understand. “Where are we going?”
“To retrieve his fiancée.” They reached a group of women gathered on the far side of the room. “Excusez-moi, mesdemoiselles. I must borrow Candace.”
Candace frowned. “Is something wrong?”
“Non. There is someone you need to see.”
Candace noted Stacy’s hand held tightly in Franco’s and a smile curved her lips. “Having a good night?”
Stacy’s face and neck warmed. “Yes.”
“And it is about to get better,” Franco muttered for Stacy’s ears only, sending a flash fire through her.
He led them toward the entrance and stopped at the bottom of the stairs where Vincent waited with love in his eyes so intense Stacy’s heart stuttered.
Candace spotted him, squealed and launched herself into his arms. Given Stacy’s already erotic thoughts, witnessing their passionate kiss made her squirm and glance at Franco. His thumb stroked over the inside of her wrist and his eyes promised soon. Her pulse tripped.
The couple drew apart, hugged and parted again with blinding smiles. And then Vincent turned to Franco. The men embraced and exchanged a few words too quiet for Stacy to overhear in the noisy ballroom. The genuine affection between them surprised Stacy. To date, Franco had seemed somewhat aloof except when in seduction mode.
When they parted, Candace dragged Stacy forward. “Stacy, this is Vincent. Vincent, Stacy.”
Vincent extended his hand. Ignoring the scars, Stacy shook it. From Candace she knew he’d come a long way in his recovery, but other people’s squeamishness sometimes bothered him. “It’s good to meet you, Stacy.”
“You too, Vincent. And thank you for this once-in-a-lifetime vacation.”
“You’re welcome. Anything that keeps Candace from overdoing it with the wedding plans works for me.” Vincent encircled Candace’s waist and spread his left hand possessively over her still flat belly. The couple exchanged another intimate, love-laden glance.
What would it be like to have a man look at her that way?
The rogue thought staggered Stacy. Suddenly it hit her that she would never experience the bond that Candace and Vincent shared. Until now that hadn’t concerned her. In fact, being alone and safe was a path she’d deliberately chosen, but now the solitary life she’d planned yawned ahead like a barren stretch of desert road.
Because of her bargain with Franco she’d soon have a home. But it would be empty.
She’d never fall in love.
Never experience the hope, joy and anticipation of having a child with someone she loved—all of the emotions written clearly on Candace’s face.
Stacy would live alone. Die alone. And the world would be no different because of her time in it.
Sadness settled over her like a cold, wet blanket. Every lesson she’d learned to this point had made her afraid to let anyone get too close. But she’d found the courage to make friends. Could she also find the courage to allow a man into her life and into her heart?
Not a powerbroker like Franco. But maybe someone tamer. Someone less wealthy. Someone she could trust.
If such a man even existed.
Eight
Stacy had shared intimacies with Franco that made her blush, and yet she still knew very little about him beyond the physical. She hoped a night in his family home would fill in a few of the blanks.“Do you always buy your women?” she asked to fill the silence during the hours-long Sunday-afternoon car ride to Avignon.
Franco’s jaw hardened and he shot her a chilly glance. “I have never offered a woman money for sex before you.”
If that was supposed to make her feel special, it failed. “Good, because it seems a little like…prostitution.”
“It is supply and demand. You have something I want and I am willing to pay your price. Relationships always come at a price, Stacy. If you do not believe that then you are deceiving yourself. I prefer to have the terms stated up front rather than be unpleasantly surprised in the end.”
Would anyone willingly enter a relationship if they knew the costs going in? Stacy’s fling with the high-school jock had cost her her self-respect, and her short-lived involvement with a coworker had diminished her confidence. But her mother had paid the ultimate price for loving the wrong man.
Stacy pushed the memories away and studied Franco’s profile, the way he brushed his thick dark hair away from his brow, his straight nose, his sensuous lips and square chin. Beard stubble already shadowed the line of his jaw even though it was barely two in the afternoon. “As an accountant I often see the effects of costly divorce settlements. Is that what happened in your case?”
Seconds passed as Franco exited off the autoroute and onto a narrower road. She wondered if he’d avoid answering personal questions the way he usually did. She’d given up on getting an answer when he said, “Money was not the issue. My wife had an abortion. I did not know she was pregnant or that she did not want children.”
No wonder he was bitter. “I’m sorry. Did you want a large family?”
“It was assumed I would provide heirs.”
“You still could.”
“I will not marry again.”
She felt a quick stab of…something. Regret? Of course not. It didn’t matter to her if Franco didn’t want another wife. What he did once she left Monaco was none of her business. And she wanted it that way.
A few minutes later he turned down a long, straight tree-lined driveway. When they reached the clearing at the end of the drive Stacy mouthed a silent, “Wow.”
The white stone structure with its round twin towers flanking opposite corners looked like something from a fairy tale. Flags bearing coats of arms fluttered from the conical spires. It looked familiar and then she placed it as the building in the background of the picture of Franco and Vincent in Franco’s study.
“You grew up in a castle?”
“Un château. There is no moat, drawbridge or curtain wall.”
Castle, chateau, whatever. “No wonder you were able to get tickets to the ball. You’re one of them. The aristocracy.”
A twinge of envy stirred inside her—not for his wealth, but for the childhood he must have had. “You and your siblings must have loved playing here.”
“I am an only child.”
“Me too.” As a child she’d longed for someone to play with, and as a teen she’d just wanted to belong somewhere and to have someone to confide in. Always being the new kid and an outsider had been difficult.
The cobblestone courtyard circled a round multi-tiered fountain. Wanting to absorb every detail, she barely waited for the car to come to a stop before she shoved open the door and leaped out. Moments later Franco joined her beside the gurgling water. “How long has the chateau been in your family?”
He shrugged. “A few hundred years.”
“A few hundred years?” Stunned, she faced him. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”
“How so?”
Regretting her revealing outburst Stacy bit her lip and stared at the parapets and then panned the acres of emerald lawn. “You’ve always had a home to go to. A place where you belonged.”
“You did not?” he asked quietly.
“No.” She turned toward the trunk. “Let’s get the luggage. I can’t wait to see the inside of the chateau.”
He caught her arm in a firm, but not painful grip. “Explain.”
She didn’t want his pity, but if her past could keep him from taking this spectacular place for granted then what would it hurt to tell him? “My mother left my father when I was eight. After that we never lived in any one city for more than a year.”