Monte Carlo Affairs. Emilie Rose
tackled the stemware.
“Que fais-tu?” Franco asked from behind her, startling her into almost dropping the last glass.
She didn’t turn. “I’m washing the dishes.”
“My housekeeper comes tomorrow.”
She finished drying the wineglass, set it on the counter and carefully folded the damp towel, delaying facing him until the last possible moment. When she did she focused on the cleft in his chin rather than his eyes. “It’s done.”
“You are my mistress, Stacy, not my maid.”
Mistress. Her mother would have been appalled. Her mother, who’d always told Stacy the right man would treat her like a princess. Her mother, who’d led a secret life Stacy hadn’t known about until the investigation into her mother’s murder had revealed details of a life that looked like a fairy tale to outsiders, but had actually been a nightmare.
“Am I? Still?”
Franco closed the distance between them. He’d dressed in the clothing he’d worn earlier, but without the tie or jacket, and he’d left the top few buttons of his shirt open. Her traitorous nipples tightened at the memory of those dark, wiry curls teasing her breasts.
He reached out and lifted her chin, forcing Stacy to look into his eyes—eyes that no longer burned with passion, but were completely inscrutable instead. “Unless you find my touch repugnant, and I don’t think you do, mon gardénia, then our agreement stands.”
She couldn’t speak and didn’t know what she’d say if she could find her voice. Did she want the affair to continue? His fingers stroked down her neck, making her pulse leap and her skin tingle. Apparently, no matter what her brain said, her body was all for the affair.
He withdrew his hand. “Come. I’ll drive you to the hotel.”
“You look shell-shocked.”
Stacy pivoted and found Madeline behind her in the hotel lobby. “Hi.”
“Was that Franco I saw leaving?”
“Yes.” After a silent ride from his home, Franco had insisted on walking her inside. Stacy hadn’t invited him upstairs.
“Okay, Stace, what gives?”
“Nothing. I … we had dinner.” He hadn’t kissed her goodnight, and she didn’t know whether that was good or bad.
“Uh-huh, and what else?”
Her cheeks burned. She wished she and Madeline were closer, because she needed to talk to someone, and she was certain the more experienced woman would be able to help her unravel her tangled and conflicting emotions.
“Stacy, did he hurt you?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. We should go up. It’s late.”
“It’s barely midnight, and we’re not going upstairs until you tell me what has you fluctuating between blood-red and hospital-sheet white.” Madeline hooked her arm through Stacy’s and half led, half dragged her toward the bar.
Within minutes Madeline had snagged them a secluded table, an attentive waiter and a couple of fruity cocktails. “Drink and spill.”
Stacy didn’t know where to begin or how much to share with this woman whom she’d only met a week ago.
“Okay, let me start. You slept with him and …” Madeline prodded.
Stacy choked on her drink. “How did you know?”
Madeline shrugged. “Was it good? Because I’m going to be seriously disappointed if a guy as sexy as Franco Constantine was a lousy lay.”
Lousy lay. The words echoed in Stacy’s head, an unpleasant blast from the past, compliments of the high-school jock who’d wooed her until she’d surrendered her virginity. She’d thought being a popular guy’s girlfriend would win her acceptance in a new school, but afterward he’d dumped her and told all his friends she was a lousy lay. That was the first time Stacy had welcomed her mother’s decision to relocate.
Madeline gripped her hand. “You’ve gone pale again. Start talking, Stace, or I’m calling the cops, because I’m starting to think he forced you do something you didn’t want to do.”
“No, don’t. There’s no need for that. Yes, we slept together and no, it wasn’t lousy. He didn’t hurt me or force me. I promise.” Uncomfortable with the confession, she shifted in her seat.
“Did he dump you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She hesitated and then confessed in a whisper, “I barely know him and I had sex with him.”
“So?”
So she felt like a tramp. Worse, she’d made a bargain with a man who had the power to make her repeat her mother’s mistakes. Not one of her finest decisions.
“You weren’t a virgin, were you?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not seeing a problem. It was good, right?”
Stacy could feel a blush climbing her neck as she nodded.
“And what’s wrong with being with a guy who makes you feel good as long as he’s not diseased, married or committed to someone else?”
Stacy fidgeted with her napkin. “Nothing, I guess.”
“Stace, there are plenty of guys out there who’ll make you feel like crap. You have to grab the good ones when you can. And if it lasts, great. If it doesn’t …well, you tried. As long as you’re careful. STDs are ugly. Take my word on that. I see plenty of them in the E.R.”
Madeline took a sip of her drink and then continued, “It’s a double standard, you know? Guys are expected to be experienced and good in bed, but women are supposed to virtuously wait for Mr. Right. How will we recognize him if we don’t look around? And what happens when our Mr. Right turns out to be a total jerk?”
Stacy vaguely remembered Candace mentioning a nasty breakup in Madeline’s past. She tentatively covered Madeline’s hand offering support, but at the same time Madeline’s words lifted a load from Stacy’s shoulders.
An affair with Franco wouldn’t hurt anyone as long as she remembered his passion-profit-and-no-promises offer was temporary and kept her heart safely sealed off. For the first time all night she smiled. “Thanks, Madeline. I needed to hear that.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for.”
Friends. Stacy savored the word and nodded.
When she left Monaco behind she’d have friends, good memories of sex instead of only bad ones, and for the first time in her life, she’d have a nest egg and soon, a home of her own.
And she’d be an ocean away from the man who threatened her equilibrium.
“Everybody needs to take a nap today,” Candace said as she entered the sitting room for breakfast and their usual planning session Friday morning. She placed her cell phone on the coffee table. Candace was the only one of the women who had one that worked in Monaco. Their U.S. cell phones were useless here.
“Why?” Stacy asked.
“Because Franco’s taking us to Jimmy’z tonight. He says the place doesn’t start rocking until after midnight.”
Franco. Stacy’s heart skipped a beat. She’d wondered when she’d see him again. Wednesday night he’d left her with a vague, “I will be in touch.”
Because she refused to waste a day in paradise sitting in her room and waiting for him to call, she’d spent yesterday exploring Monaco-Ville, the oldest section of Monaco, alone. Her suitemates had other commitments.