“They’re Boca Raton and I’m trailer trash. They’re not going to want somebody like me raising their grandchild.”
Stacy understood the feeling of not fitting in all too well, but running had never made it better. “Number one, Candace, you’re not trailer trash. You’re a registered nurse. Number two, I suspect the Reynards are going to want someone raising their grandchild whose love will stay strong through the good times and the bad.”
“That would be you,” Amelia said.
Stacy nodded. “Don’t forget what you’ve already been through with Vincent. I’m sure they haven’t.”
After a moment Candace’s lips curved into a quivery smile. She looked at each of them in turn and then took a shoulder-straightening breath and lifted her chin. “You’re right. I am the perfect woman for Vincent, and if the Reynards don’t agree, well…I’ll just prove them wrong.”
“We’ve got your back,” Madeline vowed.
Stacy wished she had half as much confidence as her friend in matters of the heart. But she didn’t. She was an emotional coward and probably always would be.
“Don’t ever fall in love, man,” Vincent groaned into his beer.
“That is not what you have been telling me for the past six months,” Franco replied as he sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Vincent and pressed the remote control to his plasma television. He tuned his satellite dish into an American sports channel. “You have been singing the praises of a woman to warm your bed.”
Vincent wore a besotted expression similar to the one Franco had seen on his father far too often—one Franco swore never to wear again. Lisette had cured him.
“It’s more than regular sex. It’s waking up beside her and watching her sleep. Or knowing she loves you enough to let you see her without her makeup on or to kiss her before she brushes her teeth.”
The back of Franco’s neck prickled. He shifted his shoulders to ease the uncomfortable sensation. He had watched Stacy sleep this morning at the chateau, but that had nothing to do with love. It had been lust. Nothing more. And the kiss on her brow had been an attempt to wake her and satisfy his hunger. If in the end he had elected to take a cold shower and let her sleep, it was only because he had driven her to orgasm so many times last night that he doubted her capable of coming again so soon, and he never left a woman unsatisfied in bed.
“Fifty bucks says the Marlins whip Boston,” Vincent said, drawing Franco’s attention back to the baseball game. “Women aren’t logical. And they’re full of contradictions.”
“I agree, and I accept your bet.” He had finally found Stacy’s weakness. She could be bought but only if the gifts benefitted her friends. Such altruism had to be a pretense.
“Women are like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Frustrating. Unsolvable. And I ought to know. I must have put a hundred puzzles together during my hospital stay.”
“You will get no argument from me.” Each secret he uncovered about Stacy suggested she was not like the other women of his acquaintance, which only meant he needed a more complete picture to uncover her strategy. He glanced at his watch. When would she call?
Vincent had phoned immediately after Franco had left Stacy at the hotel ninety minutes ago. Watching baseball with his friend was not the sexually satisfying afternoon Franco had planned, but he could not concentrate on work, and he had been a Red Sox fan since his days at MIT.
Vincent’s expression turned to one of bewilderment. “When I told you I’d keep Candace busy I honestly thought she and I would spend every spare minute of the next three days making up for four weeks’ abstinence. But this morning I mentioned my parents were flying in today and that I wanted to tell them about the baby, and she freaked.”
“Due to your parents’ arrival or to revealing the pregnancy?”
“Don’t know. That’s the illogical part. Candace and my parents get along, and in another month or two she’ll be showing. No point in trying to hide it. Besides, I don’t want to. I spent years avoiding getting a girl pregnant, but the minute I found out Candace was carrying my baby I wanted the world to know. Candace is the one who insisted we keep a lid on it. Besides, my folks will be thrilled to finally have a grandkid on the way since my sister isn’t anteing up.”
Franco’s father was impatient as well. Impatient enough to force Franco’s hand. Franco’s mind flashed back to the image of Stacy in the nursery rocking chair, her wistful expression before she’d known he was watching and the sadness in her eyes when she’d talked about her mother.
Stacy’s life had been tragically difficult, but it had not broken her. He had to respect her strength even though he disliked her willingness to sell herself for financial security. How hypocritical of him, since he benefited from her mercenary streak.
Vincent swore as a Sox batter hit a grand slam. “If they keep this up I’ll owe you for more than the tickets to the ball and that killer dress you bought for Candace.”
“There is no need to repay me.”
“Bull. You and Toby are babysitting these women at my request. I’ll cover all the costs, and I’ll grant you a year’s lease on a Midas Chocolates location in the galleria of the Aruba hotel.” He popped a handful of nuts in his mouth and washed them down with a sip of beer.
“The hell of it is, Franco, that when I was stuck in labor negotiations, Candace is all I thought about. And I got pissed—not because the union rep was being a prick, but because he was keeping me away from Candace. It’s hard to care about dollars and cents when I’m scared as hell that I’m going to blow it with her. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and if having my lady-killer mug back meant never having met her, I’d rather keep the face that frightens children.”
Surprised by the emotional speech from a man previously not given to sentiment, Franco drained his beer. Stacy had invaded his concentration at work as well this past two weeks. No woman had ever done so—not even Lisette. The only positive in the situation was that his preoccupation would end as soon as she boarded the plane bound for the States. “The scars are less noticeable with each surgery and graft.”
“Yeah, but unlike you, I won’t win any beauty contests.”
The doorbell rang, wiping the smile from Franco’s lips. He was not expecting anyone. Normally, he would be at work on a Monday afternoon. Stacy? No, she would call and his cell phone had not rung. He had checked twice to make sure it was turned on. “Excuse me.”
He crossed the entrance hall and opened the door. Stacy stood on the porch looking as delicious as a juicy peach. A wide-brimmed straw hat covered her chestnut hair and a pale-orange sundress outlined her curves. Her bare legs looked magnificent despite the bulky walking sandals she insisted on wearing.
The breath stalled in his lungs, but his heart raced. He caught a glimpse of a taxi’s taillights turning out of the drive.
A tentative smile wobbled on her lips. She removed her sunglasses, revealing her azure eyes. “Is it too late to go boating?”
“Vincent is here.” He found her fading smile and obvious disappointment surprisingly gratifying since it mirrored his own. He used his thumb to free her bottom lip from her teeth. “Come in.”
“I don’t want to intrude. I’ll just call a cab.” She reached for her cell phone, but he caught her hand.
“Non. Stay.” He dragged his knuckles along her arm. She shivered, reminding him of last night, of tasting every inch of her delectable skin until she whimpered and squirmed. “You may sunbathe by the pool. I will drench your body in suntan oil, and when the game ends I will send Vincent in search of Candace and we will have the sybaritic afternoon we anticipated, but on dry land. My patio is private. No one will see or hear when I make you cry out in ecstasy.”
Her breath hitched and her n**ples pushed against her dress. “Okay.”
He motioned for her to precede him. Stacy crossed the foyer and entered the den. Franco noted that she avoided stepping on the rugs. He filed the odd fact away for later.
Snapping his cell phone closed, Vincent rose. “Hi, Stacy. Rain check on the game, Franco. Candace called. I have to go.”
Vincent shook his head when Franco smirked. “You’re laughing now, but one of these days a woman will have you dancing to her tune.”
“That will not happen, mon ami.”
“Just wait, bud. Your day will come. I’ll see myself out.” A moment later the front door closed behind Vincent. The engine of his Ferrari roared and then faded in the distance.
Franco turned to Stacy. “Remove your clothing.”
She gasped and clutched her bag tighter. “Here? Now?”
“Oui.” He tugged his shirt over his head and pitched it onto the sofa. He retrieved the condom from his wallet before dropping his trousers and briefs and kicking off his shoes and removing his socks. Stacy watched wide-eyed and then licked her lips as she stared at his growing erection. The slow glide of her tongue over her rosy flesh made him pulse with need.
She turned her back. Franco swept her silky hair aside, unzipped her dress, flicked open her bra and shoved both to the floor. He dragged her panties down to her ankles, pulled her back to his front and cupped her br**sts. For several seconds he fought the urgency to be inside her and simply savored the feel of her warm, soft skin against his and the weight of her br**sts in his palms. He inhaled her scent and his control wavered. He stepped away. “Come.”
He led her outside, dropped the condom on the table and then arranged the double-width lounger to his liking. He took the straw tote which she held in front of her like a shield and set it on the tiles. Despite Stacy’s apparent shyness, her n**ples were erect and desire flushed her face and neck.
“Lie face down.”
She crawled onto the chaise, presenting him with her delectable bottom. He fisted his hands against his rampant hunger.
“You have suntan oil?” His voice came out an octave lower than usual.
“I have lotion in my bag.”
“Pas le même chose. Not the same. I will return momentarily, and then, mon gardénia, I will make you moan.”
An all-over tan had never been one of Stacy’s goals. She didn’t even have the courage to try on one of the thong bikinis so prevalent on the beaches here. And forget going topless.
She could not believe she was nak*d on Franco’s patio. Glancing left and right, she verified that this spot was indeed private, thanks to the vine-covered trellises at each end of the house. The sun warmed parts of her it had never seen before. And then Franco returned, striding boldly, nudely, in her direction. He had a pair of towels tucked under his arm, a bottle of suntan oil in one hand and one of water in the other.
Her heart pounded faster. She dampened her dry lips. If anyone had ever told her a month ago that she could become a hedonistic creature she’d have called them delusional.
“Close your eyes,” he said as he dropped the items he carried beside her on the chaise and straddled her legs. Stacy did so, admitting she’d probably brought this on herself by telling him his masseuse had not turned her on. What Franco had done after the masseuse left, on the other hand…. The memory sent a delicious tingle through her. Suffice to say she would never view the long wooden benches of a sauna in the same way again. If she ever saw the inside of another sauna.