Читать книгу Monte Carlo Affairs: The Millionaire's Indecent Proposal - Emilie Rose - Страница 13

A wiser man would choose another woman, Franco told himself as he entered Hôtel Reynard a few minutes before midnight. Stacy had made him feel more than sexual relief—a luxury he no longer afforded himself. It would not happen again.

He had ignored her yesterday just to prove he could, but he had failed miserably. She had invaded his thoughts like a fever. If the family estate and the company he had sweated blood over were not at stake, he would bid her farewell. But it had taken him two months after making the agreement with his father to find a woman who met both his and his father’s criteria. Stacy came with the added benefit of leaving the country after the month was up. He would not have to deal with a clingy woman who refused to accept goodbye.

Nodding to the concierge, Franco stepped into the penthouse elevator and swiftly ascended. Tonight there would be no intimate conversations. He would dance with Stacy in the crowded, noisy club. Afterward he would send her suitemates back to the hotel in the limo and take Stacy to his villa where they would have sex. And then he would put her in a cab and send her back to the hotel. Alone.

He did not want to know her better—except intimately, of course. Nor did he want to discover what had made an attractive and intelligent woman completely unaware of her appeal, for she seemed to have absolutely no vanity.

The suite’s doorbell chimed when he touched the button, and seconds later the wooden panel swung open. Stacy. She took his breath away. His gaze absorbed her, from her loose shining hair to the outfit he had chosen, down her lovely legs to her pink-painted toenails in the sexy heels.

“Tu es ravissante, mon gardénia,” he murmured in a barely audible—thanks to the annoying thickening of this throat—voice.

Her cheeks pinked and she dipped her chin. “Thank you. And if I look ravishing it’s because of the lovely outfit. Thank you for that too. But you don’t have to buy—”

“The color matches your eyes when you climax,” he interrupted. Ignoring her shocked gasp, he reached for her right hand and bent to kiss her knuckles. At the same time he retrieved the diamond bracelet she had left behind from his pocket and fastened it on her wrist.

He straightened. “Are your suitemates ready? I have a limo downstairs.”

“Is that Franco?” Candace called from within the suite.

Fingering the bracelet, Stacy stepped back, opening the door and revealing the trio of women. “Yes. He has a limo waiting.”

“Then let’s go,” Madeline replied. “And Stace, if that’s the kind of stuff you have stashed in your closet I’m glad we’re the same size.”

Stacy shot him a quick glance as if warning him not to correct Madeline. “I need to get my purse.”

His gaze followed her as she walked away, the uneven hem of her skirt swinging flirtatiously above her knees. Knowing her buttocks were bare save the clinging fabric of her skirt and the thin ribbon of her thong made his blood pool behind his zipper. Nor could he take his eyes from her once she rejoined them. This fascination was not good. But it was temporary. He would get over it.

In the limo he settled beside her with the other women on the seat across from them. Stacy’s scent filled his nostrils and her legs drew his gaze. His fisted his hand against the compulsion to smooth his palm up her thigh.

He belatedly remembered the role Vincent had asked of him. “I have a table reserved beside the dance floor. The rules are different here than in the States. Unattached men and women dance freely without partners. If you see someone you wish to dance with you make eye contact, and if the interest is returned you move toward each other on the floor.”

“You mean the guys don’t ask you to dance?” Amelia queried.

“Not verbally, no. The club is safe, but if you have problems come to me. Stacy and I will be nearby.”

Stacy’s eyes widened. She seemed to sink deeper into the seat as her companions’ speculative gazes landed on her. She had not wanted her friends to know about the money, but hiding the affair would be impossible.

Franco nodded to Candace. “Vincent says you are only to dance with women or ugly men.”

His comment brought a laugh and eased the tension. “The limo is on standby. If you wish to leave, use it. Don’t get into cars with strangers.”

A collective groan arose from the opposite bench and Madeline mumbled, “Not my father’s favorite speech.”

Franco shrugged. “Vincent charged me with your safety.”

The limo pulled to a stop outside Jimmy’z. The women climbed out, Stacy last. Franco followed, his gaze on her shapely bottom. The men gathered near the entrance eyed the women, Stacy in particular. Franco rested a possessive hand on her waist and bent closer. “You will dance with no one but me.”

She briefly closed her eyes and then nodded.

Inside, the hostess led them to their table. The club was dark and the music loud with a driving beat. Franco wondered what Stacy thought of the retro decor, but decided it did not matter. Knowing her tastes was not part of their deal.

He arranged for their drinks and waited with impatience he had no business feeling for Stacy to consume hers while the women chatted, pointed out celebrities and acclimatized themselves to the club. An hour later even the shy Amelia had deserted them for the dance floor. Franco extended his hand. Stacy bit her lip, hesitating before she laid her palm over his and rose.

Thankful that slow songs were few and far between at Jimmy’z, he led her onto the floor. The night would be long enough without the arousing slide of her body against his. Needing the physical exertion to expend some of his caged energy, he released her hand and found the rhythm of the beat. Stacy moved self-consciously at first, but soon either the gyrating crowd surrounding them or the alcohol relaxed her. The results devastated him. A slight sheen of sweat dampened her flushed skin, reminding him of her face just before le petit mort. He would have been better off if Stacy had remained stiff.

His gaze slid over her. When he had chosen her clothing he’d had no idea the effect she would have on his control and his carefully planned evening. Each pirouette flared her skirt almost to her bottom. He wasn’t the only man to notice. A primitive urge to mark her as his surged through him.

He cupped a hand around her nape, pulled her close and pressed a quick, hard kiss on her lips. He said into her ear, “You dance like you make love. Très sexy.”

Shock made Stacy stumble. Could the man read minds? Franco caught her quickly, pulling her flush against the hot length of his hard body. The contact was too intense, too arousing. She jerked back, her gaze slamming into his. Suddenly the air seemed loaded with sexual tension.

For the past two hours she’d been thinking he moved like an invitation to sin—an invitation she wanted to accept more and more with each passing second. She’d believed that after a night in his bed she couldn’t—wouldn’t—desire him again. Wrong. Her body, already warm from dancing, flushed with heat and pulsed with a sexual awareness with which she’d been unfamiliar until Franco.

Franco moved closer, his hand curving around her waist and his hips punctuating the beat in a purely sensual dance that made her feminine muscles clench in anticipation. A mating dance. Not graphic or crude. Just devastatingly, pulse-acceleratingly sensuous. And she wasn’t the only woman to notice. Since they’d arrived, each time Stacy had glanced past the cobalt silk stretched across his broad shoulders she’d caught women glaring at her or ogling Franco’s behind, and who could blame them?

More than one bold woman had sashayed up to them on the dance floor and shimmied directly beside him as if trying to draw his attention. But Franco’s gaze never strayed. His eyes had remained locked on hers or on the movement of her body with an intensity burning in the blue depths that made her feel incredibly attractive and yes, very desirable. Realizing she was proud to be the woman he’d chosen was a scary thought since the man should be her worst nightmare.

Her throat dried and her belly tightened. She blamed the discomforts on thirst and hunger. Nerves over this evening had ruined her appetite and she’d barely touched the dinner she and her suitemates had shared earlier. Hoping for a distraction, she dampened her lips and glanced toward their table, but her friends weren’t there to rescue her.

Franco intercepted her look, caught her hand and led her off the dance floor without a word. He paused beside her chair, brushed stray tendrils of hair from her damp forehead and tucked them behind her ears. His fingertips lingered over her pulse points, no doubt noting the rapid tattoo not solely caused by the dancing, and then one hand traced her collar bone and dipped into the V of her top. Desire rippled over her, tightening her nipples and making her shiver.

“Another drink, mon gardénia?”

Maybe the alcohol was to blame for loosening her inhibitions and erasing her common sense. Whatever, she wanted him to kiss her instead of staring at her lips as if he would consume her were they not surrounded by people, and her response was both unacceptable and unwise, given what she knew of men in his position.

She cleared her throat and sat. “Water this time.”

He signaled the waiter, ordered another round of drinks for their table and seated himself beside her.

Stacy gasped when his hand smoothed up from her knee and then her breath wheezed out again when his fingertips stroked along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

“You wish to go?”

She did. Oh boy, she did. What did it say about her that she couldn’t wait to get back to his house, back to his bed? She waited until after the waiter deposited the drinks and left to reply. “We shouldn’t leave before the others.”

“Amelia has found someone. Madeline and Candace are coming this way.”

Surprised that he’d kept track of her suitemates, she turned in her seat and searched the crowd until she located Amelia dancing with a tall, sandy-haired man. “Should we leave her with him?”

“Toby will take care of her.”

“Toby? Toby Haynes? The race-car driver?”

“Oui, and Vincent’s best man. He is also charged with your safety while you are in Monaco.” He removed his hand as the women neared the table and Stacy immediately missed his touch.

Something is definitely wrong with you.

Madeline and Candace slid into their seats.

“Merci, Franco,” Candace said. She and Madeline toasted him with their fresh drinks. “This has been a blast, but I wish Vincent were here.”

Madeline scanned the crowd. “And Damon. I had hoped he’d join us tonight.”

“Damon is your tour guide?” Stacy asked.

“Yes. But I guess he had to work tonight.”

“Shall I call for the limo for you?” Franco asked.

“Yes,” Madeline and Candace answered simultaneously.

“Excuse me.” Franco left the table, headed onto the dance floor and spoke to Toby and then disappeared toward the club entrance.

Candace grinned mischievously. “I’ll tell ya, Stacy, Franco is definitely a keeper. He has some seriously sexy moves, and if he’s half as good in bed as he is on the dance floor, a girl could have a real good time.”

Stacy’s cheeks burned. She ducked her head and fiddled with her cocktail napkin. So this was girl talk. “He’s a good, um … dancer.”

“You’re going home with him?” Madeline asked.

Stacy fought the urge to squirm in her seat. “Yes, but I’ll be back for our morning meeting.”

“The only thing on the agenda tomorrow is me tinkering with the rehearsal dinner and reception seating. No work for you, so stay as long as you like,” Candace replied with a wink and a smug smile. “It’s almost 3:00 a.m. I have a feeling we’ll all be sleeping in.”

Stacy had permission to spend the entire night with Franco. Did she want to? The swiftness of her answer surprised and alarmed her. She’d slid far too easily into the role of a rich man’s mistress.

“Remove your clothing,” Franco ordered in the darkness thirty minutes later.

Stacy’s breath caught. She couldn’t see anything, not even her hand in front of her face, and she didn’t know where she was. Franco had led her into his home, and without turning on any lights, he’d guided her down a hall and a flight of stairs.

The click of her heels had echoed off the walls until they’d stopped moving and now the eerie silence deafened her. Or maybe her thunderous heartbeat drowned out all sound.

Did she dare trust him? She found herself wanting to. Scary.

A mechanical whirl startled her, making her look to her right. The wall slid open like a curtain to reveal moon-washed gardens, the roar of a waterfall and a spa large enough to lie down in without touching the sides.

Half of the spa is concealed beneath the house by the falling water. I would like to make love to you there, Franco had said. Was it only a day and a half ago?

A thrill of anticipation raced through her. Anticipation. Something she’d never experienced in a relationship with a man before Franco.

Moonlight seeped around the cascading water to dimly illuminate her surroundings, and a gentle breeze wafted in, carrying the scent of flowers. The people of Monaco loved their flowers. Gardens and flower boxes abounded.

Stacy scanned the room filled with more exercise equipment than the gym in her apartment complex until she spotted Franco in the shadows. He flipped a switch and the whirlpool splashed to life, its water gleaming like bubbly champagne from the golden glow of lights beneath the surface.

With his gaze fixed on her he leaned against the wall, toed off his shoes and removed his socks. Mesmerized, she watched as he straightened and reached for the buttons on his shirt. It fluttered to the floor followed quickly by his pants and briefs. He stood before her like a finely chiseled statue. An incredibly aroused and well-endowed statue. His chin lifted. “Your turn.”

She gulped and reached for the knot of her sheer wrap, but she was nervous, her fingers uncooperative. She’d never stripped for a man before. Nor had she ever had one look at her the way Franco did with his gaze burning over her, his nostrils flaring, his fists clenched by his side. Finally, the knot gave way. She shrugged off the wrap and dropped it on a nearby weight bench.

Taking a fortifying breath, she reached for the back hook and zipper of her skirt. It swished down her legs. She stepped out of it and her shoes and turned to deposit both on the bench.

A warm hand covered her bottom, making her jump and gasp. Franco. She hadn’t heard him cross the room. His other hand joined the first, stroking her buttocks, thighs and her belly, and molding her against him. The thong was no barrier to the heat of his lean flanks against her cheeks and the hard length of his erection against her spine. Desire made her dizzy.

What happened to maintaining a clear head and control?

He murmured something in French, something she couldn’t translate, and then his fingers caught the hem of her camisole and whisked it over her head.

“Turn around,” he ordered in a deep, velvety voice.

She pivoted on trembling legs. The sharp rasp of his indrawn breath filled her ears. He lifted a hand to outline the top of her demi-bra with a fingertip. Her nipples tightened and need twisted inside her as he retraced his path, this time delving below the lace and over her sensitive skin. How could he make her want like this?

“Take it off.”

Stacy reached behind her, unhooked the bra and shrugged out of it. Franco’s approving gaze caressed her breasts and then dropped to the tiny teal thong.

“And the rest.”

She shoved the lingerie down her legs wondering why she had not once considered saying no. And then she straightened. Franco tipped his head to indicate the spa. Stacy descended the whirlpool steps. The hot water swirled around her ankles, her calves, and once she reached the center of the small pool, her thighs. Franco joined her, reclined on the bench seat and extended his hand.

“Turn around.”

She did and then he pulled her into his lap and flattened her back against his chest with his erection sandwiched in the crease of her buttocks. The water swirled between her legs and lapped at her breasts, but then Franco’s caressing hands replaced it, massaging, tweaking, sweeping her up in a whirlpool of desire.

She let him have his way. He’d bought her, bought the right to use her any way he wanted. And she had to remember that, but it was hard to keep up the mental barriers when he touched her like this. Sure, he’d promised her pleasure, but did she really deserve it?

His teeth grazed the tendons of her neck. She shivered and tilted her head to give him better access. He stroked her breasts, her abdomen, her legs, nearing but never quite reaching the place where she needed his touch the most. She squirmed in his lap and bit back a frustrated whimper. He stood abruptly, lifting her with him, sat her on the cool tile edge of the whirlpool and then knelt between her legs.

Next time I will taste you, he’d said.

“Wait—” The touch of his tongue cut off her shocked protest with an intense burst of sensation. No man had ever licked her there. Franco laved and suckled, taking her to the brink again and again, but each time she thought she’d shatter he’d stop to kiss her thigh, nibble her hip bone or tongue her navel. Frustration built until she unclenched her fingers from the rim of the tub and tangled them in his hair to hold him in place.

He grunted a satisfied sound against her and then found the heart of her again with his silken tongue. Seconds later climax undulated through her. Her cries echoed off the stone walls and her muscles contracted over and over, squeezing every last drop of energy from her until she sagged against Franco’s bent head and braced her arms on his broad shoulders.

He straightened, reached behind her for a condom packet she hadn’t even noticed and quickly readied himself. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her to the edge of the spa and plunged deep inside her, forcing another lusty cry from her lungs. She shoved her fist against her mouth.

Franco pulled her hand away. “I want to hear the sound of your passion. Better yet, I want to taste your cries on my tongue.”

He covered her mouth with his.

She ought to be ashamed of herself, Stacy thought as she clung to him and arched to meet his thrusts, but she couldn’t seem to rally the emotion with Franco pistoning into her core and bringing her to the brink of another climax. She yanked her mouth free and gasped for breath as her muscles tensed and she came again, this time calling out his name.

Franco plunged harder, deeper and faster until he roared in release, and then all was silent except for the rush of the water and their panting breaths.

He held her, or maybe she held him, as he sank back into the hot water, taking her boneless body with him. She drifted above him. The current swirled over her sensitized skin, teasing, tantalizing, slowing her return to sanity. Without Franco’s arms to anchor her, she’d float away like a cork on the tide. She trusted him to keep her head above water.

Trust. The thought jarred her into planting her knees on the bottom of the tub on either side of Franco’s hips and pushing him away so abruptly that she almost dunked him. How could she trust him? He was everything she’d sworn to avoid, but avoiding him was becoming the last thing she wanted to do.

To protect herself she’d have to learn everything she could about him. Did he have a temper? Any obsessions?

She’d learn—even if learning meant letting her guard down enough to spend the night.

“I’ll call a taxi for you.” Franco disentangled their bodies and stood. He stepped over the low wall separating the indoor and outdoor halves of the spa and ducked beneath the waterfall. The cooler water from the pool sheeted down on his head and splashed over Stacy’s skin. Seconds later he climbed from the whirlpool.

Stacy rose on legs so rubbery it was a miracle they supported her, and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Candace said there’s nothing on the agenda for tomorrow—today. I—I can stay.”

Muscles rippling beneath his wet skin, he disappeared into an adjoining room without responding and returned moments later with a black towel around his hips and another in his fist. When she didn’t take it from his outstretched arm he dropped it beside the spa. “I have other plans for the weekend.”

Plans? With another woman? Stacy didn’t care to identify the uncomfortable emotions stirring inside her. She had no claim on Franco’s time. In fact, she should be glad he wanted to spend it elsewhere. But strangely, she wasn’t.

“There is a change of clothing for you in the bathroom.” A tilt of his head indicated the room he’d just vacated. He flicked a series of switches. The wall slid closed, the whirlpool stilled and silence and darkness descended on the room. Then overhead lights flashed on leaving Stacy feeling naked and exposed under his thorough perusal. Her damp skin quickly chilled.

“You may shower, if you like, and then join me upstairs.” He gathered his discarded garments and left.

Dismissed. He’d had his way with her and now he was done. How could he be so conscientious of her satisfaction one moment and then such a cold bastard the next? Shame crept over her.

What are you doing? Falling for the first guy to give you an orgasm? So he’s a good lover. He bought you. Just because he’s doing favors for Vincent and he watched out for your friends at the club doesn’t make him a nice guy.

And he has plans. Plans that don’t include you.

Irritated with herself, Stacy climbed from the water, dried off and wound the towel around her nakedness. She grabbed her shoes and clothing from the weight bench and let curiosity lead her into a humongous tiled bathroom. A large glass shower stall took up one corner and a wooden sauna occupied the other. And was that a massage table? Did Franco have a personal masseuse?

A V-neck sundress in a muted floral print of blues and greens and a matching lightweight sweater hung in an open closet beside a white toweling robe. She ran her fingers over the dress’s flirty ruffled hem. Silk, whereas her dresses were cotton. Designer instead of department store. Other than the sexy but impractical sandals in a box on the floor of the closet, the outfit was exactly the style she would have chosen for herself if she had an unlimited budget. Which, of course, she’d never had.

The dress tempted her, but she didn’t want anything else from Franco, nor did she want to explain to her suitemates why he kept buying her presents.

Her reflection in the long mirror caught her eye. Ugh. Her makeup was ninety percent gone and her hair clumped in wet tangles over her shoulders. She dumped her clothes on the counter, washed her face in the sink and then finger-combed her hair as best as she could. She unhooked the diamond bracelet and left it on the long marble vanity and froze. Her heart stalled. Her watch. She hadn’t removed it. Panic dried her mouth. Where had she misplaced it?

She backtracked, but didn’t see it on the bottom of the spa or anywhere around the weight bench. It hadn’t been expensive, but its value couldn’t be measured in dollars. She remembered putting it on tonight. Wherever it was, she had to find it.

Maybe Franco could help. She returned to the bathroom and quickly yanked on her dancing outfit. The cool, sweat-dampened fabric made her grimace. After smoothing the wrinkles with her hands, she followed the direction Franco had taken earlier. The stairs led to a hallway, and while she would have preferred to explore this end of the house and perhaps learn more about Franco, she tracked his voice to the living room. With his back to her, he swore, dropped the phone on the cradle and shoved his hands through his damp dark hair.

“Is something wrong?”

He turned, his gaze narrowing over her choice of clothing. He’d changed into jeans and a black polo shirt. “The taxi is unavailable for an hour. I will drive you back to the hotel. Why are you not wearing the dress?”

“I told you. You don’t have to keep buying me gifts. I accepted this one because I didn’t have anything suitable to wear tonight, but otherwise …” She shrugged. “I don’t need anything.”

His lips compressed and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “And the bracelet?”

“I left it downstairs on the counter. It’s beautiful, but not practical for an accountant. If I wore it to work people would wonder if I’d been embezzling from their accounts, and I never go anywhere dressy enough to need something like that.”

Surprise flicked in his eyes. “You will continue to work when you return home?”

“Of course.” As soon as she found another job. “Once I pay taxes on the money and buy a house there won’t be enough left to live a life of idle luxury.”

“Taxes? And what job will you list as a source for your income?”

Good question. She twisted the thin gold strap of her evening bag. “I haven’t figured that out yet, but suddenly opening a bank account with more than a million dollars would red-flag the IRS. And I’m not stupid enough to keep that much cash lying around my apartment.”

“Why not use an offshore bank?”

“Too cloak-and-dagger. I’d feel like a money launderer. Besides, not reporting the income would be illegal.” Did he think she was crazy not to hide the money? She couldn’t tell from his neutral expression. “Franco, I lost my watch. I didn’t see it downstairs. Could you give me the number for the limo service, the taxi and Jimmy’z? I’ll call to see if anyone found it. It wasn’t expensive, but it was … my favorite. I need to find it.”

“I will make the calls.”

“Thank you.” She agreed because the language barrier might be an issue, but then shifted in her sandals, reluctant for some stupid reason to see the night end. “I enjoyed tonight.”

He folded his arms and leaned his hips against the back of the sofa. “You sound surprised.”

She rubbed her bare wrist and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a clubbing kind of person.”

He studied her so intently her toes curled in her shoes, and then he reached behind him and lifted a small plastic shopping bag. “This is one gift I insist you accept. A cell phone. My numbers are already programmed into it.”

She’d be at his beck and call. But that’s what he’d bought. And the phone might come in handy when she needed to reach Candace or if one of the women needed to reach her. “Am I allowed to use it to call anyone else?”

“Not your lover in the States,” he replied swiftly.

She took the bag from him and peeked inside to see a top-of-the-line silvery-green picture phone. “I meant Candace, Madeline or Amelia. I don’t have a lover back home. If I did, I wouldn’t be involved with you.”

Again he looked as if he didn’t believe what she said—a circumstance she was beginning to get used to. He pushed off the sofa. “Come.”

She followed him outside and slid into the passenger seat of his car and waited until he climbed in beside her. “Why did you choose MIT?”

He didn’t answer until he’d buckled his seat belt and started the engine. “They have an excellent Global Leadership program.”

“Couldn’t you get that at a university closer to home?”

He pulled onto the road and drove perhaps a half mile before replying. “My mother was from Boston and I was curious about her city.”

Stacy jerked in surprise. “An American?”

Another long pause suggested he didn’t want to share personal info. “Second-generation. She met my father while visiting her cousin in Avignon.”

The lights of Monaco sparkled across the mountainside in the pre-dawn hour. Stacy didn’t think she’d ever tire of the view, but the insights into Franco fascinated her more. “Are you close to her? Your mom, I mean.”

“She died when I was three,” the brusque response seemed grudgingly offered.

“I’m sorry. It’s hard to lose a parent.” She still missed hers, and now that she knew why she and her mother had lived such a vagabond life, she could even accept, respect and forgive her mother’s choices.

A streetlight briefly illuminated his tense face. “Yours?”

A gruesome graphic image flashed through Stacy’s mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced it away. “She … died when I was nineteen.”

“And she left you enough money to attend college?”

“No. I co-oped.”

“What is that?”

“I worked part-time in my field with sponsoring companies and that meant I had to take a lighter load of classes. It took six years of going to school year-round, but I finished.”

“Vincent did not tell me that.”

“You asked Vincent about me? What did he say?”

“That he had not met you, but that you had … how did he put it? You saved Candace’s bacon in a tax audit.”

Stacy laughed and Franco’s gaze whipped in her direction. He acted as if he’d never heard her laugh. Come to think of it, he probably hadn’t. “Candace’s was my first audit, and I went a little overboard in her defense. I think the IRS agent was glad to get rid of us by the time I finished pointing out all the deductions Candace could have taken but hadn’t.”

Franco pulled the car into the hotel parking area, but not into the valet lane and stopped. He turned in his seat and studied her face in the dim light. “You enjoy your work.”

“I love—um, my job.” She’d barely caught herself before using past tense. Being laid off had been like moving to a new school and being rejected all over again. It had hurt—especially since she hadn’t done anything wrong. “Numbers make sense. People often don’t.”

He pinned her with another one of his intense inspections that made her want to squirm. “I will be out of town this weekend. A car will pick you up at quarter to six Monday evening and deliver you to my house. My housekeeper will let you in before she leaves. Wait for me. We will have dinner.”

And then sex? Her shameless pulse quickened. “I look forward to it.”

And the sad thing was, that wasn’t a lie, and Monday seemed a very long way away.