My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession Read online

  Jessie grasped my hands and stroked her thumbs over my knuckles. ‘Is there any reason why you can’t contact him?’

  The quiet question startled me with its simplicity.

  Jessie was right. Why was I letting Alexi call all the shots? I’d spoken to Cai in the vaguest of terms about his father, and then waited for his father to get in touch so we could arrange some kind of plan for Cai and him to get to know each other. But no contact had been forthcoming, so I’d buried myself in finishing up my work at Camaro, organising our move, preparing Cai for his new home and new nursery school, establishing myself in the new job and waited. And waited.

  No wonder I was so on edge. I still had no idea how Cai and I figured in Alexi’s life, and that was my fault as much as Alexi’s, because I hadn’t pushed. I hadn’t even asked. I’d allowed this whole thing to be managed on Alexi’s timetable.

  ‘No, there isn’t,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps it’s time I took control instead of leaving things to Alexi.’

  Especially as he seemed unwilling or unable to take the initiative.

  Pierre walked into the room with Cai in his arms. ‘I’d love to stay for lunch, Mademoiselle Simpson. Thank you for the invitation.’

  Cai giggled—he adored Pierre and the young man adored him. But it wasn’t Alexi’s assistant Cai had come to Nice to bond with.

  As Cai and Jessie left the room to help Camille, the new housekeeper Alexi had hired for us, with the lunch preparations, I spoke to Alexi’s assistant.

  ‘Pierre, do you know where Alexi is at the moment? And how I can contact him?’ As soon as I made the request, I realised exactly how much of a doormat I’d been. I didn’t even have a mobile number for Alexi.

  The young man’s dark skin flushed even darker. ‘Monsieur Galanti is coming back from Rome today. He will be at Villa Galanti tonight before he heads to London tomorrow to start preparations for the British Primo Grande Race.’

  How fortunate, I thought. Just as Cai and I arrived in France, Alexi was heading to London. It was almost as if he’d planned to make it impossible to meet his son.

  He wanted me here at his beck and call, but I was increasingly becoming less convinced he even wanted to meet his son.

  ‘Do you know where I could hire a car for Cai and I to use while we’re here?’ I asked.

  Pierre brightened. ‘There is no need to hire transportation. There are three new Galanti models in the garage at the back of the house for your use, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Three!’ I almost choked, yet more evidence of Alexi’s skill at making me feel overwhelmed. ‘Why would we need three cars?’

  Pierre barely blinked. ‘Monsieur Galanti thought you would need a range of cars depending on your activities. He asked me to supply you with a Galanti GLQ SUV for family excursions, a new GL8 convertible for leisure driving and a hatchback from Galanti’s GLTi range of city cars in case you wish to drive into Nice or Cannes.’

  I nodded. ‘Right.’ Apparently Alexi had thought of everything—except the most important thing, how to begin forming a relationship with his son.

  Once Cai was in bed, I could leave Jessie here to babysit and drive along the coast road towards Monaco and Villa Galanti. It was less than a half-hour drive.

  Surprising Alexi in person made more sense than trying to contact him.

  I had uprooted my son. I wanted him finally to meet his father—and for his father to meet him. That was why we were here. And I wanted to make the arrangements with Alexi before I began work properly at Galanti’s R&D centre when the ties between our professional and personal relationship would only complicate things more.

  If the mountain wasn’t prepared to come to Muhammad, Muhammad was going to have to be brave enough to go to the mountain—with a little help from a brand new top-of-the-range GL8 convertible.

  * * *

  Night had fallen by the time I drove the new convertible—which had handled beautifully—through the gates at Villa Galanti.

  Would Alexi know I was here by now? Pierre had buzzed me in and would probably be informing our boss of my visit. My nerves jumped and jiggled in my belly as I braked in front of the mansion’s Belle Époque façade. I ran through the speech I’d been rehearsing during the scenic drive along the Grande Corniche and tried not to recall another summer night. If the memories had been difficult to suppress the last time I’d been here, they were impossible to suppress now.

  Pierre appeared to greet me. ‘Mademoiselle Simpson, we did not expect you,’ he said, but he looked pleased to see me. I doubted Alexi would feel the same way.

  ‘Is Alexi here?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, Monsieur Galanti arrived an hour ago. He has gone for a walk in the grounds. Would you like to wait while I inform him of your arrival?’

  So Pierre hadn’t told him yet. I could still surprise him. I wanted to surprise him. Alexi had always had the upper hand between us, just this once I wanted to be the one in charge... Or at least the one better prepared.

  ‘Would it be okay if I went to find him? It’s important I speak to him straight away.’

  Pierre’s expression became concerned and I knew he was assuming there was a problem with Cai. I didn’t correct him.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, whipping out his smart phone. ‘Would you like me to text him and ask him to come to the house?’

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ I said, my nerves twisting into a knot in my belly—I’d never been good at subterfuge. ‘I can find him. I know the grounds well.’

  Pierre nodded and stowed his phone as I hurried off.

  I made my way through the dark gardens. The old paths and structures held so many more memories in the moonlight. I prayed that Alexi hadn’t gone for an evening swim, the way I knew he had done once to de-stress. The last thing I needed was to find him semi-naked in the pool, but as I moved through the silent flowerbeds, the scent of jasmine and bougainvillea filling my senses, I heard the muffled splashing coming from the terrace below.

  I halted, my breath catching in my lungs. I should return to the villa, confront him later, but something propelled me onwards—perhaps it was my anger with him and his avoidance of Cai and me ever since I had agreed to come to Nice. But the hum low in my abdomen which became louder and more insistent as I took the steps down to the pool terrace told a different story.

  I spotted him getting out of the pool. The moonlight gilded his body, the heavy muscles and the lean sinews flexing and bunching as he grabbed a towel from a lounger. This time, I didn’t wait for him to strip down further.

  I was here to speak for my son, I told myself, not to satisfy the hunger that buzzed and throbbed low in my belly.

  ‘Alexi?’ My voice sounded rough as I alerted him to my presence.

  His head lifted, and his gaze met mine.

  If I had hoped to catch him off-guard I was sadly disappointed. He seemed as indomitable as ever and as self-assured. His gaze roamed over me—burning every inch of exposed skin it touched.

  ‘Bella notte,’ he said. ‘Spying on me again?’

  He threw the towel around his shoulders, giving me an unencumbered view. At thirty there was no longer even the pretence of youth or softness about him. The swimming trunks that clung to his wet thighs did nothing to disguise the hard lines and unyielding strength of his body.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I said, struggling to swallow the knot of need making my throat ache and my sex pound. ‘About Cai,’ I added, but the words came out on a croak.

  Why did he have to be so mouth-watering?

  He walked towards me, slicking his wet hair back from his forehead. The moonlight made the damp waves look so dark they were almost black. Memory stirred but the surge of heat was too real, too vivid to be merely an echo of an old desire.

  Who had I been kidding? Was I really here for my son or was I here for myself? Was that the real reason I had accepted hi
s job, his largesse, why I had uprooted my child?

  ‘Pierre tells me the boy likes the house and his new bedroom,’ he said as he approached. I was surprised by the comment. So he had spoken to Pierre—had he even had a hand in choosing the decor for Cai’s bedroom which my son adored so much? Why had I never even considered he might have?

  I caught the scent of chlorine on his wet skin. The giddy heat spiralled down to my core.

  ‘Yes, yes he does,’ I said, stumbling over the words, my gaze devouring him. ‘Who chose the bed? He loves it.’

  I saw the slash of colour hit his tanned cheeks and emotion swelled in my throat to go with the giddy heat.

  ‘The designer suggested something similar,’ he said. ‘But I commissioned one to look like our latest prototype. I would have enjoyed such a bed as a boy. And it seemed to make sense as his mother will be working on the design.’

  The thoughtfulness of the gesture made my heart thunder painfully against my ribs.

  ‘What is the problem we need to discuss?’ he said, standing so close, too close.

  I knew I should step back, but the urge to feel those firm lips on mine once more was so overwhelming I felt weak with desperation. I struggled to get a grip on the conversation. To discuss his responsibilities to our son. But my reasons for being here suddenly seemed hopelessly confused. And premature. Why was I trying to force this relationship? The bed proved Alexi was thinking about his son—he wasn’t ignoring him. Or avoiding him. This was as big an adjustment for him as it was for Cai. I shouldn’t be here. Not when I’d clearly failed to get my hunger for him under any semblance of control.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I should leave,’ I blurted out, the flight instinct finally taking root.

  But as I turned to flee he snagged my upper arm in a firm, unyielding grip.

  ‘Don’t...’ The raw plea rasped across my senses, halting me in my tracks.

  He tugged me round, his gaze dark with arousal as it met mine, and the hunger surged through me like a forest fire licking across my skin, and flaring deep in my sex.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he said, then lifted a hand and trailed a thumb down my cheek.

  I shuddered, and his pupils dilated to black.

  ‘Tell me why you are really here, bella notte,’ he said.

  I was left with no choice but to tell him the truth. Or rather, the truth I had believed until I had seen him in the moonlight.

  ‘I wanted to find out why you haven’t contacted me...’ I coughed, trying to release the tightness in my throat. ‘Why you haven’t contacted us,’ I corrected.

  His touch trailed down to my collarbone, sending the sensations surging between my thighs. He brushed his thumb across the sensitive hollow where my pulse was hammering the skin. Could he feel it too?

  I knew he could when his gaze focused on mine, so hot and devastating, seeing me and only me.

  ‘I haven’t contacted you because I knew if I saw you again too soon I would not be able to keep my hands off you,’ he said, his voice as hoarse and feral as mine. And I knew, with devastating clarity, that there would be no escaping this incendiary heat a second time.

  There was and always had been unfinished business between us. Business I had tried not to acknowledge for five years. But I was forced to acknowledge it now as my sex swelled, the damp heat flooding into my panties.

  I wore a silk summer dress, not unlike the cocktail dress I’d worn that night. Why had I changed into it from the jeans and T-shirt I’d worn on the plane? Why had I showered and put on make-up before climbing into the car tonight?

  To feel strong, to feel in control, to feel as if I were a million miles away from that unsophisticated girl. That was what I’d told myself an hour ago. But I knew that for the lie it was when his fingers curled around my neck and he tugged me closer, his breath inhaling the perfume I’d dabbed at my pulse points.

  ‘You should not have come, bella,’ he murmured against my neck.

  I know.

  The thought reverberated in my head, but I couldn’t seem to regret the impulses that had driven me here any more, the lies I’d told myself.

  I pressed my palms to his abdominal muscles, knowing I should push him back and step away from the fire.

  He didn’t try to resist my touch, simply shuddered, as if waiting for me to make the choice for both of us.

  But, instead of pushing him away, my head dropped back, giving him access to my pummelling pulse.

  I could barely hear the harsh Italian curse because of the pulse thundering in my ears before his lips found the sensitive spot. He kissed me, sucking, nipping, devouring the sensitive flesh between my neck and my collarbone before his mouth captured mine—swallowing my sob of surrender.

  The heat rioted over my body as I caressed the contours of his naked chest. Encouraging, enticing.

  It was madness, but it was a madness I could no longer control.

  Why couldn’t I have this just once more? I’d made a child with this man, I’d loved him once, but this was just hunger, desire. Perhaps I needed to give into it one last time to escape it for good?

  If this was really why I had come to Nice, why I had driven along the coast road this evening, then maybe I owed it to myself—and my son—to get it out of my system. So we could both start concentrating on the only thing that really mattered: Cai.

  Alexi’s tongue delved, devouring, possessing, even more demanding than it had been the last time we’d given in to the desire. But this time I knew instinctively there would be no going back until the hunger had been sated.

  He tore his mouth away, gripped my cheeks. ‘Tell me you want this as much as I do.’

  ‘Yes... I do,’ I stuttered, the desire far too strong to deny.

  ‘Bene,’ he murmured, then scooped me into his arms and strode across the pool terrace.

  It took me several seconds to realise what was happening, the thundering beat of my heart and the relentless heat making it hard to breathe, let alone think.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘To my bed. I’ll be damned if I take you on a lounger again,’ he said, his voice harsh with frustration.

  ‘I can walk,’ I said, dazed and disorientated as he strode to the end of the terrace and up the stairs to the mansion.

  ‘Sta’zitto.’

  Shut up. Nice, I thought, but couldn’t find the breath to say it.

  All I could do was cling to him as he tightened his grip and took the steps two at a time. He carried me into the house where I had once wanted so badly to belong, and held me close as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

  The possessiveness of his hold on me did nothing to make the riot of emotions and sensations subside.

  Finally he put me down in front of the huge king-sized bed. The large room’s dark upholstery and heavy furniture was intimidatingly masculine. It suited him perfectly.

  ‘Take off the dress,’ he demanded.

  I obeyed, caught in the maelstrom of passion, of desire. I fumbled with the zip, let the thin silk shimmer over sensitised skin, and watched intently as he kicked off his wet swimming trunks.

  His erection sprang up, hard, thick and long with a yearning he could not disguise.

  ‘And the rest,’ he murmured, nodding at my bra and panties, before grabbing a box of condoms from the bedside table.

  I took off my underwear with trembling fingers, caught in the tractor beam of his gaze as he sheathed the massive erection.

  The lights from Nice twinkled in the distance as I climbed onto the bed, silhouetting him through the French windows. But Nice felt like a million miles away as he joined me, cocooning us both in the unstoppable passion, the relentless desire, our ragged breathing harsh in the still night.

  He pushed me back on the bed, opened my thighs and then, to my shock, moved lower to press his face between my legs.


  That first slow lick as he found my clitoris with his tongue made the already out-of-control sensations sparkle and soar.

  I launched off the bed, already shattering, but he held me down, drawing forth the devastating orgasm.

  As my senses swelled and shattered, then rose to shatter again, the emotion I’d been trying to control gripped my chest.

  ‘Please... I need you inside me,’ I begged, shocked by my own desperation.

  He rose over me, blocking out the lights, clasped my hips, notched his penis at my entrance and thrust heavily inside me.

  I sobbed, the sound raw, my slick sex struggling to adjust to the all-consuming fullness, and as I gripped his thick length and clung to his wide shoulders, the pleasure swelling as he moved, I felt the emotion in my throat swell and shatter too.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alexi

  MY HEART EXPANDED in my chest as I moved inside the tight clasp of Belle’s body. I still had the taste of her on my lips as I established a rhythm, digging deeper, taking more. The urgency, the drive to possess her, was so strong it controlled me instead of me controlling it.

  I didn’t care. In that moment, all I cared about was seeing her break again for me. Her sobs echoed in my ear, her frantic breathing spurring me on. I gritted my teeth and pumped harder, faster, felt the pleasure surge, tightening around the base of my spine like a vice.

  ‘Come for me, again, bella,’ I commanded, desperate to have her break once more, needing her to break first.

  I was the one in control this time. I had to be.

  She cried out against my ear, massaging my length, and I let go at last, the climax firing through me so raw and real it seemed to surge from my very soul.

  I locked my elbows to stop myself from collapsing on top of her and letting her know how completely she’d destroyed me.