Franco had been out of town since Thursday morning, and her body, which had happily gone without sex for so many years, was having withdrawals. And withdrawal is all it is, she assured herself. Just because he’d shown her facets of her sexuality that she’d never known existed didn’t mean she was developing an emotional attachment to him. She hadn’t missed him or anything mushy like that. Besides, his absence had allowed her to spend time with her suitemates.
She was actually beginning to feel like one of the group instead of an outsider. The bonds of friendship were forming, and tonight while they’d fussed over each other’s clothes, hair and makeup in preparation for the ball she’d had a hint of what it might have been like to have sisters. But she wasn’t comfortable enough yet to tell her suitemates the unvarnished truth. “Not serious, no. I’m just having a holiday romance as Madeline suggested.”
“Are you sure it’s not more than that?” Candace asked. “You certainly jumped on that gown the moment the shop owner told you Franco had suggested she help you choose something the color of your eyes.”
Heat rushed to Stacy’s cheeks. So she wanted to look attractive for him. What was wrong with that? She was beginning to realize he wasn’t an arrogant ass even though he did a good imitation of one quite often by pulling away immediately after making love—having sex. But if he were truly a jerk he never would have had her watch repaired or treated her friends to this Cinderella evening. He’d shown his generosity in a dozen other ways outside of bed, like the museum and theater tickets that had been delivered to their suite Thursday morning, the basket of chocolates yesterday and the flowers today. He was showering her with gifts her friends could share—gifts she couldn’t refuse without depriving her suitemates.
She shrugged. “He’s paying for my gown. He ought to have some say about it.”
“Uh-huh,” Madeline said, her disbelief clear. She’d chosen a drop-dead-sexy black dress guaranteed to make heads turn, but Madeline seemed to be searching for someone in particular and was unaware of the attention her dress garnered. “Don’t get your heart involved, Stace. Remember, we go home in two weeks.”
Stacy nodded. How could she forget that in a matter of days she’d either leave Franco and the most sensual period of her life behind or discover she’d repeated her mother’s mistake? The first filled her with regret, the second with stomach-twisting apprehension. She forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”
She scanned the crowd searching for Franco. He was supposed to meet them here tonight, but they were a little late arriving. Her gaze collided with his across the room and her stomach took a nose-dive to her sandals. He turned and spoke to the group he was with and then headed in her direction. Her pulse skipped erratically and her mouth dried.
He looked amazing in a tuxedo. Rich. Powerful. Sexier than any man in the room. And hers. For now. The thought filled her with pride …and doubts. Why her when, judging by the heads turning in his wake, he could have any of these more sophisticated women?
Desire flared in his eyes as he climbed the shallow stairs. His gaze lingered on her décolletage before gliding to her toes and back to her face, and then he took her hand in his and bent to brush his lips over her knuckles. He straightened and looked into her eyes. “Tu es magnifique, mon gardénia.”
Before she could find her voice he turned toward her companions and bowed slightly without releasing her hand. “Bonsoir, mesdemoiselles. Vous êtes très belle ce soir. As before, the limo is at your disposal. You will forgive me if I steal Stacy for a dance.”
He didn’t wait for a reply, but tucked her hand in his arm and led her away. Stacy glanced over her shoulder at the women who offered her a trio of grins and thumbs-up.
On the dance floor Franco pulled her into his arms, leaving her with the sensation of being swept off her feet and into another world—a world in which she wasn’t a lonely, staid and unemployed accountant. For a few moments she could pretend to be one of the beautiful, glamorous people who attended exclusive balls, traveled by limousine, rubbed elbows with royalty and captivated a millionaire.
But this wasn’t real. She had to remember that.
She laced her fingers at Franco’s nape, relishing his slight shudder when she inadvertently teased the sensitive skin with her nails. Each night he’d taught her something new about giving pleasure as well as receiving it. She loved knowing she had the power to make him tremble with desire, but the downside of learning her strength was that her fear of letting anyone get too close faded more with each intimate encounter. Keeping her walls strong wasn’t as easy as before—especially when his touch made her feel so alive.
The muscular length of his thighs and torso brushed hers as he swayed to the music. He nuzzled her temple and inhaled deeply, his chest rising to tease her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown. “J’ai manqué ton parfum.”
She tilted her head back and studied him through her lashes. His passion-darkened eyes cut short any attempt at translating his words. Her skin prickled with awareness and desire smoldered within her. Only inches separated their mouths and the urge to rise on her toes and kiss him tugged at her, but this was his turf, not hers. She didn’t know the rules here and until now had never been tempted to make a public display.
“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 naked 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 hips 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
