Blogger Bundle Volume VIII: SBTB's Harlequins That Hooked You Read online

  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. She’d looked over her shoulder countless times as she watched the changing of the palace guard, wondering if she’d run into Franco, but he’d have no reason to visit tourist spots like the Prince’s Palace or the wax museum. He’d probably seen it all before. Besides, he was probably at his office…wherever that was.

  Filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread, she’d returned to the hotel late in the afternoon. But there’d been no message from Franco. Stacy had shared a quiet meal at a sidewalk café with Candace and then gone to bed early, only to toss and turn all night.

  How could she miss a man she didn’t even know? She blamed her uneasiness on not wanting to violate the terms of their agreement by being unavailable. It definitely wasn’t a desire to see him again. The warmth between her thighs called her a liar.

  “Typical of a guy,” Candace continued, “he was stumped when I asked him what we should wear.”

  Stacy reached for one of her three guide books, looked up the club and read aloud, “‘Jimmy’z—An exclusive dance club where the jet set hangs out. Dress code—casual to formal, but wear your designer labels.’”

  Stacy didn’t own any designer labels.

  “You three can go shopping after we tour the Oceanographic Museum and the cathedral this morning,” Candace said. “But I have an appointment with the stylist for a practice session on my wedding-day hairdo.”

  Madeline shook her head. “Not me. I have plans for later.”

  “Same here,” Amelia offered.

  Stacy couldn’t afford anything new, and she refused to let Candace keep buying things for her. “I’ll find something in my closet.”

  And just like that Franco undermined Stacy’s concentration for a second day. Every tall, dark-haired man she spotted in the distance Friday morning made her pulse spike, and no matter how impressive the sights, she kept thinking about Franco and the night ahead. Had it not been for her lack of sleep for the past three nights she wouldn’t have been dead to the world when the suite doorbell rang later that afternoon. Shoving her hair out of her eyes she stumbled groggily into the sitting room, opened the door to a hotel staff member.

  “A package for Ms. Reeves,” he said.

  “I’m Stacy Reeves.” She accepted the large rectangular pewter-colored box and the man turned away. “Wait. I’ll get a tip.”

  “It’s been taken care of, mademoiselle. Bonsoir.”

  He turned away. Stacy closed the door and leaned against it, her exhaustion totally eradicated. Only Franco would send her something. She pushed off the door and carried the package into her room. With trembling hands she plucked at the lavender ribbon and opened the box.

  A folded piece of ivory stationery lay on top of the lavender tissue paper. She lifted it and read, For tonight.

  No name. No signature. But the handwriting was the same as that on the card included with Franco’s flowers. Franco. She inhaled a shaky breath and pushed back the tissue paper to reveal a pile of teal garments, the same shade as the Mediterranean Sea outside the hotel windows.

  She pulled out the first piece, a soft, silk camisole, and laid it on the bed. The second, a sheer, beaded wrap top, matched perfectly, as did the third, a handkerchief-hem skirt with the same beading on the edges as the wrap. She held the skirt against her body. It would be fitted from her waist through her hips, but the lower half would swish and swirl about her thighs as she moved. The perfect dancing outfit, and judging by the designer label, it probably cost more than her monthly rent and car payment combined.

  And then her gaze caught on two more wrapped items in the bottom of the box. She unwound the tissue from the largest first and found strappy sandals to match the clothing. She slipped one on her bare foot. Perfect fit. In fact, everything looked as if it would fit. How had Franco known her sizes? Even she didn’t know the European conversions. Had Candace told him? Or was he so experienced with women he could accurately guess their sizes just by looking at them. Probably the latter.

  She opened the last package, gasped and dropped the matching bra and thong in the exact same shade of teal on the bed. Heat rushed through her.

  Franco was dressing her from the skin out. He’d b