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  “She lied.”

  She abruptly faced him with her head held high, her hands fisted by her side and fire in her eyes. “To protect me, yes.”

  “My father lied as well, but during a school vacation I researched the newspaper archives and learned the truth about my mama. She was a spoiled party girl always looking for excitement. Shopping. Drugs. Men.”

  The sympathy softening Stacy’s eyes made him regret the confession. Confidences would lead her to expect more from him than he was willing to give. He was a cold bastard—or so he’d been told. Stacy would do best to accept his limitations and his money and move on.

  “I’m sorry. I assumed living in a wonderful place like this meant you’d automatically have a happy childhood.”

  “I was not unhappy.” And why was he sharing that? Because he did not want her pity.

  “Are you and your father close?”

  “When he is not enthralled with his latest paramour, oui. We used to go to the races together.” She was getting too personal. He had to derail this tête-à-tête.

  Franco approached her, pinning her in the window by planting a hand on either side of her. He leaned closer, inhaling her unique scent and aligning his hips with hers. Desire thickened his blood. “I have not made love in this room either and we have an hour before dinner.”

  That he considered sex less personal than conversation was telling, he realized. The understanding he saw in Stacy’s eyes took him aback. She saw through his actions, but rather than call him on his evasive tactics, she smiled and cupped his cheek. “I’m all yours.”

  For two more weeks. Longer would be too dangerous. Stacy had a way of breaching his defenses. He would have to find a way to stop her before he crumbled like castle ruins at her feet.

  Nine

  Franco’s laughter stirred something deep inside Stacy.

  She crossed from the luxurious en suite bathroom to one of the tall tower windows of Franco’s bedroom and looked outside. Franco and Mathé were kicking a soccer ball around on the lawn below. Franco’s teeth flashed in the early-morning light as he laughed again.

  He’d be a good father. The kind of father she wished she’d had. And his children would have all the things she’d lacked. History. Roots. Security.

  According to Monsieur Constantine, this room hadn’t changed in over two decades. Franco could have had something new with each of his stepmothers’ re-decorations, but instead he’d stuck with the furnishings he and his father had chosen together. That told Stacy Franco liked stability. And he might even have a tiny sentimental streak. Like her.

  She touched a finger to her watch and then smoothed a hand over the scarred wooden headboard pushed against the wall between two windows. Last night she’d slept spooned with Franco on the narrow mattress. This morning she’d awoken alone, but surprisingly well-rested. Letting her guard down enough to sleep had apparently not been an issue after all. But then again, he had exhausted her before letting her sleep. Warmth rose under her skin and settled in her pelvis. The man seemed determined to make up to her for the mediocre lovers of her past.

  “You are exactly what Franco needs, my dear,” Monsieur Constantine said in heavily accented English behind her.

  Startled, Stacy turned and found him in the open bedroom doorway. Hadn’t Franco said he’d told his father the whole truth? “How can you believe that?”

  The older man shrugged. “I am sure you had your reasons for agreeing to accept money in exchange for spending time with my son. But you are not like any…how you say?…gold diggers I have ever encountered. I have met many in my seventy-five years, and I have even had the misfortune to marry a few. Between my wives and Lisette, my son has become quite bitter and distrustful of women.”

  Stacy nodded. “He told me about Lisette.”

  Bushy white eyebrows rose. “That is surprising. Did he also tell you that he continued to love her until she admitted she had married him for his money, and that she had the abortion because she was planning to divorce him?”

  Poor Franco. “Um…no.”

  “My divorce settlements put us in financial difficulties. Difficulties over which Franco eventually triumphed, but his wife did not have the integrity to lessen her expenses and stand beside him through adversity. When one truly loves one takes the good with the bad…as I did with Franco’s mama.”

  He joined her by the window and looked down on Franco and Mathé. “He will not tell me what Lisette said to him in that Paris hospital, but it changed him. He is not the son I once knew. He keeps much locked inside now.”

  The weight of his gaze settled on Stacy. “My boy has a wounded soul. It will take a special woman to heal him.”

  What exactly was he implying? “Why are you telling me this, Monsieur Constantine? I’m not that woman.”

  “I believe you are.”

  A choked sound of disbelief erupted from her mouth. “I’m sleeping with your son for money.”

  “And the agreement troubles you, yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “And that is but one of the reasons I know you are not like the others.”

  Keeping up with the bizarre discussion was beyond her. He might as well be speaking a foreign language. “One of the reasons?”

  “Oui. If you cared only for financial gain you would be garbed in jewels and designer clothing instead of your inexpensive American pieces. Franco is a generous lover. Except in matters of the heart.”

  True. But his loyalty to Vincent and Mathé came from the heart, so he wasn’t incapable of caring. “Dare I ask if there are more reasons?”

  The older man smiled. “Only the most important one. When I gave you the tour of the chateau yesterday you asked many, many questions about the history of the house and furnishings. You never once asked the value of a single item.”

  No, she hadn’t. She’d been more concerned with the sentimental significance than the monetary worth. “I guess I never thought about the costs.”

  “Exactement. For a woman who claims to be motivated by money, it seems to have little importance to you.”

  Other than the security it represented, he was right. She didn’t want to be rich. She just wanted a home. Otherwise, she would have sued her father’s estate as Franco had suggested. Heaven knows the lawyers had aggressively solicited her and encouraged her to do so before she’d fled Tampa and started over in Charlotte. But she hadn’t wanted to be tied to blood money. She’d rather be poor than feel guilty for profiting from her mother’s murder. “Okay, you have me there, but I’m still not the right woman for Franco.”

  “We shall see, Stacy. I am hoping my son will see what a treasure you are before it is too late.” He offered his arm in the same courtly gesture Franco often used. “Now come, breakfast waits and you should eat before you make the drive back to Monaco.”

  “And once every inch of your ivory skin is slick with the sun-warmed tanning oil I will thrust deep into your body again and again until you cry out as le petit mort overcomes you,” Franco resumed his tantalizing tale after they crossed Monaco’s border and turned toward the harbor.

  Stacy’s heart raced. She licked her dry lips and squirmed in her seat, attempting to alleviate the ache between her legs.

  Franco had filled the past half-hour of their trip with a lengthy, detailed description of the sensual afternoon he had planned for them on his sailboat. His verbal seduction was a timely reminder that their relationship was all about sex. Only sex. Any emotional connection she might feel with him after the personal insights she’d gained into his character at the chateau had no place in the bargain they’d struck.

  His fingertips trailed up the inside of her thigh. “And I will not stop until—”

  An annoying sound interrupted him and dampened her arousal. A cell phone. Hers. Stacy blinked, exhaled and dug her phone out of her purse. “Hello?”

  “Candace is having a meltdown,” Amelia’s voice said. “Madeline and I have tried everything we know to calm her down. It�