My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession / A Scandal Made In London

About the Authors

USA TODAY bestselling author HEIDI RICE lives in London, England. She is married with two teenage sons—which gives her rather too much of an insight into the male psyche—and also works as a film journalist. She adores her job, which involves getting swept up in a world of high emotion, sensual excitement, funny and feisty women, sexy and tortured men and glamorous locations where laundry doesn’t exist. Once she turns off her computer she often does chores—usually involving laundry!

LUCY KING spent her adolescence lost in the glamorous and exciting world of Mills & Boon when she really ought to have been paying attention to her teachers. But, as she couldn’t live in a dream world for ever, she eventually acquired a degree in languages and an eclectic collection of jobs. After a decade in southwest Spain, Lucy now lives with her young family in Wiltshire. When not writing, or trying to think up new and innovative things to do with mince, she spends her time reading, failing to finish cryptic crosswords and dreaming of the golden beaches of Andalucia.

Also by Heidi Rice

Vows They Can’t Escape

The Virgin’s Shock Baby

Captive at Her Enemy’s Command

Bound by Their Scandalous Baby

Carrying the Sheikh’s Baby

Claiming My Untouched Mistress

Contracted as His Cinderella Bride

Claimed for the Desert Prince’s Heir

Also by Lucy King

Bought: Damsel in Distress

Propositioned by the Billionaire

The Crown Affair

Say It with Diamonds

The Couple Behind the Headlines

One More Sleepless Night

The Reunion Lie

One Night with Her Ex

The Best Man for the Job

The Party Starts at Midnight

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession & A Scandal Made in London

Heidi Rice

Lucy King

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90020-5

MY SHOCKING MONTE CARLO CONFESSION & A SCANDAL MADE IN LONDON

My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession © 2020 Heidi Rice A Scandal Made in London © 2020 Lucy King

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession

Back Cover Text

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

A Scandal Made in London

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession

Heidi Rice

One night in Monte Carlo...

Now I’m about to change the playboy’s life—forever!

He’s Monaco racing royalty and I, Belle Simpson, was his housekeeper. But that evening, Alexi Galanti’s searing blue gaze exhilarated me. Neither of us could think about anything beyond our desire for one another...

Now, five years later, I finally have the chance to reveal my scandalous secret—Alexi’s a father! Even though he’s scarred by his parents’ abandonment, I know Alexi will never desert his son. But falling for him would be a dangerous mistake, even if I’ve never stopped yearning for his touch!

To Teresa and Alan, the best hosts ever!

PROLOGUE

Belle

THE RIVIERA SUN blazed down as I stared into my best friend Remy Galanti’s grave, but the sunshine did nothing to thaw the chill which had seeped into my bones over a week ago—ever since Remy’s car had ploughed through the crash barrier at the Galanti test track in Nice and burst into flames. The horror of those moments played through my mind again, in agonising slow motion, but the tears wedged in my throat refused to fall.

I hadn’t cried—for Remy, for myself, for his older brother, Alexi—because I couldn’t. My body, like my mind, was numb.

The priest’s voice droned on in French as I glanced across the grave to where Alexi stood.

He wore a dark linen suit and was surrounded by the local dignitaries and a host of celebrities and VIPs who had come out in force to show their respect to Monaco’s—and motor racing’s—foremost family at the loss of their second son. But as always Alexi looked utterly alone, his head bent and his stance rigid. A muscle in his jaw clenched and his dark hair was dishevelled, as if he had run his fingers through it a thousand times since the day we’d both watched Remy die.

His eyes, though, like mine, were dry.

Did he feel numb, the way I did? Destroyed by the loss of someone who had meant so much to us both? Remy had been my best friend ever since I had come to live in the Galanti mansion on the Côte d’Azur as a ten-year-old, when my mother had taken the job as the new housekeeper after Remy and Alexi’s mother had run off to join one of her lovers.

I felt as if a part of my soul had been ripped out. But Alexi had lost a brother—the only person he had ever been close to after their mother’s disappearance. Surely he had to be in as much distress as me, if not more?

But he didn’t look numb as he glanced at the priest, his beautiful blue eyes sparking with impatience and contempt, he looked angry.

Not angry, furious.

Heat prickled over my skin, inappropriate but undeniable as the memories from a week ago played through my mind. The night before Remy’s death the night when I’d thought every one of my dreams had come true—the night I had gone to Alexi and made love to him for the first time. I remembered the scent of salt and sweat and chlorine, the giddy rush of emotion, the glorious sensation of spending a few minutes in Alexi’s strong arms and discovering what sex was all about.

Terrifyingly intimate but also fabulously exciting.

The brutal humiliation clutched at my heart as I stared at Alexi across the grave. He hadn’t spoken to me since that night. I had tried to see him but he’d always been busy. Guilt pinched my ribs to go with the inappropriate heat that he always inspired in me, even at Remy’s funeral.

Remy had always been there for me and now I wanted to be there for Alexi. I knew that was what Remy would have wanted. But still I felt guilty because I knew it wasn’t just Remy’s wishes I wanted to fulfil. But then Remy’s final words to me replayed in my mind as the priest finished his graveside eulogy, the last of the words floating away on the gentle breeze scented with sea air and bougainvillea.

‘My brother needs you, bellissima. Alexi is lonely. He always has been. Just make me a promise, bellissima. Don’t let him push you away. Okay?’

The promise I had made to Remy rang in my head now as I watched Alexi pick up a fistful of dirt from the graveside and throw it onto the casket—his movements were stiff and lethargic, as if he had a weight on his shoulders he was struggling to bear. He looked so, so alone in that moment.

As the other mourners—many of whom had barely known Remy—lined up to drop dirt on the coffin, Alexi turned and walked towards the line of waiting limousines, ignoring the people offering their condolences.

Sending up a silent prayer for Remy as I glanced one last time at his coffin, I left the graveside and followed Alexi’s retreating figure to the road out of the clifftop graveyard. For the first time since Remy’s death the fog of shock and grief, the numbness, began to lift, the urgency allowing the adrenaline, the determination, to force the coldness out.

Breathless, I cried out as I saw him reach the lead car. ‘Alexi, wait, please. Can we talk?’

He paused and turned, but his stance remained rigid. And, as I looked into them, his eyes were like shards of ice.

‘Belle, what do you want?’ The impatience shocked me, but not as much as the strident tone.

Was he angry with me? Was that why he had avoided me since Remy’s death? But as soon as the thought occurred to me I dismissed it. I was being paranoid, insecure, and this was not the time. This wasn’t about me, or about what we’d done seven nights ago. He wasn’t angry with me. I simply didn’t mean that much to him, I knew that, whatever Remy in his optimism had said about our liaison.

Alexi was angry at his brother’s senseless death and probably furious with his father, who had arrived drunk at the funeral, not to mention angry at the fates who had robbed him of the last of his family—or the only part of his family who’d ever mattered to him.

He didn’t want me sexually. He’d made that very clear after we’d slept together a week ago. It had been a mistake.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t offer him friendship. If nothing more, I could offer him comfort in our shared grief, because I was the only other person who felt Remy’s loss as keenly as he did.

‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay,’ I said.

‘Of course I’m not okay, I killed my brother.’

‘Wh...? What?’ The shiver at the coldness in his voice, and in his eyes, racked my whole body despite the warm day. Was he serious? How could he believe even for a moment he was to blame for Remy’s death?

‘You heard me,’ he said, his anger slicing through my shock.

‘But he wanted to be a driver, Alexi. It was his dream, his passion, for so long. You mustn’t hold yourself responsible,’ I said, trying to grasp the reason for his guilt.

Alexi had been managing the Galanti Super League team for two years now, ever since his father, Gustavo, had begun drinking so heavily he was no longer capable of hiding the extent of his addiction. Alexi had given Remy his chance as a test driver and had let him have his first lead this season. Was that why he blamed himself for Remy’s accident?

He stared at me blankly, then his lips flattened into a grim line. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me. It won’t work a second time.’

‘I don’t... I—I don’t understand,’ I stammered, the cynicism in his gaze chilling.

I hadn’t bled when we had made love a week ago, even though Alexi was my first lover. I’d felt the pinch, the slight soreness, when he’d thrust heavily inside me—he wasn’t a small man. But the pain had been so slight, so fleeting—the pleasure overwhelming in its intensity only moments later—that I was sure he hadn’t realised about my virginity. At the time, I had been grateful. I didn’t want him to think of me as a child. But when he spoke again I wasn’t grateful any more.

‘Stop playing the innocent. Remy knew what we’d done. He pretended it didn’t matter, made some joke about it at the track that day before he went out, but you were always his girl. I should never have touched you. That’s why he got distracted on the track, took the turn too fast.’

‘But I... I was never Remy’s girl, not like that. We were just friends,’ I said, suddenly understanding where Alexi’s guilt came from and wanting to make it right.

His eyebrows flattened, the muscle in his jaw jumped and the cynical twist of his lips sharpened as the chill in his blue eyes darkened.

‘Was it you?’ he hissed. ‘Did you tell him we slept together even though I told you not to?’

‘Yes,’ I said, blurting out the truth.

I could have lied. A part of me wanted to lie—the agonising guilt in Alexi’s eyes now fired by the light of fury—but I wasn’t ashamed of what we’d done. Remy had been pleased about the possibility of us dating, not upset.

Alexi didn’t understand about my friendship with Remy because he didn’t know his younger brother was gay.

If only I could tell him that now. The truth lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t voice it as I saw the pain behind the guilt in Alexi’s eyes.

It would only hurt him more, to know Remy had confided in me and not him—and it had always been Remy’s secret to reveal. If he’d wanted Alexi to know, wouldn’t he already have told him? How could I break my confidence to Remy now, simply to save myself from his brother’s wrath?

‘Why did you tell him?’ he asked, the accusation in his voice as raw as the pain.

‘Because...’ I stuttered to a stop.

Because Remy was gay, because we were friends, because he knew how much I had always loved you and he wanted us to be together.

But the words got stuck in my throat, behind the huge dam of emotion forged by the disgust etched on Alexi’s face.

‘Don’t answer that,’ he said before I could get the words out. ‘I think we both know why you told him. Because you thought I was the better catch, didn’t you? You figured, being the older brother, I was worth more.’

I was so stunned by his accusations I couldn’t even begin to defend myself.

‘You little whore. I knew I shouldn’t have touched you, that it was wrong, but I never realised how wrong.’

His words were like physical blows—each one more painful than the last.

How could I ever have believed he loved me, cared about me, that he knew me at all, when he could accuse me of such things?

‘I want you gone,’ he said curtly. ‘Out of my father’s house. Today.’

‘But...’ I couldn’t speak, couldn’t even protect myself, the calmness in his voice almost as devastating as the flat, impersonal look in his eyes as the guilt, the anger, the bitterness, the cynicism all melted away and became nothing.

‘I’ll have the lawyers pay you off. I never want to see your face again.’ He turned to climb into the car and I grasped his arm.

‘Please, Alexi, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out,’ I begged. ‘You’re hurting, you’re in pain, I understand that, but so am I. We both loved Remy very much. Neither one of us is to blame for his death. It was a freak accident. We can get through this together.’

The bitter laugh shocked me to the core.

‘We didn’t love him. We killed him. Now we’re both going to have to live with that betrayal. If I see you at the villa when I return, I’ll have you arrested. You’ve got two hours to get your stuff together and leave. Send a forwarding address to my lawyers and I’ll wire you a severance payment.’

He yanked his sleeve free. His gaze sliced over my figure and my body shuddered in an instinctive response that shamed me to my core even now.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be generous. Your hot little act on Friday night was worth at least a few thousand euro.’

I stood shaking as he climbed into the car and the long, black limousine pulled away from the curb then took the cliff road out of the cemetery. He didn’t look back, not once.

The numbness returned, but this time it was all-consuming. The hollow ache in my insides became a black hole as the huge loss left by Remy’s death combined with the agonising evidence that the dreams I’d had about Alexi ever since I’d hit puberty had always been a foolish schoolgirl’s fantasy.

He wasn’t the man I had believed him to be. The man I had adored from afar.

And he wasn’t the man Remy had believed him to be either.

Alexi wasn’t just reserved, or lonely, or simply wary of love. He was dead inside. Much deader than Remy could ever have been.

I walked down the path away from the cemetery and hailed a taxi to take me back to the Galanti estate where I had spent so much of my childhood.

But I didn’t feel like a child any more. I felt about a thousand years old as I packed my belongings. It took me less than an hour before I was on the bus to Nice. I had some savings, enough to get me out of Monaco. I wasn’t going to send Alexi’s lawyer a forwarding address. I didn’t want his money any more than I wanted him to know where I was.

I would return to London, I decided, my mind surprisingly calm. I had a second cousin there who might put me up if I begged. Since my mother’s death two years ago, she was the only family I had left.

I needed to get away from Alexi, away from the agonising memories of my best friend, Remy, and the hole that would be left in my life for ever. I needed to leave the remnants of my girlhood behind me—and the tattered remains of a dream that had never been real.

I’d loved Alexi for so long. I’d put him on a pedestal and idolised him. And when we’d finally made love I’d felt such passion, such excitement, in his arms.

But I’d never really known him. Not even while I had been clinging to his strong, powerful body and glorying in the feel of him inside me as he’d rocked us both to orgasm.

I knew him now, though. I knew his cynicism, his bitterness and his anger because I had become the target of all three.

‘I’m so sorry, Remy,’ I whispered as the bus made its way out of Monaco and along the coast road towards Nice. ‘I couldn’t keep my promise.’

The tears I had refused to shed flowed down my cheeks as Monaco’s glittering lights disappeared behind the cliffs.

I scrubbed the tears away with my fist before any of the other passengers could see them, swallowed down the choking sobs making my ribs ache and kept my gaze on the road ahead.

At last, the numbness returned.

I embraced it this time, because it protected me from the agony threatening to consume me.

The numbness gave me strength.

A strength I would need to survive Remy’s death—and Alexi’s brutal rejection. And to find a new home, a new job and a new life far away from the Galantis.

CHAPTER ONE

Five years later

Alexi

‘SO WHO AM I looking at and what’s his price?’ I squinted through my sunglasses at the track and adjusted my cap—which bore my rival Renzo Camaro’s team logo—to ensure the bill covered my face as I spoke to Freddie Graham. Freddie was a freelance mechanic and an old friend. He’d given me the tip off twenty minutes ago that he’d spotted a fresh new talent driving Camaro’s prototype at the Barcelona track as part of their testing for the new season.

I was desperate. Galanti’s reserve driver, Carlo Poncelli, had just had a cancer diagnosis. We’d managed to keep it quiet for the last few days, but as soon as the news hit the circuit that Carlo was going to be receiving chemo treatment for most of the season every agent’s price would go through the roof. I wanted to find someone quickly, someone talented and as yet undiscovered who would jump at the chance of getting a reserve seat in the Super League with the top team on the circuit—and was un-agented. It was a tall order, but if anyone could spot talent it was Freddie.

‘Keep your voice down,’ Graham said furtively as we watched the track together from the edge of the stands—out of sight of Camaro and his team. ‘If Camaro finds out you’re here checking out his employees, I’ll get blacklisted.’

The noise of Camaro’s new design drowned out the end of Freddie’s sentence as the car came shooting round the bend and back into view. The car accelerated to two hundred miles an hour and the back wheels shuddered, but the driver brought it back under control with smooth, steely efficiency. The adrenaline rush I always got from watching a great new talent raised the hairs at my nape.

I would need to see stats and get a basic history before making an offer, find out the guy’s age and what licences he held, but I already knew this was our man. I had a sixth sense about this stuff. It was what I was famous for on the circuit. Or rather, infamous for. That and having a different supermodel or actress on my arm at every event I attended.