My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession / A Scandal Made In London

‘Who is he? Is he actually signed to Camaro yet? And why the hell haven’t I heard of him?’ I fired questions at Freddie as the car completed the circuit and headed into the pits.

If he was contracted to a team in one of the lower leagues, I’d have to buy him out, which would cost me. But I already knew I wanted him.

Camaro would probably have a cow. The guy was known for his hard business practices and the Destiny team had been Galanti’s main rivals for three seasons. But if Renzo was only using this kid for test driving he was already missing a trick. I would have to act fast, though. We were already two months into the season. And I would need to get the new driver familiar with our car before winter testing.

‘Slow down, fella,’ Freddie said in his thick Brooklyn accent. ‘Rumour on the track is she’s one of Camaro’s R&D people. She’s not even a driver. Story is she’s Renzo’s mistress and he brought her over from London when his reserve driver got the flu. He needed someone to test the car, and he knows she’s a talent, but when I saw her drive...’

Freddie’s voice trailed off. But most of what he’d been saying had already washed over me because my brain had snagged on one word.

She.

This kid was a woman? Dio!

That was...

My mind exploded. That was an incredible PR opportunity. Even if I hadn’t been desperate and she wasn’t as good as she appeared I would have wanted to sign her.

There were female drivers in the lower leagues and on the reserve lists. Good female drivers who, sooner or later, would break into motor sport’s top flight. But a female driver this good who was undiscovered and wasn’t even attached to a team?

Except... My excitement downgraded.

She was attached to Renzo in a personal capacity.

‘You say she’s Renzo’s mistress?’ I turned to Freddie, his hangdog expression unchanged.

‘That’s what one of the mechanics told me. I saw them together and Renzo’s all over her. Although she’s a long way from being his usual type. She’s kind of a tomboy.’

I frowned. Who knew Freddie was a gossip? But right now his nosiness suited my purposes. I wanted to know more about the girl before I approached her. If she was stuck on Renzo it might be a harder sell to get her to sign for me.

My lips quirked in a cynical smile.

‘Whatever her connection to Camaro, I’m sure I can make her a better offer,’ I said, confident any commitment she had to my rival could be broken.

She was a woman. Women in my experience could always be bought, with either money, orgasms or both. If I had to seduce her, I would. I wasn’t dating anyone at the moment and I had no problem mixing business with pleasure. It was one of the perks of being a workaholic.

‘Hold your jets, Casanova,’ Freddie said. ‘Renzo’s not your only problem. The same mechanic told me she doesn’t want to be a pro driver. Apparently Renzo’s been trying to sign her to his young driver programme for over a year and she’s not interested.’

‘What? Why?’ I couldn’t hide my shock. Anyone with that much natural talent would be insane not to go for the gold ring. And no one could get that good in the first place without a passion for the sport.

‘Haven’t a clue. But I guess she must have her reasons.’

My surprise was quickly quashed by my confidence. Whatever her reasons, I’d figure out a way to overcome them. I knew how to play women, just like I knew how to play my rivals.

Charm was easy, seduction even easier. They were both commodities I’d learned to use to my advantage, deliberately honing my image as a womanising playboy to hide the ruthlessness that had driven me ever since Remy’s death.

Thoughts of Remy killed the smile playing around my lips, reminding me not just of my boyish, reckless, stupidly trusting younger brother who had died so needlessly but also of the girl—his girl—who had screwed with my head far too often since Remy’s death.

Belle Simpson had completely disappeared after Remy’s funeral and I refused to give a damn about it. I’d tortured myself enough over the thought of her—soft, fresh and artlessly seductive—during that one night we’d shared. She’d been an illusion. She was no more pure and fresh than I was, or had ever been. Just because she’d never contacted me to get the pay off I’d offered her didn’t make her innocent. Maybe her conscience had eventually got the better of her too, about what we’d both done to Remy.

I cut off the thought at the fresh slice of guilt. Remy was dead. I couldn’t turn back the clock and undo what I’d done to him that night when Belle’s wide emerald eyes had gazed at me as if I’d been everything she could ever want. That whole night had been screwed up. My cheek had been smarting from one of my father’s back-handed slaps, my head fuzzy from one too many tequila slammers. I’d had to stop beating myself up for giving into the incendiary attraction between us.

I hated that, whenever I thought of Remy, I thought of her too. And her deep-green eyes wide with distress and unshed tears.

Ruthlessly pushing thoughts of my dead brother and that fateful night to one side, I bid goodbye to Freddie with the promise of a generous gift for his help if I managed to sign this girl.

I made my way towards the drivers’ lounge behind the car hangars. Driving was hard, sweaty work, particularly in Barcelona in spring—the girl would have to shower and change before she did anything else. With the Camaro team cap pulled low, no one took any notice of me as I strolled past the team of mechanics busy assessing the new car’s tyres for burn-out.

I spotted Camaro at the edge of the bay, talking to his chief mechanic, but no sign of the girl driver.

My hunch had been correct. She must have headed straight for the lounge area. Now all I had to do was hope my luck held out and I could catch her alone once she’d finished changing—to make her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

Adrenaline pumped through my system. I’d always been a guy who revelled in the thrill of the chase—either in pursuit of a great new design, a talented driver or a beautiful woman. This girl could be a combination of all three.

The lounge area was empty. I noticed a makeshift sign stuck on one of the doors to the changing rooms reserved for individual drivers: Solo Mujeres.

Women only.

I almost laughed out loud as I sat down silently on one of the plush leather sofas.

Perfect—there was no one here. Giving me all the opportunity I needed to poach Renzo’s mistress. And turn her into the driver she was meant to be. And maybe more.

I discarded the cap and the shades as I listened to the shower running in the adjoining changing room. And waited.

The shower eventually shut off and I could hear a soft British voice singing a French lullaby.

Something pricked at my consciousness. Why did the light, lilting voice sound so familiar?

Before I had a chance to register the question, the girl appeared in the doorway to the lounge, silhouetted by the bright sunlight shining through the windows behind her. She jolted and gasped, the sob of distress probably down to her surprise at finding a strange guy sitting in the lounge. I stood to introduce myself.

‘Hi, Miss...’ I paused, realising Freddie had never given me her name. ‘I’m Alexi Galanti. I own and operate the Galanti team. We need a new reserve driver for the rest of the season and I want to offer you the position. Whatever Camaro’s paying you, I’ll double it.’

It was rash of me to offer her the job without talking to my legal team, getting her credentials properly checked out and giving her a probationary period. I couldn’t even see her face properly and I hadn’t heard her speak. Damn it, I didn’t even know her name. But all my instincts were telling me to claim her, so I didn’t regret the rash decision. I always trusted my instincts.

What I could see of her figure—her subtle curves seductively displayed in a pair of tomboy jeans and a white shirt and camisole—had my blood heating in my groin. Desire pumped through my veins with a visceral urgency.

Maybe it was the combination of hunger and desire combined with the knowledge of how she had handled Camaro’s powerful car that was driving my determination—because I wasn’t even sure what I wanted most any more. To see her in my car, or in my bed.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled in time to the echo of the lullaby which still lingered in my mind as she stood silently, not speaking. I could hear her rapid, uneven breathing.

Something was wrong. Why was she so silent? So tense? Why was her stance strangely defensive, as if I’d insulted her instead of having offered her a million-dollar contract?

Then her scent invaded my nostrils—fresh, floral and disturbingly familiar, bringing back memories of the night five years ago that I had never been able to forget. Recognition struck me as she stepped into the light and her face was illuminated for the first time. The striking features—the soft, translucent skin, the sprinkle of girlish freckles across her nose, the sleepy emerald eyes and the wild shock of rich russet curls—were just as I remembered them from my dreams—and my nightmares. Grief, betrayal and longing arrowed into my gut to join the hot punch of lust that had never died.

‘I don’t want anything from you, Alexi,’ she whispered, her voice a tortured rasp—both bold and defensive at the same time. ‘I never did.’

CHAPTER TWO

Belle

IT WAS A lie. Once upon a time, I had wanted everything from Alexi Galanti. Not just his body, but his love. But as I stared at his tall, muscular body dressed in a T-shirt and worn jeans, the fabric stretched enticingly across pectoral muscles that had only become more defined in the last five years—not quite sure if he was real or a figment of my over-active imagination—I knew those desires were childish dreams borne of infatuation.

I’d locked those dreams away five years ago after the cruel banishment which had left me destitute, disillusioned and alone at nineteen.

And, as I’d discovered two months later, pregnant with his child.

I refused to let them resurface now just because he was even more handsome and compelling at thirty than he had been at twenty-five.

I was twenty-four now and I’d survived what he’d done to me. And I had a wonderful son whom I adored.

I struggled to quell the old yearning which shivered through me at the sight of him. A yearning I’d never been able to feel for any other man.

Heat careered into my cheeks as I watched him stiffen, the knowledge of who I was hitting him as hard as it had hit me a few moments before.

Good, I was glad. I wanted him to feel as raw as I did.

But, as soon as the ungenerous thought occurred to me, another horrifying realisation hit me—bringing with it the guilt I had struggled with for five years.

Oh, no! My cousin, Jessie, was bringing Cai—my son—to meet me at the track this afternoon.

I’d known it was a risk, agreeing to come to Barcelona to test drive the car I’d helped develop in my role as Camaro’s fuel-efficiency expert for their R&D department in the UK. But Renzo, my boss, had been quite insistent and I had checked to make sure the Galanti team weren’t scheduled to be at the test track today.

Cai loved the cars and the trip had been a special treat for him. But I didn’t want him to come face to face with his father—or vice versa.

I’d never contacted Alexi to tell him about his son. I’d been in a daze, still struggling to cope with the loss of Remy, not to mention my job and my life in Monaco, when I’d discovered I was pregnant five years ago.

I hadn’t had the courage or the strength to face Alexi then and as my pregnancy had progressed I had quickly begun to justify my cowardice to myself.

Alexi had made it very clear he hated me, that he blamed me for Remy’s death. He’d told me he never wanted to see me again, that he’d have me arrested if he did. He’d called me a whore and implied I was a gold-digger. He probably wouldn’t even have believed the child was his, so what would have been the point?

And, in the years since Cai’s birth, it had become easier and easier not to make that call. My sweet, beautiful, smiley little boy, who looked so much like his father but would always be mine, would never know the cynicism, the coldness, of the man who had sired him. Really, I was just protecting my son.

I’d seen reports of Alexi’s love life in the press, in gossip columns and celebrity blogs, over the intervening years too and had convinced myself Alexi wouldn’t want to be a father. That I was doing him a favour by not divulging to him he had a son. Surely he wouldn’t want to be tied down, to have his rampant womanising and glamorous social life hampered by a toddler?

But, now I was faced with the possibility of him meeting Cai for the first time, all my justifications began to crumble.

The guilt combined with the inappropriate yearning in the pit of my stomach made me plummet into the black hole I remembered from the last time I’d seen him—creating a wave of pure, unadulterated panic.

I’d always told myself that one day—when Cai was older, and I had become the foremost R&D specialist in the Super League and had some serious professional clout—I would get up the guts to inform Alexi of his son’s existence.

But this wasn’t that day. I wasn’t ready to face that reality. Not yet. And neither was Cai. I hadn’t prepared Cai for this news. And I doubted Alexi would even care if he had a son.

‘I need you to leave,’ I said, my voice firm, even though I was shaking inside from fear and the heat that would never die as long as I was in the same room as this man.

He hadn’t said anything, he’d been rooted to the spot, but he controlled himself a lot faster than I did, the naked shock on his face masked by the cynical expression I remembered from our graveside parting. Although the heat in his gaze told another story, a heat I recognised from that fateful night when we had conceived Cai.

How could we still want each other when we both hated each other so much? I wondered vaguely, as my frantic mind tried to grasp the logistics of how I was going to avert the disaster galloping towards me with each tick of the clock.

Calm down, Belle, and don’t show him any weakness.

I had twenty minutes. They weren’t due here till three. I had time. All I had to do was get Alexi to leave before Jessie and Cai arrived. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard, now he knew who I was? After all, he had been prepared to pay thousands of euros five years ago so he’d never have to see me again.

‘The offer still stands,’ he said at last.

‘I... What? You can’t be serious,’ I said, stunned. Surely he couldn’t believe I would want to spend any time in his company, let alone work for him?

‘I’m deadly serious. I need a reserve driver and I want you... You should be on the track, not behind it. Once you’re signed with Galanti we can discuss the possibility of getting a full driver spot for you, maybe next season. I’ll make it worth your while to break your attachment to Camaro...’ His gaze dipped, his perusal swift but no less insulting, and the heat ignited in my cheeks as I saw the spark of desire and realised he thought Renzo and I were lovers.

I knew rumours were rife on the track and in the Camaro team that I was sleeping with the boss. Renzo had been instrumental in advancing my career, hiring me for his R&D team straight after I’d finished my masters in bioengineering and alternative fuel technology last year. He had been remarkably flexible about my childcare commitments on the job, had befriended Cai—who idolised him—and I did sometimes wonder if he thought of me as more than an employee and a friend... But he had never stepped over that line and I certainly hadn’t encouraged him.

‘I’m not for sale,’ I said flatly, determined not to let my hurt at Alexi’s insinuations show.

I didn’t need this man’s approval. It had taken me five years to get over his rejection. When I’d arrived in the UK and discovered I was carrying his child, the grief for Remy and everything I’d lost the day he’d died had all but destroyed me.

My confidence, and my sense of self had been left in tatters but I’d dragged myself up off the floor, with the help of my wonderful second cousin, Jessie, and forced myself to concentrate on what mattered.

I’d had my child and dedicated myself to supporting us both with two jobs, while taking on a mountain of student debt and studying late into the night to realise a new dream that in the last year had finally started to take off.

I had been a fool to keep the news of his child from him, something about which I had become starkly aware in the last few minutes. I would have to rectify that as soon as I could manage the news in a way that wouldn’t hurt Cai.

But I didn’t have to defend my professional reputation to Alexi or anyone else.

‘That’s a shame,’ Alexi said, his husky voice sending goose bumps skittering over my skin. ‘Because, whatever Renzo is paying you, you’re worth more. And with the talent I saw on the track ten minutes ago it’s obvious you should be driving.’

‘I don’t want to drive, not competitively,’ I said, pushing past the sexual fog threatening to envelop me, to concentrate on getting him out of here. I didn’t have time for a negotiation. Or to obsess over the way he could still make me feel simply by looking at me.

Why did I have to be so affected by this man? It was as if a spell had been cast on me as soon as I’d hit puberty and I couldn’t escape the enchantment of my own body.

So not the point, Belle.

‘Why the hell don’t you want to drive?’ Alexi shot back, his frustration only making his dark good looks and intense gaze all the more overwhelming. ‘That was always your dream ever since you were a kid, wasn’t it?’

I was surprised he had remembered that much about me. As a teenager, and later as a man, he had always made a point of ignoring me. Until that night.

‘It was my dream once,’ I said. ‘It’s not my dream any more. Now, would you please leave before I call security?’ It was an empty threat, and we both knew it. No security guy in his right mind would eject Alexi Galanti from the track—the man was motor-racing royalty. But I was desperate.

Not surprisingly, he ignored the threat and, instead of leaving, stepped closer. Close enough for me to capture his intoxicating scent—spice, musk and the hint of pine soap. The aroma made my knees shake, propelling me back to that night—somewhere I so did not need to go ever again.

I stood my ground, though, because showing Alexi a weakness had never ended well.

‘Tell me why,’ he insisted, the frustration disappearing to be replaced with something much more disturbing—genuine interest in me and my life, something I’d yearned for all through my teenage years. ‘Tell me why you gave up on your dream, bella notte,’ he repeated, his voice soft, coaxing, as he used the nickname he had coined that night, no doubt to intimidate me more. ‘And then I’ll leave.’

I opened my mouth, determined to give him an answer, any answer that would make him leave and take this pointless yearning away again. But the only explanation I could think of was the real one.

Because I have a child, a son, who I love more than life itself. And I’m the only person he has. I can’t risk leaving him alone—dying the way Remy died. So I found a way to readjust my dreams. To feed my passion for racing—while also fulfilling my obligations to my child.

But I couldn’t tell him that.

As I racked my brains, trying to come up with a viable alternative reason Alexi would believe, it occurred to me I’d been hoisted by my own dishonesty.

And then the door burst open and Cai ran into the room ten minutes early, a four-year-old bundle of energy...and the black hole in the pit of my stomach imploded. For the first time in my life I was not pleased to see him.

My time had run out.

‘Mummy, Mummy, I saw the car!’ he cried, practically bursting with excitement as he raced towards me, oblivious to Alexi and everything else. ‘Mr Renzo let me touch it.’

He ran past Alexi, who stepped back, his dark brows launching up his forehead. Cai’s sturdy body barrelled into me and the love I had felt for him as soon as I’d held him in my arms after ten agonising hours of labour washed through me.

‘Mr Renzo said I could sit in it if I’m good.’

Cai’s arms wrapped around my legs as he peered up at me, the love in his eyes all-consuming and utterly uncomplicated. The blue of his irises was the same true, iridescent aquamarine as those of the man standing two feet away, staring at him as if he were an alien.

‘Can I, Mummy? Can I?’ he pleaded, completely oblivious to the tension now snapping in the room. I could almost feel Alexi’s mind working as he stared at my child and calculated dates and ages. Cai was tall for a four-year-old, probably because his father was six-foot-three, but that wasn’t going to help me.

With the light from the window shining onto Cai’s dark, wavy hair and illuminating his face and his Galanti bone structure—which had become more defined in the last year or two as he’d grown from toddlerhood into boyhood—the resemblance to his father was all the more striking.

Alexi was not a stupid man, and as my gaze connected with his over Cai’s head I watched as he figured out Cai’s heritage—the stunned disbelief turning to shock before a sharp frown flattened his brows and his sensual lips pursed into a tight line of accusation.

‘Can I, Mummy?’

My gaze dropped back to Cai, my thoughts in turmoil as my heart rammed my tonsils. I ruffled his silky hair, trying to stop my hand shaking. I needed to get my son out of here, away from Alexi. I didn’t want Cai to witness our impending confrontation. Whatever else I knew, I knew this was not his fault.

‘Of course you can, Cai-baby,’ I said, using the nickname which always made him giggle.

‘I’m not a baby any more, Mummy. I’m a big boy.’ The infectious laughter—so innocent, so delighted—only tightened the knots of anguish in my stomach. Whatever happened next, my only thought now had to be to protect my child from the fallout of this revelation.

I knelt down so I could hold Cai and momentarily shield myself from the accusatory frown of the man standing behind him.

‘Yes, but have you been a good boy?’ I asked.

Cai nodded furiously. ‘Yes, Mummy. Ask Auntie Jessie, she’ll tell you, I had my nap without making any fuss at all.’

‘Is that true, Jess?’ I asked my cousin, who had entered the lounge behind Cai and was glancing backwards and forwards between Alexi and his child.

I’d never told Jessie who Cai’s father was—and she knew nothing about motor racing, so she wouldn’t recognise my former employer—but it was obvious she had noticed the resemblance.

‘I wouldn’t say no fuss,’ she said, letting out a nervous half-laugh. ‘But certainly minimal fuss. Shall I take Cai back to the car hangar and see if he can sit in the car yet?’ she added, sizing up the situation.

Thank you, Jessie. You are my life saver. Again.

I nodded. ‘Great.’ I cleared my throat, my voice breaking on the word, my gratitude for all this woman had done for me and Cai over the last five years choking me. ‘I’ll join you in a minute.’

At least whatever I had to face with Alexi now would not be faced in front of Cai.

‘Yes!’ Cai jumped up and punched the air, his face beaming with triumph and happiness. ‘Come soon, Mummy, I want you to see me sit in the car too. And take pictures to show Imran,’ he said, mentioning his best friend at pre-school.

He went to run to Jessie but stopped abruptly, noticing Alexi for the first time. ‘Hello,’ he said with the confidence of a four-year-old who had never learned to be intimidated by anything. ‘Are you my mummy’s friend?’