My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession / A Scandal Made In London

I tasted her for the first time. She was like nectar—both sweet and spicy, both refreshing and addictive. I knew I should take things slowly. Be careful with her, be kind. How much experience did she have? But then her fingers curled into my hair, her nails scraping across my scalp, and sensation arrowed into my sex, turning my erection to iron.

Her tongue tangled with mine in fast, furious strokes as if she couldn’t get enough of my taste. I knew how she felt. The hunger was consuming me as I dragged her against the thick ridge in my pants and ground it against her soft curves so she would know how much I needed her.

She didn’t flinch or squeal, she matched my hunger with hunger of her own. My mind, or what was left of it, rejoiced. This was not a woman without experience, or how could she know exactly how to touch and taste me to drive me insane?

The last of my inhibitions died as I scooped her into my arms and carried her to a lounger. She lay panting, her eyes wild, her full breasts heaving against the floaty material. Material I’d wanted to rip off her the first time I’d seen her in the damn thing.

Her hair lay around her and I imagined that mermaid in the cartoon she used to love watching when she’d first come to live with us.

The thought should have had a sobering effect. But remembering her as a kid only seemed to make me more aware of how much older she was now.

Not a girl, a woman. A seductress in full charge of her sexuality.

I wanted to tear the sheer fabric, but forced myself to control the urge.

‘I want you so damn much,’ I admitted.

Her skin flushed, the sight breathtaking as her lips spread into a smile that consumed her whole face and left me feeling a little dazed, a lot dazzled.

‘Me too,’ she said on a breathless whisper so full of longing, I was surprised my head didn’t explode.

I lay down beside her, forced myself to go slow. She might know what she did to me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to cherish this moment. I couldn’t offer her permanence. This would be a one-time deal. But it would be the best deal she’d ever had.

I brushed my thumb over the rigid nipple visible through her dress. The violent shiver which racked her body at the light caress made me chuckle.

‘Dio, when did you grow into such a beautiful woman?’ I said, because it still puzzled me. One minute she had been tagging around with my kid brother, climbing trees, causing trouble, and then a month ago everything had changed. She’d walked into the summer ball on Remy’s arm, her curves spotlighted by the dress, her eyes connecting with mine, and all I’d wanted to do was ditch the woman on my own arm and fall to my knees in front of her.

Remy had been teasing me about my reaction ever since.

‘Years ago,’ she whispered.

‘What about Remy?’ I asked as I trailed my thumb over the pulse point in her neck—but the truth was I was finding it hard to care about my brother’s claim on her. If Remy cared about her, why wasn’t he here instead of heading out for the evening in Nice with a group of his friends? ‘I thought you were his girl.’

She blinked and something crossed her face, but then she said, ‘I’m nobody’s girl. I’m a woman, and I make my own decisions.’

Blood pounded in my groin and I gave up trying to think coherently as I scooped a handful of her hair into my fist and tugged her lips back to mine. I’d always tried to protect Remy, not just from our father’s anger but also our mother’s neglect. But I wanted to take this one thing for myself. How could it be wrong when I needed her so much? Remy had always joked about their relationship, never staked a claim to her. Why should I care, if he didn’t?

I sunk into the fragrant mass, which smelled of flowers and sea, as my mouth captured hers. She bowed back, her breasts rubbing against my chest like a cat desperate to be stroked.

I cupped the warm flesh, slipped my hand beneath the bodice. My hunger roared as I found naked flesh and her nipple swelled against my palm.

Dio! She wasn’t wearing a bra.

All the fantasies I’d had about her in the last month, fantasies I had tried so hard to tame, flooded through my brain and had every last molecule of reason plummeting into my pants.

Her palm cradled me, gauging the size and weight of my erection.

I jolted. Her touch was like lightning. My palm glided up her thigh under the floaty fabric to trace the sensitive seam of flesh at the top of her leg. She shuddered and moaned, the raw thirst like a flare to my libido.

I pressed the heel of my hand against her vulva, felt the damp heat of her panties then slipped my finger inside the gusset to find the plump lips of her sex swollen and ready for me.

Grasping handfuls of the dress, I tugged it up.

‘Sit up,’ I ordered, and she obeyed, allowing me to drag the garment over her head. I threw it away then helped her to wriggle out of her panties.

Her naked body glowed in the moonlight, the sprinkle of freckles across her collarbone like a trail of stars leading me home.

I captured the stiff peak between hungry lips. I flicked and nuzzled the pebbled tip until she was panting with need, while my fingers explored the slick seam of her sex and found the swollen nub.

As if she had been primed and ready for me, she choked off a sob.

‘Come for me, bella notte,’ I demanded, frantic to see her shatter.

Her cry echoed in the night and drifted away on the sea breeze. Ecstasy surged through me. I wasn’t a shadow, I was a man. I wasn’t a nobody, I was somebody. At least, to Belle—whatever my father shouted at me.

Her emerald eyes stared at me, unfocused and dazed, her sweet skin flushed a beautiful pink.

Suddenly I was frantically releasing myself from my trousers, positioning her hips. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had no protection with me. I’d never taken a woman without protection in my life, but I promised myself I would pull out before it was too late.

She wrapped her fingers around my shaft, her thumb trailing across the head, and I had to bite off a sob of my own. But I forced myself to slow down, to ask, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her confidence and certainty humbling me.

Notching my erection to her entrance, I pressed in slowly. I forced myself not to thrust too hard. She was tight, incredibly tight, but she didn’t flinch or turn away. She lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around my waist. Welcoming me home as she clung to me, her nails dug into my shoulders, only increasing the sensory overload.

At last I was lodged deep. Our ragged breathing sounded loud in the quiet night. I felt conquered and all-conquering.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked. Had I ever felt this incredible inside a woman before? I didn’t think so. ‘You’re very tight.’

She nodded. ‘It feels wonderful.’ She sighed. I shifted and her voice broke on a raw gasp. I had found her G-spot.

I rocked my hips, out and back, digging into that tender spot—euphoria licking at my spine and turning my limbs to jelly as she reacted like a wild thing.

I wanted to last, wanted to make this as magnificent for her as it was for me, but I could feel the orgasm crashing towards me. I held on, held back, kept pushing, kept thrusting, kept digging. Each sweet sigh, each staggered sob, added to the frenzy working through me.

At last her muscles clamped around me, massaging my length, and my climax roared through me.

I collapsed on top of her, hollowed out, spent, but as soon as the afterglow began to fade and my breathing evened out I knew I’d made a terrible mistake.

I saw Remy’s face—open, joking, laughing, uncomplicated and so loyal—and disgust ripped through me. The shadows returned in a rush, chilling my body as I withdrew and felt her flinch.

Doing up my trousers, I got off the lounger and passed her the dress.

‘Is everything okay, Alexi?’ she asked, suddenly sounding like a little girl again, wary and unsure.

‘I didn’t use a condom,’ I said, turning my back so she could get dressed.

I dragged unsteady fingers through my hair, appalled at my actions.

‘I... I’m sorry... I think it’s okay, though. I’ve only just finished my period.’ Her voice sounded small, hesitant, embarrassed. And the shame engulfed me.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ I said. ‘Just let me know if there’s a problem.’

I turned back. Thank God she had donned the dress and her panties. But she still looked... Heat pulsed. I needed to leave, to get out of here, before I took her again.

‘Okay?’ I said, more sharply than I had intended.

She nodded, her eyes wide. ‘Yes, Alexi.’

‘Are you going to the track tomorrow?’ I asked, sickened with myself when she nodded.

Of course she would be there, to see Remy test the new car. He would want her there because she was his girl, not mine.

‘Don’t tell Remy what happened between us. It was a mistake, okay?’ I said.

She looked down, her fingers clutched together, the knuckles white. Her shoulders trembled imperceptibly and I felt like a bastard. The bastard my father had always accused me of being. Was she going to cry? Damn it.

Capturing her chin, I lifted her face to mine.

‘Do you understand, Belle? It was a mistake. It’s not going to happen again, we’re not dating,’ I said, keeping my voice cool even though the heat was still thrumming through my system like a ballistic missile.

She nodded again.

‘Say it,’ I demanded.

‘I understand, Alexi. We’re not dating. It was a mistake.’

I wanted to kiss her, to apologise—she looked so forlorn—but I resisted the urge and let go of her chin. Those deep pools of green were filled with sadness, but I forced the prickle of anger to the fore. I wasn’t the only one who had cheated on my brother. She had cheated on him too.

I surged out of the water, the memories of that night five years ago so strong and vivid still, I almost expected to see Belle hiding beside the pool house all over again in that devastating green dress. But tonight the pool terrace was empty, the lights from Monte Carlo blinking in the distance as I climbed out and stood on the stones. I shuddered as I grabbed a towel, but the salt-scented breeze didn’t do enough to cool the heat still rioting through my body, or banish the regret.

I’d been a selfish bastard that night. She had been a virgin—it had been so obvious but I’d ignored all the evidence to absolve my own guilt. And she was right. What had come the day after, the devastating blow of Remy’s death, had been nothing more than a tragic accident.

I’d turned on her in my grief, accused and threatened her and sent her away—not just because I felt guilty about what we’d done, devastated by Remy’s death, but because I still wanted her too much. And as a result she’d been too scared to tell me I was a father. A part of me was still angry that, but for our chance meeting in Barcelona a week ago, I might never have discovered I had a son but much of that anger was now directed at myself.

According to the feedback I’d got from Etienne about her meeting with the legal team after I’d left them, she was not keen to accept any money from me for herself. And I considered that a problem. I didn’t just owe my son. I also owed her.

I dried myself, took off my wet shorts and tugged back on the rest of my clothing. After dumping the towel in the bin by the pool house, I picked up my shoes.

As I walked back through the gardens towards the house in the moonlight, my bare feet warmed by the sun-heated stone, a plan formed.

I wanted Belle to accept my support. But I knew how stubborn she was and how independent.

That said, I also still needed a reserve driver, and her credentials as a fuel-efficiency expert were exemplary. Galanti’s latest prototype was still in development and the R&D team was struggling to recruit engineers of her calibre.

Perhaps there was a way to satisfy both my personal responsibilities and my professional needs where Belle was concerned. But I could not risk getting close to her again until I could control the hunger.

As I walked through the silent house to my bedroom, and shucked my damp clothes to step into the shower, the heat that had pounded in my veins ever since that afternoon swelled and throbbed again...

I took the stubborn erection in hand, feeling like a teenage boy. Why could I not control this need?

I pumped my shaft in fast, efficient strokes, the steaming water cascading over my back. The orgasm ripped through me and I let out a muffled shout.

But as I stepped out of the shower and my heartbeat slowed I could feel the tension tightening the muscles at the base of my spine all over again as I imagined seeing Belle again tomorrow—and the heated negotiations that were likely to ensue.

Belle as a love-struck girl was a temptation I had been unable to ignore. Unfortunately, Belle as an independent woman was even more irresistible.

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