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.

‘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?’

Alexi stared at his son without speaking, and the guilt which I had tried so hard not to acknowledge for so long all but overwhelmed me.

Had I done a terrible thing, not contacting Alexi? I wondered as I watched Alexi’s gaze roam over his son’s features, absorbing every detail.

‘Yes,’ Alexi said at last, lifting his gaze from Cai to me, his voice a rasp of emotion.

The slow-burning judgement in his eyes—judgement I recognised from all those years ago by Remy’s graveside—made it clear that was a lie.

He wasn’t my friend. He was my adversary.

Thankfully Cai didn’t notice the harsh look as he rushed to join Jessie. But he stopped at the door and turned back, gifting Alexi one of his sunniest smiles. ‘You can come too and see me sit in the car if you like.’

Alexi nodded. ‘Okay.’

Jessie ushered Cai out of the room, sending me a concerned look. ‘Take as long as you need,’ she said.

It occurred to me that for ever might not be long enough as the door shut behind them. I had brought this on myself. Now I had to negotiate a way out of it. But was that even possible?

The silence descended like a shroud as I waited for the axe to fall but, when Alexi spoke, he said the last thing I had expected.

‘Your son’s resemblance to Remy is remarkable. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were carrying his child when I kicked you out?’

For a moment I was confused, but then I remembered the accusation Alexi had flung at me at the graveside—that I had cheated on Remy, that we both had. That Remy and I had been more than friends...that we had been lovers.

For another moment, I considered letting Alexi believe that misconception. If I told him Cai was Remy’s child, he would have no real claim on my son. On our son.

But it only took a moment more for the mushroom cloud of guilt I had denied for so long to halt that line of reasoning.

There had been so many lies between us and so many omissions. I had kept Remy’s sexuality a secret for five years, just like the secret of our son’s existence, and it had brought us both to this point.

I had to tell Alexi the truth now, however hard. No more excuses.

‘He doesn’t look like Remy, Alexi. I never slept with your brother. You were my first lover...’ My only lover, I almost added, but bit into my lip to stop that truth coming out.

Alexi didn’t need to know no other man had ever made me feel the way he had. The way he could still make me feel if the heat pulsing deep in my abdomen was anything to go by.

I needed to tell him the truth now—but never again did I intend to make myself as vulnerable as I had been before. And my sexual history—or lack of it—was none of his business.

‘Cai’s not Remy’s son...’ I continued, because he looked suspicious now as well as confused, the brittle cynicism turning his features to stone. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to continue. ‘He’s not your brother’s son, Alexi. He’s yours.’

CHAPTER THREE

Alexi

I STARED AT Belle, stunned by her revelation.

I had known, as soon as the child had run into the room and grasped his mother’s legs, that the boy was a Galanti. His round, open face, thick thatch of dark curls and sunny demeanour as he’d bombarded his mother with questions and requests had been so like Remy at the same age, it had been like seeing a ghost.

A ghost of the brother I’d lost, the brother I still missed, the only person who had ever really known me.

Shock had come first, but my surprise had quickly been overcome by the rush of an emotion I couldn’t name and, more terrifyingly, couldn’t control. It was sharp like the grief, loss and guilt which had dogged me for five years but was tangled up with joy—the joy of seeing that happy, uncomplicated face I’d thought I would never see again once more.

Not Remy’s child, my child. That was what she’d said. But I didn’t believe her. Or, rather, I didn’t want to believe her.

How could this child be mine? I was not a father, could never be a father, did not deserve to be a father.

How did I know she wasn’t lying? She said I’d been her first, but how could that be when she and Remy had been like each other’s shadows ever since her mother had first come to work for us? Remy had loved her, that much I did know. But...

The desire which had been lurking rippled through me as I recalled the intense physical connection of our one night together—the feel of soft skin, her staggered sobs as I’d entered her, the riot of pleasure cascading through me as I came...inside her.

I hadn’t used a condom—hadn’t been sober enough or smart enough to think about it. And the next day, when I had intended to check on her, Remy’s crash, his death, had made me forget everything except my guilt at taking his girl, at using her to salve my own loneliness...

I dragged a hand through my hair and studied her face, trying to get my thoughts in order and quell the rioting pulse of emotion, the relentless desire for her, that was still there despite everything.

Did it really matter which one of us had fathered the child? If he was a Galanti I needed to protect him, give him the family name, make him my heir. And find out why she had not told me of his existence until now.

Had she ever intended to tell me?

Her face was a picture of stubborn integrity, but I could see the flicker of guilty knowledge in her eyes.

My usual cynicism returned full force. What was I thinking? Of course she hadn’t told me the truth about the boy’s parentage. The same reasons she had come on to me that night still applied. I had no evidence of the innocence she claimed. Had she bled? I was fairly certain she had not. Although I’d been too ashamed of my own actions, the shocking pleasure of our union, to be absolutely sure.

One thing was certain, though. She had responded to me with an intensity that had taken my breath away. I still had dreams about her soft, breathy sobs as her body had contracted around mine, forcing me to a climax so staggering that just the echo of it had woken me up on so many nights since then, sweaty and desperate, my groin aching, my erection as hard as iron.

Was that normal for a novice? How would I know? I’d never been a woman’s first before. Had certainly never wanted that responsibility. And I didn’t want it now. So I rejected her claims in favour of the narrative I had settled on five years ago.

‘Seriously? You expect me to believe you never slept with Remy?’ I said, my voice carefully devoid of the emotions churning in my stomach and tightening my ribs.

She blinked, stiffened, the flicker of distress in the green depths quickly masked but there nonetheless.

What the hell? Was she really that easy to read? Or was she simply a consummate actress?

‘I’m telling you I know Cai is your son, not Remy’s—whether you believe it or not is up to you.’

She went to walk past me but I grasped her arm, the emotion thundering so hard against my ribs now that the struggle to control it—to stop her from seeing it—was impossible. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to get away, to think, to clear my head and decide what needed to be done now. And most importantly of all regain the emotional equilibrium that had become an integral part of who I was since my brother’s death.

‘There’s a simple way to find out the truth. I want a DNA test done,’ I said.

I needed to know. Was the boy mine or my brother’s? Once I had the full facts at my fingertips, I could begin to figure out how I was going to deal with this staggering revelation.

She tugged her arm out of my grasp. I could see she hadn’t expected that demand. I could also see she wanted to refuse the request.

Satisfaction and a strange sense of regret powered through me.

I was right. I had not been her first. She didn’t know if the child was mine or Remy’s. Why else would she want to avoid a DNA test? Either she knew the boy was Remy’s or she didn’t know which of us had fathered her child.

For all I knew, she might have slept with us both that day.

The memory of her face from five years ago, so open, giving and compassionate, flashed before me. I dismissed it. Just another lie. Another act.

She blinked furiously, as if close to tears, but then her chin firmed and she stared back at me.

‘Okay,’ she said, surprising me with her capitulation. Clearly she had decided to gamble with the possibility I was the boy’s father.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, the emotions confusing me again.

Did I secretly want to be the child’s father? How could that be true when I’d never intended to become a parent? When I knew Remy had always been the best of us. That it would be much better if he could claim this legacy now not me.

I shut down the foolish rush of yearning that the boy was mine.

It made no sense. And, anyway, until I had the results of the test, I did not have to deal with this confusing tangle of emotions.

‘But I want it conducted discreetly,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want my son to know what’s going on until...’

She glanced down at her hands. They were clasped together, the knuckles white. ‘Until I’ve had a chance to prepare him,’ she finished, releasing her fingers and shoving her open hands into the back pocket of her jeans.

She forced her chin up to meet my gaze.

The defiant yet oddly defensive stance pressed her breasts against the soft cotton of her camisole.

I bit into my lip, determined not to let the inevitable endorphin-rush distract me. And found myself drowning in those mossy eyes when our gazes met, the way I had all those years ago.

Damn it, Galanti, snap out of it. She’s an actress and a gold-digger.

But with her face devoid of make-up she looked so young, as young as she had been that night, still a teenager, and it was harder to make myself believe it. I could see the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, could remember her sweet sighs as I kissed every one of them before devouring those plump lips which had tasted of cherry cola and eagerness.

‘Once you have the proof you need, what do you intend to do?’ she asked.

I frowned at the direct question, the guilelessness of it disturbing me. Until I got a grip.

It’s just an act. She looks artless, innocent, but she’s playing you. No one is ever really honest. There’s always an agenda. Once you’ve found out exactly what her agenda is, you’ll be back on solid ground again.

Obviously it made no sense that she would keep the boy’s existence a secret from me for five years, and had never contacted me for the severance cheque, if this was a simple case of extortion.

But maybe her agenda was more sophisticated than that. Was she playing a longer game, to get more? And why did I really care anyway? As long as I took control of the situation, it didn’t matter what her agenda was, because my agenda was the one that would prevail.

‘I don’t know,’ I replied, even though I knew what I wanted was likely to conflict with what she wanted.

Never show your hand until you are ready to play your cards.

It was a motto I had lived by for a long time. It had won me considerable amounts at the high-stakes game in my friend Dante Allegri’s casino and had also been a guiding principle in my business and personal life.

‘I wasn’t expecting to find out I had a four-year-old son today,’ I said.

Or that Remy had one, I added silently to myself, even though that strange yearning for the boy to be mine was still pulsing in my chest. I’d figure that out later too. ‘Once I have the information, I’ll be in touch.’

Whatever the outcome of the DNA test, I planned to claim the child as a Galanti. And punish her for not having told me of the boy’s existence a lot sooner. I also planned to have her thoroughly investigated.

Is she sleeping with Renzo?

The question popped into my head as something wholly unfamiliar tore through my insides. Something visceral and indiscriminate. I had to curl my fingers into fists to stop me from acting on the sudden urge to capture her face in my hands and claim those lush lips with my own—driving my tongue into the recesses of her mouth until she clung to me the way she had before and I plunged deep into her....

I tensed and shoved my fists into the pockets of my jeans, shocked by the direction of my thoughts.

Dio, I needed to get laid. Clearly the shock of seeing the child, of seeing her again, had had an unpredictable effect not just on my emotional equilibrium but on my libido.

I was off-kilter, not a condition I was used to, which explained this forceful and inexplicable reaction.

She nodded, apparently taking my answer at face value.

‘I... I understand,’ she said.

No, you don’t, but you will.

Whatever the result of the DNA test, she had kept the child’s existence from me for five years. And for that she would pay.

‘I should go,’ she said, strangely polite. ‘Cai is waiting for me. Let me know what you need and when for the test. I think it’s just a swab. I can make it into a game to explain it to Cai.’ She huffed out a breath to stop the babble of information, but her nervousness was visible in her trembling fingers as she pushed the shock of ruddy curls away from her face.

This was not an act. But then, if she had any idea what I was thinking, she had a lot to be nervous about.

‘I’ll... I’ll speak to you again about Cai, when you’re ready,’ she said.

Walking over to the sofa, she picked up a large bag, rummaged inside and produced a card. ‘This is my work number. I’ll...we’ll...be back in the UK by tomorrow night. And you can contact me there most week days between nine and five. Or my PA will take a message.’

She handed me the card and our fingers brushed. I managed to stifle the sudden jolt of reaction. Her, not so much.

Why did that make me want to smile, despite everything?

The tug of amusement died, though, as I read the address on her business card and recognised the location of Camaro’s R&D headquarters in London.

The surge of possessiveness was as visceral as that strange pulse of jealousy and lust, but I explained it to myself as I watched her sling her purse over her shoulder.

I might be unclear at the moment about how much of a father—or an uncle—I was capable of being to this child. But he would need to live in Monaco, to understand his Galanti heritage. And that would mean his mother would have to come too.

It would be no hardship offering her a position in our R&D operation, if her credentials were as good as Freddie had suggested, and I did still need a reserve driver. That situation hadn’t changed from when I’d first walked into this room. Even if everything else had.

‘Goodbye, Alexi,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry...’ She paused, her regret looking surprisingly genuine. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Cai sooner. That was wrong of me. Call me when you’re ready.’

I nodded as the emotion I’d been keeping so carefully at bay swelled against my ribs.

I watched her disappear back into the changing area, probably to collect her racing suit. I strode out of the lounge area. The emotion threatened to choke me as I headed towards the track’s parking lot and away from the car hangars where the boy was with his babysitter.

You need to take stock, to know exactly what you’re dealing with before you proceed.

But, even as the mantra ran through my head, all the conflicting emotions churned in my stomach: grief, longing, desire, anger, confusion. My fingers shook as I fished my key out of my pocket and clicked the fob.

As I climbed into the car, fired up the engine and drove away, I knew my whole life had changed in the space of one afternoon. The reality of that fact was reinforced by the tug of something vivid and inescapable—was it lust, regret, longing or grief? Who the hell knew?

But the force of it was dragging me back into the past harder than the G-force in the driver’s seat of our newest model when it hit two hundred miles per hour.

I had been running from myself, and my sins against Remy, for five years, maybe longer, and now the truth of what I’d done, what we’d both done to him, had caught up with me.

In the shape of one boisterous little boy and a woman I had never been able to forget—unlike any other, even my own mother—even though I had tried.

CHAPTER FOUR

Belle

Dear Mlle Simpson

The results of the test carried out on May 20th by The Royal Harley Street Clinic on the DNA of your son, Cai Remy Simpson, and Mr Alexi Gustavo Galanti show a 99.98 percentage probability that he is the father of your child.

As a result of this information, Mr Galanti has asked me to inform you that he has arranged for you to fly out to Monaco on his private jet on May 23rd for a meeting with him, myself and the rest of his legal team at Villa Galanti so we can outline how he plans to proceed.

I enclose details of the travel arrangements and your overnight stay at the villa.

A car will collect you at your home address at ten that morning.

Salutations distinguées,

Etienne Severo, avocat

I READ THE email from Alexi’s lawyer which had arrived while I’d been busy packing Cai’s lunch box and trying to cajole him into putting on his shoes that morning.

I hadn’t had time to panic about it then, but I had lots of time to panic about it now as I read it for the five-thousandth time.

I hadn’t done any work this morning. My fear at the curt demand choked me. Alexi expected me to drop everything and come to Monaco to find out how he planned to proceed in two days’ time. And to stay overnight at Villa Galanti. He’d given me virtually no time to arrange leave or childcare, and there had been little mention of Cai. While I was grateful he hadn’t asked me to bring Cai, the impersonal nature of the solicitor’s letter, and the laying down of battle lines contained within it, disturbed me.

I had expected Alexi’s high-handed, dictatorial approach. Of course he mistrusted me. I’d kept his son’s existence from him, and what evidence did he have I would ever have told him but for a chance encounter? But in the last few days I had hoped that, once Cai’s parenthood was established, he would contact me personally—that his first priority would be getting to know the innocent four-year-old child at the centre of this situation.

I read the email again, scanning it for any evidence of warmth or empathy towards his son. Even if I didn’t deserve any sympathy, surely Cai did? But the words remained as cold and compassionless as when I’d first read them.

A prickle of anger burned under my breastbone, which made an unfortunate bedfellow for the panic which had consumed me all morning.

Part of me wanted to refuse his demand. I didn’t want to go to the Galanti mansion—there were so many memories there waiting to hijack me—and demanding I go alone and stay the night at the villa could only be a ploy to unsettle and unnerve me.

I closed the email app on my phone as the anger fizzled out.

Whatever Alexi’s agenda was, and however scared I was about the outcome of this ‘meeting’, I couldn’t keep running away from the confrontation I had avoided for so long. I had hoped Alexi would be reasonable. Clearly that wasn’t going to happen, but I owed it to my son to hear what his father had to say.

I could feel Alexi’s anger with me in the lawyer’s words. And I had to face that in order to move forward now.

Because I’d seen how confused, how emotional, Alexi had been when I’d revealed Cai’s identity to him nearly a week ago. Even though he’d tried exceptionally hard to hide it, I had blindsided him.

And I had to accept he had a right to be angry with me.

I dialled Jessie’s number. My cousin picked up on the first ring.

‘Hey, Belle,’ she said, her warm voice already helping to release the pressure which had been strangling me ever since my fateful meeting with Alexi—a pressure which had become unbearable ever since his lawyer’s email had arrived.

‘Hi, Jess. I need to go to Monaco day after tomorrow and stay overnight... Could you look after Cai while I’m gone? I know it’s super-short notice and I—’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Jessie interrupted. ‘You know I love to look after him. What time do you need me there?’

I rattled off the details.

Cai hadn’t done anything wrong, even if I had. Cai’s welfare always came first—and if Alexi’s ‘plans’ for me and our son turned out to be not in Cai’s best interests I would tell him so.

I didn’t like the implication in the lawyer’s email that Alexi planned to tell me how he was going to handle this situation and I would just be expected to follow his orders. But it shouldn’t surprise me.

Alexi had always been pushy and, well, frankly domineering and determined to get his own way. He’d been like that ever since I’d first known him as a teenager on the rare occasions when he’d deigned to notice the housekeeper’s infatuated daughter, so it was no surprise he was even more of a dictator now.

I had toyed with the idea of hiring a lawyer to accompany me to Villa Galanti but had decided against it. Why make this even more confrontational than it already was? I would not be signing anything at this meeting, and he couldn’t force me to do so, because I was now the opposite of that infatuated teenager.

So I would go to Monaco, to his meeting, listen politely to what he had to say, deal with his anger, his enmity and his legal team and then, once I returned to the UK, I would hire my own lawyer to thrash out the child custody arrangements.

The anxiety thrummed under my breastbone again.

I earned a very good salary from Camaro. But I still had student loans to pay, not to mention Cai’s childcare and a large mortgage for our tiny flat in west London. I wouldn’t be able to afford a legal team anywhere near as fancy as Alexi’s... I took a steadying breath.

Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.

I didn’t even know yet what he wanted to do. It was quite possible he wouldn’t even want any custody. He hadn’t exactly seemed overjoyed at the news he had a son. Just stunned, wary and then angry. I might well be panicking about nothing. Perhaps this meeting was simply to punish me for not telling him about his child.

‘Why are you going to Monaco? Is it a work thing?’ Jessie’s calming voice drew me back to the present before the panic started to choke me again.

‘Sort of,’ I attempted to lie, but my response didn’t sound convincing even to me. I had always been a terrible liar.

‘It’s not to do with Alexi Galanti, then?’ Jessie’s question had my belly knotting.

‘How do you know about him?’ I rasped.

‘I looked him up after he freaked you out so much in Barcelona.’

‘Right,’ I said. I thought I’d managed to hide that from Jessie. ‘So you noticed that, huh?’

‘Yes, I noticed that, Belle. I also noticed his resemblance to Cai. Is he his father?’ She’d never asked me the question before, and I’d been pathetically grateful for that over the years, but I could see now that was just more evidence of what a coward I’d been. Jessie had a right to know. She’d helped me get back on my feet when I’d turned up on her doorstep pregnant, destitute and distraught.

‘Yes, he is,’ I said.

‘And I’m assuming he knows that too, if he’s an observant man.’

Alexi was certainly that. ‘He insisted on a DNA test.’ His mistrust still stung, but I was trying to make that not about me.

Alexi had never really trusted anyone, especially not women, not since his mother had run away and left his brother and him alone to deal with their alcoholic father.

‘The results came through from his lawyer this morning,’ I continued. ‘He’s arranged for me to fly to Monaco to talk about his plans.’

‘His plans?’ Jessie asked. ‘That sounds arrogant.’

‘You have no idea,’ I murmured. ‘I’m scared. I have no idea what he’s planning to tell me, but I doubt it will be pleasant. I’m scared he’s so angry with me he might try to use Cai to get back at me,’ I added, finally voicing my real fear.

Alexi still believed I was a gold-digger and a whore, a woman who had cheated on his brother and lied to protect herself. Who got ahead by using men and then discarding them. A woman who had no loyalty, no honour and no morals. Given that I’d only ever slept with him, his low opinion of me would almost be funny if it weren’t so damning and... I swallowed sharply, finally forced to admit something else...hurtful. It shamed me to realise Alexi’s low opinion still had the power to hurt me when Cai’s feelings were the only thing that mattered now.

‘What makes you think he’ll do that?’ Jessie asked, sounding shocked and a little scared too. If she’d investigated Alexi at all she had to know how rich he was, and how powerful.

‘Well, mostly the fact that he demanded to see me, but not Cai. I’m not even sure if he wants to be a father. He hardly mentions Cai in the letter.’

‘Okay.’ Jessie sighed, sounding relieved. ‘Perhaps that’s not all that surprising, though.’

‘How so?’ I asked.

‘He’s a billionaire playboy who seems to have a revolving-door policy with girlfriends.’ Okay, so Jessie had really checked him out. ‘What does he know about the needs of a four-year-old? Or being a father, for that matter? He’s clearly super-arrogant but he doesn’t strike me as a stupid man. Perhaps he’s simply asked to see you alone first so he can get a better handle on being a dad.’ She coughed. ‘As well as give you hell for keeping Cai a secret for so long...’ Jessie’s voice trailed off into silence, but I could hear the soft note of censure. She’d never asked me about the circumstances of Cai’s parentage, because I’d always made it clear to her I didn’t want to discuss it, but I could hear the question in her tone now even if she hadn’t asked it.

Why had I done it?

‘Belle, you’re not scared of him for any other reason, are you?’ she asked gently. ‘He didn’t hurt you, did he? Force you in any way? That isn’t why you ran, is it? Why you didn’t want him to know about his son?’

‘God, no!’ I rasped as the shame cascaded through me.

‘Are you sure?’ she probed again.

‘Yes, it wasn’t like that,’ I said, but the tightening in my throat made it hard for me to speak as every detail of our encounter flooded back—hot, febrile and exciting, but never frightening.

And I finally had the real answer why I was so scared to return to Villa Galanti and face Alexi alone. It wasn’t just because of the hostile reception I knew I would face from him. It wasn’t fear of what plans he might have for Cai’s custody or even his motivations behind them. It was the harsh truth that my desire for him had never died and spending two days and one night in his company—at the location of my original downfall—had the potential to bring all those needs and wants hurtling back.

It was terrifying to realise the girl I thought had been lost long ago might still be lurking inside me somewhere, still yearning for Alexi’s touch...and his affection.

As the helicopter circled Villa Galanti, the emotions rushing towards me were as strong, if not stronger, than the downdraft from the blades.

Nothing could have prepared me for the hard hit of grief as the big black machine drifted over the estate’s private beach and the landscaped gardens. The marble statues and elegant follies, the enchanting water features and ancient woods, the beds overflowing with shrubs and flowers, all morphed into pirate ships, cowboy forts and haunted hideouts in my mind’s eye as I imagined Remy and I running through them together as children and then teenagers.

As the helicopter flew over the fifteen-bedroomed Belle Époque mansion at the centre of the estate, and the small housekeeper’s cottage behind where I had lived with my mother, the villa’s swimming pool on the garden’s lower terrace came into view.

My already pounding heart jumped into my throat then sunk deep into my abdomen as another memory blazed through my body. The blast of heat made my thighs tremble and my nipples pebble into hard peaks.

I had known my mind and my body would play tricks on me, but as I stared at the marble pool below, the sunshine glinting off the crystal-blue water, the whirring blades making the palm trees ruffle and bend, I knew I hadn’t factored in the power of those recollections as they reared out of my subconscious and struck me like a bolt of lightning, searing and devastating...

My heartbeat accelerated as I imagined myself, aged nineteen in the green cocktail dress I had donned after I had spotted Alexi heading towards the pool terrace...and raced after him...

My heart rammed into my throat as I crept past the pool house, the sultry night air settling around me like a blanket. My gaze landed on the pool perched on the clifftop overlooking the sea. The underwater lighting gave the water a turquoise glow and illuminated the even more breathtaking figure of a man slicing through the pool in powerful, efficient strokes.

I stumbled back to shield myself, my eyes going so wide it was a wonder my eyeballs didn’t pop right out of my skull.

My heart swelled, beating so hard and fast it started to gag me.

Was Alexi naked? I wondered as I spotted a pile of clothes on one of the loungers. I studied his strong shoulders, powerful arms and tanned back ploughing through the water and tried to focus on what lay beneath the surface.

The butterflies in my stomach formed into a boulder. A hot, heavy boulder that got wedged between my thighs and made my sex beat with the same furious, erratic rhythm as my heart.

The figure powered to the end of the pool then executed a perfect backflip to thunder back towards me.

I spotted his boxer shorts clinging to the bunched muscles of his backside.

Not naked.

My galloping heartbeat slowed. A little. And my breath gushed out of constricted lungs.

But my relief was short lived when Alexi levered himself out of the pool only a few feet from where I stood.

I flattened myself against the wall, trying to be invisible as the water cascaded off his broad shoulders. He stood on the pool patio, the wet boxers clinging to the long muscles of his flanks as he scooped up a towel from the lounger. Water glistened on his tanned skin in the moonlight as he scrubbed his hair, making it stick up in tufts.

I should have left, given him his privacy. But I stood transfixed, trapped by the sensations rioting through my body as he slung the towel around his neck, slid his thumbs under the waist band of his wet shorts and bent to shove them down his legs. He kicked them off and straightened, rubbing the towel over his groin.

My heart hammered my ribs so hard it was a miracle I didn’t pass out.

Alexi Galanti naked was more beautiful than anything I could ever have imagined. And I’d imagined a lot.

He stood silhouetted against the pool glow and the twinkle of lights from Monte Carlo across the bay, spotlighted like Adonis against the night.

No, not Adonis.

Poseidon.

This was not a boy. This was a man. A god-like man.

He flung down the towel and reached for his jeans, leaving him standing completely naked in front of me. I could see absolutely everything now.

Oh. My. Good. God.

My breath released in a shattered gasp.

His head shot up and he pinned me with that searing blue gaze. Heat exploded in my cheeks like a volcano, the hot lava of mortification spreading over my face and flooding across my collarbone.

He held his clothing over his groin, his dark brows drawn in a sharp frown. But he didn’t look embarrassed, just annoyed.

‘Belle, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Go back to bed.’

My humiliation threatened to engulf me at the curt command—but, before I could mumble my way through an apology and flee, something Remy had said to me recently echoed in my skull.

Alexi wants you too. He’s just better at hiding it.

And suddenly I noticed the tension in his jaw and the flicker of something dangerous in those impossibly blue eyes.

Was I imagining Alexi’s response, thanks to years of adolescent fantasies and the massive sensory overload I had just endured? But, even if that was true, did it matter?

If I wanted Alexi to stop treating me like a child, I had to stop acting like one. I gathered every ounce of courage I had ever possessed and stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, close enough to smell the chlorine on his skin and see the ripple of tension make his pectoral muscles quiver.

‘No,’ I said, a little astonished by how clear my voice sounded when I was dying inside.

If he rejected me now, if he treated me like a child, if Remy had been wrong, I might never recover. But somehow I knew—just like Remy, when he pressed his foot to the floor and let the new Galanti prototype soar—that the possible reward was worth the risk.

‘What do you mean, no?’ Alexi replied, the dark frown arrowing down so sharply I could almost see thunderclouds forming above his head.

‘I’m not going to bed.’ I let my gaze glide over the planes and angles of his body, let the lava settle between my thighs. The scatter of scars from the many times his father had hurt him added to the deep well of compassion in my ragged breathing. ‘I want to be here, with you. I’m not a child any more, Alexi.’

He blinked slowly, his beautiful lips, the lips I’d yearned to feel on mine so many times, firming into a thin line. A new wave of heat raged through me.

But this wasn’t embarrassed heat any more. It was excited, exhilarated, triumphant heat.

For the first time ever, I’d left Alexi Galanti completely speechless. He didn’t have a snarky remark, an amused comeback. He had nothing.

His gaze glided over me in return. And I felt the burn go through me like wildfire.

‘So, you’re a woman, are you?’ I could hear the edge in his voice, but I could also see the arousal—adding a silver glint to the deep blue of his irises—and knew he was testing me. He wanted to scare me off as he had so many times before.

And suddenly I knew why he had treated me like a child long after I had become a woman. Remy was right—he wanted me. But that gallant streak which he had always pretended didn’t exist—the gallant streak which made him take his father’s fists to protect his brother—had prevented him from taking what he wanted. What we both wanted.

The revelation was like a balm to my soul. And a spur to my senses. It felt how I imagined taking the chequered flag in Bahrain or Melbourne or Barcelona two seconds ahead of the field would feel like. Breathtaking and wonderful, exhilarating and life-affirming all at once.

I’d taken an enormous risk and here was my reward.

‘Yes, I’m a woman,’ I said, my voice clearer and more certain now. ‘And I have been for a while. You’ve just pretended not to see it.’ But he saw it now, I realised, when he put on his jeans in front of me, almost daring me to drink my fill as he tugged them on and buttoned the fly. So of course I did.

He hadn’t said anything but, as he turned into the light, I noticed the bruising on his jaw.

‘He hit you,’ I said, lifting my hand to soothe him.

His arm shot out and he clasped my wrist in an iron grip, preventing my fingers from reaching the skin.

‘Don’t,’ he said. The word was expelled on a tortured rasp and the subtle whiff of tequila on his breath—and my heart silently broke in two at the wary look on his face. ‘I don’t need your pity,’ he said, but I could hear the pain.

It was so real and vivid, it made my stomach ache.

His grip loosened and then he dropped my hand and looked down. The defeated stoop of his shoulders, the exhaustion in his stance, burned away my intense anger at his father until all that was left was the grief. And the longing.

I stepped closer and cradled his cheeks in my hands. He stiffened, but made no move to stop me this time.

I stared into those beautiful blue eyes, for once unguarded, and saw the sadness there, which made me want to weep. But I could also see the desire.

The love I had always had for him—this proud, stubborn, foolishly gallant man—flowed through me and I let every ounce of it shine in my eyes.

‘Damn it,’ he said as he covered my hands with his but didn’t move to pull them away from his jaw. ‘Don’t look at me like that, bella notte.’

The nickname sounded like an endearment as his voice came out on a husky rasp.

‘Like what?’ I asked.

‘Like you want me,’ he said. ‘Because I’m screwed up enough right now to take you up on the offer and to hell with the consequences.’

Excitement and yearning leapt in my heart and I told him the truth I’d locked inside me for far too long. ‘But I do want you, Alexi. I always have. And I don’t care about the consequences.’

The helicopter touched down on the helipad, jolting me out of my reverie.

Stop it. Stop thinking about that night. About the man you thought you knew.

I rubbed my hands over my face, then gripped my bag tightly enough to score the leather as the big black machine’s blades whirred to a stop.

This trip was going to be hard enough to negotiate without me reliving the painful past. I needed to control the memories and the desire that came with them.

A young man appeared from the back entrance of the house to greet me. I took careful breaths to steady my nerves and the inappropriate heat as he helped me down from the helicopter and took my bag.

‘Mademoiselle Simpson, I am Pierre Dupont, Monsieur Galanti’s assistant. I hope your journey was good?’

‘Yes, very, thanks,’ I replied, even though the memory of the journey was a blur now—the chauffeur-driven car to the airport, the flight on Team Galanti’s private jet, and the subsequent helicopter ride—my mind still anchored in the past.

I shook my head, trying to jog the memories loose.

‘Monsieur Galanti is awaiting your arrival with his legal team,’ Pierre said as he ushered me into the house. The familiar smell hit me—a mix of lemon polish, old wood and fresh flowers reminding me, not just of my childhood, but also my mother and her titanic efforts to make the imposing, ornate property a welcoming, homely place despite the anguish that had lurked inside.

I swallowed past the choking sensation in my throat.

Time to get a grip, Belle.

I’d indulged myself enough already. This wasn’t the home I’d once known. I was entering enemy territory. And Alexi wasn’t my lover any more—if he ever had been—he was my adversary.

Instead of leading me to Gustavo’s old office in the east wing of the house, a place where I knew Alexi had often been ‘disciplined’ by his father as a teenager, Pierre directed me up the stairs to a suite of bright, airy rooms on the first floor. I recognised the door leading to the sunlit terrace immediately, because no one had been allowed to enter this section of the house when I had lived in the villa’s grounds as a child.

Because these rooms had belonged to Gustavo’s wife, Amelie.

As Pierre opened the door to her former salon, sunshine glinted on the office’s modern furniture, but it was the silhouette of the man in the far corner staring through the salon’s terrace doors that got all my attention.

Dressed in an expertly tailored business suit which accentuated his tall, lean frame, Alexi had his back to me. He didn’t move but tension rippled across his shoulder blades as I was introduced to the four other men in suits who sat in front of his desk.

One of them, a distinguished man in his fifties, offered his hand with a friendly smile. ‘Mademoiselle Simpson, I am Etienne Severo, Monsieur Galanti’s lead attorney.’

I took his hand and introduced myself, but my gaze remained glued to Alexi as he finally turned.

The sun cast his face into shadow, making it impossible to gauge his reaction. Was he bitter, angry, as wary as I was about this meeting? My heart thudded in my chest, along with the brutal heat that refused to die.

He nodded his own greeting as he walked around his desk. But, as Etienne Severo suggested we sit down so he could outline Monsieur Galanti’s plans, Alexi interrupted him.

‘So you came?’ His voice was flat, but I didn’t sense anger in the tone so much as contempt. ‘I didn’t think you’d have the guts.’

I blinked, taken aback by his hostility even though I had expected it. ‘I want to try and make this right and help you form a relationship with your son.’

One sceptical eyebrow rose up Alexi’s forehead.

‘Do you really?’ Disdain and mistrust dripped from his lips. ‘And how exactly do you propose to do that when I have missed the formative years of his life through your actions?’

The edge of anger and judgement was rapier-sharp now. So the gloves were already off, if they had ever been on.

I could try to defend my silence or simply ignore the barb—his question after all was a rhetorical one—but this meeting was supposed to be about Cai, not me. And not our previous liaison. So I attempted to answer honestly.

‘By...’ I swallowed around my dry throat. ‘By answering any questions you have about him. And letting you know what an incredible child he is.’

‘So you’ve told him about me?’ he asked, but it was another cynical question, his voice tense with suspicion, the anger sparkling in his eyes.

I didn’t dislodge my gaze, even though I wanted to.

‘I’ve talked in generalities with him about you. He’s never asked about his father, but he’s curious now, and I think he’ll be ready to meet you soon.’ It had only been a week since our chance encounter, but I’d already begun to prepare the ground for Cai to meet Alexi. I wanted my son to be excited about meeting his father, but I also wanted to be sure Alexi wouldn’t take his anger with me out on our son.

‘How soon?’

‘I don’t know, when did you have in mind?’ I asked, struggling to be civil in the face of his enmity. He was baiting me. This wasn’t about Cai—this was about his anger with me.

‘How about I have him flown out here tomorrow?’ he asked, stepping closer, his big body rippling with barely concealed rage.

‘No!’ I said, forcing myself to stand my ground.

‘No?’ he said, his voice rising. ‘What gives you the right to keep my son from me a moment longer?’

‘Because I’m his mother.’

‘And I’m his father. A fact you chose to forget for five years.’

‘You’re also a stranger to him,’ I pointed out.

‘And who’s fault is that?’ he shouted, the anger unleashed.

‘It’s my fault,’ I admitted. ‘Mostly.’

I wasn’t the only one to blame—maybe if he hadn’t rejected me so thoroughly all those years ago, maybe if he hadn’t destroyed my confidence and my self-worth, I might not have been scared to contact him. Scared he would reject Cai the way he had rejected me.

‘Mostly?’ The word sliced into me, harsh and unyielding.

But before I could defend myself Severo cleared his throat loudly. ‘Perhaps we could sit down and outline your offer to Mademoiselle Simpson, Alexi?’

Alexi stared at him blankly for a moment, and I wondered if he had forgotten the legal team was in the room.

‘Actually, I wish to speak with Mademoiselle Simpson in private.’

The other men nodded and started to gather the papers strewn across Alexi’s desk, probably more than happy to leave us to it, but before any of them could leave Severo surprised me.

‘Is this acceptable to you, Mademoiselle Simpson?’ he asked. I had to give him credit for standing up to Alexi, his employer, on my behalf, especially as he had to sense the animosity between us.

Heat fired across my collarbone as Alexi waited for my answer, challenge as well as contempt in his expression. He was expecting me to refuse, possibly to run away again. The way I had five years ago.

And I couldn’t deny the urge to do so.

Being alone in a room with him felt perilous for a number of reasons, but I knew I wasn’t scared of him, or his anger. Not any more. I wasn’t the naïve, easily bruised nineteen-year-old he’d rejected so cruelly five years ago, and he wasn’t the grief-stricken man torn apart by guilt for his brother’s death. He was the father of my child. And that meant we had to find a way through this. Somehow.

So I nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll talk with Monsieur Galanti alone.’

Severo nodded back before he and the other lawyers left.

‘Sit down,’ Alexi said, indicating a large leather arm chair as he strode across the carpet to sit behind his desk. I wondered if he needed to create distance between us as much as I did. Were the memories of our one night together as hard for him to ignore as they were for me?

Whatever his motives, the endorphins making every one of my pulse points pound relaxed as he stepped away from me.

He propped his elbows on the desk, those pure blue eyes skewering me to the spot as he studied me.

I waited for him to speak first.

‘Why?’ he asked at last. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the boy’s existence?’ The words were clipped, his frustration clear, but unfortunately I didn’t have a straight answer for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologised again. ‘I should have contacted you a long—’

‘I don’t want an apology.’ He cut in. ‘I want to know why. Is it because you weren’t sure if I was the father?’

The hurt at his mistrust of me was like a blow. So we were back to that again. I hated that he was forcing me to admit again how vulnerable I had been that night, but I refused to be defensive.

‘I told you, you were my first lover,’ I replied.

‘So you say, but you didn’t behave like a virgin. You were so...’ His gaze seared my skin, the memories pounding back to life.

‘I was so what?’ I said. ‘So un-virgin-like?’

‘So responsive, so eager.’ He growled the words as if they were an insult. But my stupid body didn’t take the comment as an insult. Instead the husky rasp made the fire inside me spark and spit.

‘How many women have an orgasm their first time?’ he added. ‘Unless you faked that too?’

I leapt out of the chair. ‘You bastard. I didn’t fake anything. I enjoyed it. I wanted it. I wanted you. I’d wanted to find out what all the fuss about sex was for a long time,’ I added quickly, in case he read too much into that bald statement. The truth was I hadn’t wanted sex with anyone. I’d wanted Alexi to be my first, had dreamed about what it would be like, and he had not disappointed me. I hadn’t just had one orgasm, I’d had several. But I’d be damned if I’d compliment him on his performance when he was already holding my response against me.

‘If I was really your first, why didn’t you tell me that?’ he countered and I wanted to scream. ‘Don’t all women want their first lover to know?’

‘Of course not,’ I shot back. ‘You’ve obviously never been a nineteen-year-old girl. The last thing I wanted was for you to know I’d never done it before.’ Duh. ‘You were gorgeous and sophisticated and six years older than me. I’d had a massive crush on you for as long as I could remember. I wanted you to see me as a woman. Not a little girl.’

‘You didn’t bleed,’ he said, still interrogating me.

The anger I’d carefully held at bay ripped through me to join the riot of inappropriate hormonal responses.

‘So what? I don’t have to prove my virginity to you. I don’t actually care whether you believe I was a virgin or not. I only told you because I wanted you to know how I knew Cai was your son.’

We were talking in circles, I realised. Pointless circles. I already knew I would never be able to break through the wall of cynicism that made him believe every woman was a cheat, an actress, a liar. And I had not come here to try.

‘But what about Remy?’ he said. ‘You expect me to believe you didn’t sleep with him when he loved you and you say you loved him?’

‘It was never like that between us—we were just friends.’ I wanted to say we’d been like brother and sister, but that would have been doing a disservice to our friendship. Remy and I had never fought, never argued. Unlike siblings, there had been no rivalry between us, only support and love. We had always had each other’s backs, had always been there for each other. God, I wished he was here for me right now, so he could knock some sense into his brother.

‘Don’t make me laugh. No man would be able to love you like he did and not want to take that friendship...’ he made sarcastic air quotes, making the anger thrum in my chest ‘...to its logical conclusion.’

‘Unless he was a gay man,’ I said.

‘What?’ he croaked.

Guilt ripped into me and I sat down again. I hadn’t intended to tell him about Remy so cold-bloodedly... I hadn’t even really considered telling him at all. Why would I reveal Remy’s secret now when I had respected my friend’s privacy for so long? But I hadn’t expected to be subjected to an inquisition about my virginity.

Why was Alexi so hung up about that detail of our liaison?

‘I’m sorry,’ I said grudgingly but, as I watched the truth he had never acknowledged about his brother cross his face, the guilt blossomed under my breastbone.

I had always known this would be hard for Alexi—finding out his brother had never confided in him, discovering that their relationship had not been as close as he’d thought—but I couldn’t hold on to the lies a moment longer.

‘Remy was gay,’ I reiterated, the anger fading and leaving me shaky and sad. ‘He had his first boyfriend when he was fourteen. He never wanted me in that way because he didn’t desire women.’

I sunk into the chair, suddenly exhausted. I’d got up at four that morning, left my child sleeping and been on a knife-edge of stress for days, but that wasn’t what was making my bones feel so weary. It was the renewed flicker of compassion as I watched the bone-deep regret cross Alexi’s face.

‘But if that’s true, why didn’t he tell me?’ he whispered. ‘Did he think I would reject him? That I would love him any less? That I was some kind of narrow-minded bigot?’

I hadn’t wanted to reopen this raw wound. Alexi was probably still beating himself up about Remy’s death, because that was the kind of man he was, jealously guarding his pain so he didn’t have to share it with anyone, or show any weakness.

‘No, of course not,’ I said. ‘Remy knew you loved him, because he knew all about the abuse you took from Gustavo to protect him.’

Alexi’s gaze hardened, as I knew it would. This was his private pain too. Stuff I was supposed to pretend didn’t matter, hadn’t affected him. But it was this secrecy which had made it impossible for Remy to confide in his brother. That needed to end now.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said.

‘We knew,’ I said. ‘About the extent of the abuse, Alexi. The back-handed slaps, the casual violence. We could hear the shouting, the things he said to you late at night when you both thought we were in bed. We saw the bruises, the split lips, the black eyes you pretended were caused by anything else but him. Remy knew how homophobic your father was. He kept his sexuality a secret because he thought he had to, to protect you from having to protect him from your father’s abuse. Again. That night...’

My breathing became ragged, the memories flowing back, the emotion, the pain, as real as the desire. ‘I came to you because I’d overheard your father shouting at you again. He hit you. And you didn’t hit him back, even though you could have. You were bigger and stronger than him, but you took it, the way you always did. I could see how angry you were, how humiliated, and I wanted to help, to make it better somehow.’

‘What are you saying?’ he demanded as he strode round the desk. ‘That the night we made our son was a pity screw? That you sacrificed your virginity to make me feel better about the fact my father hated my guts?’

I stood up and tilted my head so I could look into his eyes, brutally aware of the unyielding strength of his body, the tension vibrating through him and the pulse of desire making my knees dissolve. I shook my head because I had never pitied him, only loved him.

Going with instinct, I touched his cheek. I wasn’t infatuated with him any more, I could see all his weaknesses now, but a part of me still ached for that valiant young man who had always protected his brother.

The bunched muscle in his jaw clenched against my palm as he jerked his head free.

I dropped my hand. I should not have touched him. But, as I stared into his eyes, all I could see was the same rage and pain I’d wanted to soothe that night.

I didn’t want to soothe it any more. Because I knew I couldn’t.

‘Don’t touch me, Belle, or you’ll be sorry again,’ he said.

‘I’m not sorry,’ I said, the foolish urge to take away his pain getting the better of me. ‘I’ve never been sorry. I got Cai out of it, and the best sex of my life.’

The only sex of my life.

He swore viciously, but then his own hands cradled my cheeks. ‘Why do you tempt me still?’

I wasn’t sure if it was a question meant for me or himself, but I answered it anyway. ‘I can’t help it,’ I whispered.

His fingers threaded into my hair, sending flying the pins that I’d used to tame the red mass.

‘Tell me to stop,’ he said, his voice tortured as he tilted my head back.

‘I can’t.’ I shuddered, giving him the tacit permission he sought.

The wave of need slammed into me as his lips fastened on my neck, his teeth and tongue feasting on my throat as he sucked on the pulse point. I shivered as his erection pressed into my belly and my fingers gripped his shirt to drag him closer.

His arms banded around my waist at last, his fingers roaming freely under my blouse. Pleasure blossomed inside me, tightening my nipples.

At last his mouth found mine, his tongue plunging deep—tempting, taking, conquering.

I met his demands with demands of my own. It had been so long since I’d felt this need, this desire, so long since I’d been wanted in this way. But, just as my senses surrendered to everything I knew he could do for me, a loud knock sounded at the door.

We jumped apart so fast, it was as if a water cannon had been fired at us.

Alexi rubbed his chin, swearing softly as he stared at me as if I’d grown an extra head, while I struggled to get my breathing under some semblance of control.

It would almost have been funny, like the scene from a bad sitcom, if the implications of what we’d just done....or rather, had almost done...weren’t so catastrophic.

What exactly had I been thinking? I’d pretty much jumped him. I was a grown woman, and a mother. I should have been able to resist the desire that had flared like a firecracker as soon as I touched him.

Alexi was still my kryptonite—that much was obvious.

But I’d paid dearly once before for letting my desire rule my head. And for thinking that sex, especially the stupendous, incendiary sex that was clearly still our MO, was a substitute for emotional engagement.

I’d been emotionally engaged when I’d made love to him the first time. And he had not been. I wouldn’t get sucked into that vortex again.

‘Monsieur Galanti, there is an urgent call for you from the Paris office, and Monsieur Severo would like to know if you wish to delay the negotiations with Mademoiselle Simpson until tomorrow morning.’ I recognised the voice of his assistant and realised for the first time that the sun was beginning its descent in the distance. It had to be after six o’clock. Obviously Monsieur Severo and his team were keen to get the business portion of the day over with.

‘I’ll take the call from Paris, and tell Etienne Mademoiselle Simpson will be with them shortly,’ Alexi rasped, dragging his fingers through his hair as he continued to stare at me, probably struggling to make sense of what had almost happened just now as much as I was.

‘I should leave,’ I said, the panic starting to overwhelm me. Staying the night on this estate with this man, and all the memories, was fraught with danger. I’d thought I could hack it. I was a lot less sure now. But, as I went to pick up my bag, Alexi touched my wrist.

‘Don’t...’ He ran his fingertip up my arm. Could he feel my instinctive shudder? Probably... But I was way past being humiliated by my response to him. ‘Don’t go, I want you to stay.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

Desire blazed in his eyes for a moment and I was almost scalded by the intensity of it. But then he lifted his fingertip from my arm and tucked his hand into his trouser pocket. ‘Because there is much for my legal team to discuss with you...about our son. I have four years of back maintenance to pay, to begin with.’

I stiffened. ‘Is that why you brought me here, to offer me money? I don’t want your money.’

Did he still think I was a gold-digger?

‘I know that,’ he countered, and the clutching sensation in my stomach released. At least I wasn’t still beating my head against that brick wall any more. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact I owe you money,’ he added. ‘You and my son. I know it hasn’t been easy for you both since you left Monaco. That you have student loans, a mortgage and other debts. I wish to set up a trust fund for the boy, and give you a generous allowance for his care that will be backdated.’

How did he know so much about my finances? But as soon as I’d asked the question I could guess the answer. He would have had me investigated. I’d expected as much.

But I didn’t want his money. It would compromise me. I didn’t want to give him any ownership of my life, and that included allowing him to pay my debts or give me maintenance. But I forced myself not to reject the suggestion out of hand.

A trust fund for Cai, I could accept. But before I did that we needed to talk about our son. That was why I was really here. And that was what I should concentrate on now. Not the heat between us that would not die.

‘Your son has a name,’ I said quietly.

He frowned. And I realised we had a very long way to go before I could introduce him to Cai. Was he even curious about his son? He hadn’t really asked me anything personal about him yet, hadn’t once referred to him by name. Jessie had been right—this was a relationship for which he wasn’t remotely prepared.

‘You’re right, I know nothing about Cai,’ he said, the deliberateness with which he made himself say his son’s name making me want to weep. ‘If you stay, we can work out the financial arrangements and also have a chance to talk about him. I have missed all his formative years,’ he went on and, while the edge of accusation was no longer there, I could still hear it in my head.

I was the one who had denied them both that emotional connection with my silence. Whether or not Alexi was capable of being a father, how much he even wanted to be one, remained to be seen. But it was no longer for me to make those decisions for him or Cai. ‘I never expected to become a father, so this is new territory for me,’ he added. ‘And I accept that where the boy is concerned I will need your guidance—which is precisely why I’m asking you to stay...’ He paused, his stance stiff, uncomfortable and oddly defensive for a man who rarely, if ever, admitted a weakness. ‘I’m not sure how much of a father I can be to him.’

He shoved both his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers.

I had the weirdest feeling he was trying to prevent himself from touching me. The thought was disturbing on one level, but oddly comforting on another. At least I wasn’t the only one struggling here.

‘So what is your answer?’ he asked. ‘Will you stay so we can continue to discuss this?’

I looked past him, out into the villa’s grounds, the landscaped gardens, the pool, the beach. However hard this was for me, it was time I faced my past—and started preparing myself and my son for our future. A future with Alexi Galanti in it. And learning to rationalise and control my body’s response to him was as much a part of that as anything else.

Turning back to him, I nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll stay.’

My stomach chose that precise moment to rumble louder than the helicopter in which I had arrived. Not all that surprising, given that I hadn’t eaten today, the nerves having got the better of me on the flight over, but still mortifying.

Alexi let out a strained laugh as he watched my face ignite. ‘I will arrange for some supper to be served while you meet with my legal team.’

‘You’re not joining us?’ I asked, then wished I could pull the question back. Why had my voice sounded so eager?

‘Etienne has my authority to outline my wishes. If there is anything you are not happy with, we can discuss it tomorrow.’

I nodded. ‘That makes sense,’ I said, trying to sound pleased and not stupidly bereft at the thought of not seeing him until tomorrow.

What was wrong with me? Speaking to Etienne and his team without Alexi there would make it much easier not to let the knot of emotion in my stomach override my reason again.

But, just as I was congratulating myself on my pragmatism, he took his hand out of his pocket and tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear.

The sizzle of reaction shot through me, as shocking as it was debilitating.

‘I will see you tomorrow, bella notte,’ he murmured, his voice as husky as my wayward thoughts. ‘Sweet dreams.’

As he walked away, the yearning surged and I knew this relationship was going to be much tougher to negotiate than I had ever thought possible.

I might have grown up in the last five years, but unfortunately I hadn’t grown immune to Alexi Galanti. Not even close.

And now he knew it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Alexi

AS I STOOD on the balcony of my suite of rooms, I imagined Belle in the cottage where I had insisted she be accommodated after the combustible moment we’d shared before her meeting with Etienne and his team.

The guest house on the edge of the property was as far away from me as it was possible to put her. But, as I gazed down onto the pool terrace below my balcony, the site of our torrid liaison all those years ago, the night we’d made our son, I knew geographical distance was not going to control the yearning still pounding through my system.

What an arrogant fool I’d been to think she had no hold on me any more. How could I have kidded myself that my demand to bring her here—a place where I’d rarely stayed since my brother’s death—was all about the boy? A clever tactic to unsettle her which would help me get the upper hand in any negotiations...

Yes, it had unsettled her. But it had also unsettled me.

So much for having control of this damn situation. I felt less in control now than I had when I’d met her again a week ago and discovered I had a son. The night was warm, but not as warm as my skin, or the pulsing ache in my groin which had refused to subside ever since our kiss in my office four hours ago.

Kiss—who was I kidding? That hadn’t been a kiss, it had been an explosion of need, desire and something else. Something I definitely did not want to name, let alone think about. But how could I not, when my balcony gave me an uninterrupted view of the pool—the place where I had lost myself once before?

I wet my dry throat with a sip of the vintage Cognac I usually kept for special occasions. The liquor burned my throat as I swallowed. My skin felt tight and hot, my heart beating an erratic rhythm.

When I’d received the results of the DNA test and discovered that the boy was mine, that Remy was not the father, my feelings had been mixed. First shock, then anger that I had been denied this knowledge for so long, but underneath it all had been a strange sense of joy which I could no more explain than my incendiary reaction to Belle’s touch this afternoon.

I was not parent material, had never even considered becoming a father. But my feelings towards the boy, towards becoming a father so unexpectedly, were nowhere near as volatile as my feelings for his mother.

Especially as I now knew the truth, not just about her virginity, but about Remy.

Had I always known my brother was gay? I think I had. It sickened me to realise all the signs had been there. I had spent the last few hours—ever since Belle’s revelation—recalling the conversations I’d had with Remy about dating in the last few years of his life. The enquiries he’d avoided answering, the jokes he’d laughed at with a strained smile—even our final conversation when Remy had seemed so pleased about my one-night stand with his best friend which I had been determined to believe was a cover for some secret heartbreak.

Remy had been showing me the truth all along and I had failed to see it.

Was that the real reason I had been torn apart by guilt after his death—because I’d tried to blame Belle when the only person who had really betrayed Remy was me? Not by sleeping with his girl, but by refusing to see him as he really was. By avoiding that truth because it had been easier than having to deal with it—having to support him and defend him against our father’s prejudices.

Maybe Belle had been a coward not to tell me about my son. But I had been an even bigger coward, not supporting Remy, not ensuring he knew he could be honest with me.

I stared down at the pool, the lights giving the water a bright-blue glow, and the knots in my stomach released. I could almost hear Remy’s voice—laughing, cheeky, kind and optimistic—telling me to let go of the guilt.

Belle was right. What the hell was the point of feeling guilty now about how I had let my brother down? I couldn’t go back and fix the mistakes I’d made.

We knew.

My stomach tensed again. I slugged back the rest of the Cognac.

I was not going there, or I’d only feel more confused. More angry. More humiliated. I’d kidded myself that I was protecting my brother when all the time he—and Belle, with her silence about his sexuality—had been protecting me.

I reached for the bottle to refill my glass. But then my hand paused.

Not the answer, Alexi.

Alcohol was never the answer. I, of all people, ought to know that.

I slammed down the glass and glanced back at the pool. I’d gone down there that night to cool off because I’d been so mad at my father for turning to drink, first and foremost, and at my mother for abandoning Remy and me all those years ago. But right now a cold swim felt like a better solution than sulking in my room and getting drunk.

The memories were going to haunt me anyway—there was no avoiding them. Heading down to the pool now and diving into that frigid water wasn’t going to make them any worse. And it might finally kill the heat that had been messing with my head ever since I’d turned and spotted Belle standing in my mother’s old parlour this afternoon—her eyes wary, intelligent and guarded.

I’d brought her here to pay her off. To pay off my responsibilities to the child, to manage the fallout from that night long ago. I’d wanted to be angry with her for her deception, wanted to believe she was guilty of everything I’d ever accused her of in my grief, guilt and loneliness, even though I’d already known before she’d arrived most of it wasn’t true.

I had read the report from the private investigator whom Etienne had hired on my behalf. I knew exactly how hard it had been for her financially, especially during the early years of our son’s life—after I had banished her and threatened her with arrest. I had been wrong, not just about her relationship with my brother, but about my desire for her. I had always tried to pretend it was nothing more than a one-night stand brought about by alcohol, loneliness and opportunity.

The minute she had touched my face, though, the minute she had looked into my eyes, I had seen her compassion, but also her desire, and my body’s response had made me acknowledge how much I had lied to myself.

But I wasn’t the only one lying.

I still wanted her—as much as, if not more than, I had five years ago—but she still wanted me. And now I needed to decide what I was going to do about that too.

Etienne had told me an hour ago Belle had refused the financial package I was offering her. But I was determined my son—and by extension his mother—would be financially secure.

Marching out of my bedroom suite, I headed down the stairs and walked out into the night. It was warm for May, the sultry breeze filling with the scent of wildflowers. But, as I crossed the villa’s terrazzo and took the steps winding down to the pool, the memories blindsided me again. I felt tense and edgy, my skin prickling with the unrequited desire I couldn’t seem to tame, but instead of struggling to hold the memories in, as I stripped off my clothes and dived into the pool, I let them flood through me again as I sunk beneath the crisp, cool water.

‘But I do want you, Alexi. I always have. And I don’t care about the consequences.’

As I stood on the pool terrace, my mind tried to engage with what Belle was saying to me.

Who was this girl? Because it wasn’t the tomboy whose thick braids made her hair look like a couple of hunks of vibrant red rope, the kid who had trailed around after my brother, Remy, for years and got into no end of trouble with him.

I couldn’t ignore the evidence of my eyes any longer. She wore the same shimmering green dress she’d worn a month ago to the Galanti summer ball. I hadn’t recognised her at first that night, and after I had I’d tried to ignore her. But I’d known then I was already in big trouble. Because she didn’t look like a kid any more. She looked like a woman. A beautiful woman.

And tonight she didn’t just look like a beautiful woman, she looked like a goddess, wild and untamed. Her vibrant red hair—no longer pinned up in a sophisticated concoction of curls, as it had been at the ball—caught the moonlight, creating a fiery halo around her head. Those slanting eyes were the colour of rough-cut emeralds, and her high breasts pressed against the tight bodice. Barefoot, brave and unashamed, she was like some Greek water nymph—beautiful, bold and devastating to my peace of mind.

Heat throbbed and surged in my groin, stiffening my shaft and making me forget about the ache in my jaw where my father had lashed out to end our argument.

With Belle I had always felt like a person instead of a shadow. But I felt like much more than just a person now. The sweet passion and approval in those emerald pools weren’t just soothing all the feelings of inadequacy which had haunted me since childhood. They were firing my soul.

What was so wrong with wanting her for myself, just this once?

Tonight I needed her so I could feel like part of the world. To take away the hollow ache in my soul that had always been there. Ever since the night my mother had left and my father had used his fists on me for the first time.

I didn’t want to think about consequences, about the past or the future. I just wanted to live in the now.

Reaching out of their own accord, my palms caressed the shimmering silk.

Her breath gushed out against my lips, her arms reaching around me as her body bowed to mine.

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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