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Reese Marchand’s searching glance around the glittering casino came to an abrupt halt on his friend. “Always,” he said, absently tapping the stack of chips in his hand. “What’s the matter, Duncan? Baccarat’s not your game tonight?” Even as Reese spoke, his gaze began straying from his friend’s frown to the entrance of the private gambling salon.
Duncan Vanos patted his empty pockets as he reached the roulette table. “Baccarat’s never my game. It’s your game. Remember that time in Las Vegas?” Duncan shook his head, his words dissolving into a chuckle. “She’ll be along any minute now.”
Reese never took his gaze from the entrance. “Who are you talking about?” he asked, bluffing badly for his friend’s entertainment. He knew exactly who Duncan was talking about. The exquisite creature who’d been ducking behind columns out in the atrium tonight. The same one who’d been trailing him through Monaco for the past three days. Thank heavens she’d left off the sunglasses and head scarf tonight so he could finally get a good look at her face. He pictured her checking herself in the tiny mirror inside her purse when she thought he wasn’t looking.
He couldn’t stop looking; that she wasn’t a perfectly poised clone of every other woman in a two-mile radius had intrigued him to the point of fixation. How many stalkers, he wondered, stopped every five minutes to check their lipstick and fluff their hair? No doubt about it, the lady was on a manhunt…for him. His body shook with silent laughter when he tried imagining what terrible things this fine-boned beauty with the brandy-colored eyes could do to him once she had him in her clutches.
Duncan leaned closer, his voice reeling with melodrama. “The way she presses her hand flat against her tummy, then takes that calming breath just before she walks by you…” He gave an appreciative shiver.
Reese narrowed his eyes in sincere curiosity toward his old college friend. “You’ve noticed that, too, have you?”
“Along with every other red-blooded man here,” he said, as he moved to Reese’s side and looked toward the entrance with him. “They say she’s staying at Billy Waleska’s place over in Cap Ferrat while he’s away.”
“Is she American?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
No, he didn’t. If there was one thing he could always recognize it was anything or anyone American. And he would happily bet his substantial night’s winnings to prove it by locating the Made In America stamp on her derriere. A twist of a smile was fighting for control of his mouth when he pictured himself uncovering the evidence.
“Here she comes,” Duncan said behind his fingers as he ran one down his nose. “Listen, if you decide to join forces with your mystery lady, we can have our talk tomorrow.”
As the croupier raked in the house win, Reese frowned at his friend. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Come on. The thought of leaving the casino with that angel hasn’t crossed your mind?” Duncan asked as they watched her slip into the crowd on the other side of the roulette table to buy her chips.
Reese watched as the other men there took a look, some less discreetly than others. He couldn’t blame them. Her décolleté dress was showing off the creamy curves of her breasts to perfection, but the choker of large white pearls at her throat added that odd touch of sexuality that was grabbing at his gut. He repositioned his body against the hard edge of the table as he continued to watch her. Knowing she’d dressed with him in mind had him musing about the parts of her he couldn’t see.
Duncan lowered his voice to a comical level. “I don’t think she’s following you around for a contribution to the Red Cross.”
Neither did Reese, but that was beside the point. With each of her subtle movements, she set his blood humming. Reese tore his gaze from the beauty in the curve-caressing white silk. “I was referring to your marketing strategy for my champagne. It’s not going to happen, Duncan. The timing is all wrong to start exporting it Stateside,” he said as he turned back to where he’d seen her last. A sense of alarm shot through him when he couldn’t find her in the crowd.
“The timing’s perfect, Reese,” Duncan insisted. “Have you forgotten? It’s an election year. Anything’s possible.”
Duncan kept talking, stirring up private demons Reese didn’t want to face. Not now, not ever. He plowed his fingers through the tousle of brown curly hair threatening to spill lower on his forehead. Straining, he squinted into the crowd, then rolled his eyes in protest over the state he was getting himself into. What was happening to his evening? Where had she gone? And why was it suddenly so important that he find her? He groaned inwardly. Why wouldn’t Duncan shut up? Clamping a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, he mugged for his friend. “I’ve got my mind on more immediate concerns here. Where in hell did she disappear to now?”
Duncan sighed with resignation, then quietly scanned the area. “I think your angel flew away, which is probably a good thing. Maybe now we can talk some business.”
“My angel?” Laughing out loud at the thought, he shook his head. “If she were my angel,” he said, stepping aside to allow someone to sidle next to him, “she wouldn’t have abandoned me to you.”
A slow smile spread across Duncan’s face. “She hasn’t,” he said, subtly gesturing with his chin toward the person on the other side of Reese.
Reese turned his head for a quick confirmation, but once he locked onto her profile he couldn’t bring himself to turn away. Close up, she was breathtaking, living up in every way to Duncan’s designation. The mass of white blond curls tumbling loosely around her face befitted an angel, not the aloof, sophisticated woman she was trying to be. Her lovely, long-fingered, soft hands fidgeted mercilessly with the clasp on her evening bag until she’d snapped it open. He knew his blatant staring wasn’t helping her nerves, but if she pulled out her lipstick and starting doing those sexy things with her mouth, he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.
As the croupier called for bets, he continued drinking in the details of her face. Her clear, luminous complexion, thick, curved lashes, perfectly sculpted nose…and her mouth. He swallowed. Her incredible mouth with its unspoken promises of pleasures to share.
Breathing softly through his lips, he stood his ground when several players tried slipping in to place their bets. He wasn’t giving an inch. After three days of trailing him, she’d mustered her courage to rub elbows and hips with him and he didn’t want her bolting. Besides, he’d made a bet with himself that he would get close enough tonight to enjoy her fragrance. The blended scents of spring flowers and her feminine warmth were keeping him content.
But not for long.
The moment she started stroking one of her ribbony curls and biting softly on her lip, the sensations of her actions began replicating themselves along the length of his body. Her simple gestures were bringing to mind every erotic fantasy he’d had since puberty. As a mercy to both of them, he turned his eyes toward the roulette table. The empty square marked with a black two caught his eye, and without pausing, he set his stack of chips there. Discreet murmurs of approval buzzed around him.
Duncan leaned in. “Everything?” he whispered. “I hope your luck is better than mine.”
From the corner of his eye, Reese could see her lifting her gaze from inside her bag to steal a glance at the numbered squares. The moment she located his wager she blinked, then widened her eyes in surprise.
“Well, Duncan,” he said, loudly enough for all three of them to hear, “someone’s bound to get lucky tonight. I wonder who it will be?”
Duncan smiled as the croupier spun the wheel, then tossed in the little ball. “Just find out if she has a sister,” he said quietly before slipping into the crowd behind them.
She took out her chips, gave them a quick visual count, then bit down on her lip again. This time the guileless gesture tugged at a different organ. His heart. As the crowd around the table pulled closer to the action, she started to return the chips to her bag.
Don’t be afraid, he wanted to tell her. Take a chance.
Hesitating, she looked up at him as if she’d heard his thoughts. Smiling and shaking his head, he focused on the wheel. “You’ll never know the thrill until you’ve risked it all.” If he’d known her name he would have said that, too, but in the end it didn’t matter. She’d heard him.
She set her stack of chips on red three, the square next to his, a second before the croupier waved his hand to end the betting. Tapping her fingertips against her pearl choker, she raised her chin toward the wheel and held her breath. As her lashes began fluttering like little fans, a tiny line of concentration formed between her brows. For the moment the mystery surrounding her vanished, replaced by the kind of excitement that made her eyes shine and his heart pound. He understood this moment, this feeling, this fusion of fear and freedom, of letting go of the world that ruled you to wrap yourself in the thrill of danger. There was nothing quite like it, he thought, watching her.
As the ball tumbled down she braced her hands on the table edge and leaned toward the wheel, offering him a clue as to what she was like when a sense of urgency overtook her. And the game she didn’t know he was playing with her became more meaningful to him than he’d ever expected.
As temptation poked and prodded him, he shifted his weight, first to one foot and then to the other. The impulse to touch her had him cupping his chin, then rubbing his hand against his cheek. If he leaned forward he could bury his nose in those blond curls to breathe in more of her scent. And make a fool of himself in the process.
She pushed up from the table edge, but the croupier’s call didn’t register with Reese until he saw her eyes light with surprise.
“I won?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
Squeezing her hands into fists, she jerked them toward her shoulders and whispered an impassioned “Yyyeesss!” Without looking at him, she wrapped her hands around Reese’s arm and shook him. “I won! I—I—”
“Congratulations.”
Her head snapped in his direction. For one rich, rare moment, Reese focused on the only two things moving: her drop pearl earrings, his thudding heart. He smiled. He was one giant step closer to finding out who she was and what she wanted. And she couldn’t do a thing about it. Then her unquenchable brandy-colored gaze turned from merely startled to purely panicked.
This is happening too fast, she seemed to say as she released his arm. Please don’t make me do this. I’m not ready.
Before he could react, someone bumped into her, sending her against his chest. The next few seconds blurred into a heavenly tangle of blond hair and bilingual apologies. With her breasts pressed against his chest and her lips temptingly close to his, it was all he could do not to sink his fingers into her hair and pull her even closer for a kiss. The only thing stopping him was a whisper in the back of his brain telling him that he’d read her thoughts correctly. Now wasn’t the time. But as she struggled to free herself from the forced intimacy, he could feel himself becoming more and more aroused.
“Careful there,” he warned, curving his hands around her waist. He wanted to settle her hips away from his until he’d regained control, but she arched against him when his fingers touched the bare skin near the base of her spine. With commendable restraint, he forced himself not to massage the satiny depression. Because if he did, the situation threatened to become a lot worse. Or better. Clearing his throat he gently removed his hands and slipped into the crowd.
His exit was less than seamless, but more important, it was what she’d wanted—an end to their embarrassing situation. From the corner of his eye he saw her reaching for her necklace as her lips parted in alarm. He hesitated. Had she wanted him to stay or go? Her fingers were wrapping around her pearl choker as she strained to keep him in view. The next moment pearls were slipping through her splayed fingers and spilling down her breasts, bouncing off the table edge and arcing left and right. Half a dozen men made a mad, inelegant scramble with her to retrieve the pearls. He was several yards away when he turned for a better look. Already on her hands and knees, she didn’t see him looking. Didn’t see him smiling. And didn’t see him stoop to pick up a pearl and slip it into his pocket.
Beth Langdon paced back and forth on the private beach below the Cap Ferrat villa. Hugging the cellular phone to her ear, she responded to Eugene Sprague’s greeting with a rush of emotion. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”
“Beth, you give me this same spiel every time you call. Why don’t you fast-forward to the good stuff. What have you been doing?”
“Skulking around Monaco in a scarf and dark glasses.”
“The trick is to get Marchand to notice you. You’ve been there almost a week now. Aren’t you any closer to making contact with him?”
Contact? Stopping dead in her sandy tracks, she glanced down at her bikini-clad body as she recalled her contact with Reese Marchand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been embraced…like that. As awkward as the moment was, she remembered thinking how solid he’d felt, how alive she’d felt and how perfect they’d felt together. Then his fingers had settled on the small of her back and she’d lurched forward. The instant she made the move, she’d become achingly aware of his masculinity. Every inch of it.
From her breasts to her knees, every cell sizzled with the memory of her body moving against his. Animals in heat displayed more finesse! Swallowing hard, she forced her attention to the speed boat racing by on the open water.
“Hello, Beth? Are you there? Did you hear me? I said the trick is—”
“He noticed me…when I made a complete and utter fool of myself last night.” Turning away from the sparkling water, she quickly continued. “And don’t ask how. All you need to know is that the next time he sees me he’s going to turn around and run the other way.”
“I doubt it.”
Why couldn’t she get it through Eugene Sprague’s thick skull that she wasn’t suited for this job? Out of sheer frustration, she grabbed a handful of her filmy cover-up and rubbed at the intricate gold needlework decorating the edge. “You can doubt all you want, but that doesn’t alter the fact that this overblown project of yours is a complete waste of money.”
“Money’s not a problem. Besides, I thought I’d told you that the funding came from a private source. No one’s going to miss it at headquarters.”
“Please!” Letting go of the material, she curved her hand over her sun hat and hunched her shoulders closer to the phone. “I told you, I don’t want to know where the money came from. I wish you’d never bring that up again.”
While Eugene attempted to reassure her that her trip would never be connected to Tyler Pierson’s reelection campaign, she looked out to sea again. One sleek, white boat had broken away from the flotilla and was cruising outside the villa’s private cove. She smiled longingly at the lazy figure-eight pattern the boat was making. That’s where she’d like to be. Out on the water with the wind blowing in her hair and a bronzed hunk blowing in her ear. Away from this tawdry mess, with no place to go and all day to get there. She frowned and looked away. That delicious scenario wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. She’d given her word to see this project through. If there was a chance that her participation could make the difference in getting the president reelected, she had no choice but to continue. With a sigh of resignation she interrupted the president’s campaign manager.
“Are you holding back any information from me?”
“No. Why are you asking that?”
“Because your file on Reese Marchand says he spent four years in the United States, but I heard him speak last night. He doesn’t have a trace of a French accent. He sounds like an anchorman on the six o’clock news back home. Are there any more surprises you’ve forgotten to tell me about?” Glancing out at the boat and the man steering it, she absently smoothed her thumb along the hip string of her bikini. “He doesn’t have a wife stashed around here, does he?”
“What do you care? We’re not asking you to marry him.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if you did,” she said, brushing aside her cover-up to plant a hand on her hip.
Eugene laughed. “In this case the end would justify the means, Beth, because when you consider the alternative…” His voice drifted off for a second. “Can you imagine where we’d all be if Harrison Montgomery made it to the White House? We’re waging war here. Be a good soldier and tell me what you have planned for today.”
The speedboat made a sudden hard turn and was heading straight for her shore. Who in the world…?
“Just a second, Eugene.”
She walked ankle-deep into the water. Squinting hard, she yanked off her sunglasses as she silently mouthed, “Omigod, it’s him.” There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she was right. She’d been trailing Reese Marchand for several days and could pick him out at fifty yards. “He’s…I mean, someone’s coming. I have to go.”
“I’m not done with you. Have the maid send whoever it is away.”
“I can’t do that,” she said, hurrying back to her chair. “I gave her the day off.”
“She’s supposed to be there twenty-four hours a day.”
Beth raised her voice. “The woman has a life, Eugene.” Over his protests, she continued. “I’m hanging up now.” Clicking off the phone, she dropped it into the canvas bag attached to her beach chair.
Her face and hands began tingling with alarm when Reese Marchand cut his motor and dropped anchor. When he dived over the side, she stepped behind the canvas sling chair. What was he doing here? Glancing behind her, she calculated the time it would take to make a run for the hill stairs. She dragged a nervous hand across her bare midriff. She’d never make it, and worse, she would end up looking like a frightened child running away from the school yard. Again. Lord, why had that old nightmare chosen to reassert itself at this moment? She pushed the memory out of her mind as Reese Marchand broke the surface and continued swimming toward her. With his every stroke her pulse tripled. And surprisingly, her daring did, too. Moving out from behind the chair, she walked a few steps away from it and waited.
When he stood up in thigh-deep water and casually shoved his fingers through his hair, she swallowed in awe. Water dripped down his broad-shouldered and beautifully muscled body, rearranging his dark mat of chest hair into a series of arrows. A part of her wanted to linger over his well-toned chest and abdomen, but those arrows kept pointing lower to his aubergine swim trunks. The wet material hung low on his hips, exposing his navel…but not his tan line. She briefly wondered if he had a tan line.
“Good morning. Mind if I join you?”
His baritone voice vibrated through her like a second heartbeat. The bizarre sensation made her forget to breathe for a second. He took a few steps toward her, then stopped and looked her over with sincere curiosity.
“You look startled. Have I come at a bad time?”
She shook her head until she located her tongue. “No,” she finally managed when he walked out of the water. As his gaze wandered over her, she slipped off her broad-brimmed hat and held it first in front of her and then behind her. Why, why, why hadn’t she burned this thong bikini and replaced it with a less revealing swimsuit?
“Reese Marchand,” he said, reaching out a wet, well-tanned hand. “We shared an awkward moment together last night at the casino. Do you remember?”
“Vividly,” she said, as he closed his hand gently but firmly over hers. His physicality was as powerful this morning as it had been last night, but she promised herself she wouldn’t lose her ability to speak this time. From this moment forward she was going to be clever and witty and sophisticated. Really, she was. Just as soon as she thought of something to say. She looked down at his hand, still holding hers. His cool grip was strangely reassuring in the Mediterranean sunshine. As she looked up at him again, her gaze skimmed over the confident curve of his lips and the hint of dimples creasing his cheeks to lock into his relentless gaze. Far from intimidating her, the warmth in his smoky topaz eyes offered her humor, patience and an unnamed challenge. She started to return the smile, but calmly eased her hand from his when something else struck her about Reese Marchand’s eyes. Whether it was their shape, their color or their intensity, they bore an uncanny resemblance to Harrison Montgomery’s. She fought for a deep, calming breath as a prickling sensation zipped through her stomach.
“My name is Beth Langdon. How did you know where I was staying?” she asked, trying not to look at the stray water droplets still dribbling down his body. His muscular, masculine and perfectly sculpted body.
“Monte Carlo is a small town. Word gets around,” he said, glancing toward the flower-edged steps leading up to the villa. “Have you known Billy for long?”
“Billy?”
“Billy Waleska, the owner.”
“Oh, Billy.” She smiled. “Yes, for quite a while.”
“Then you’re lovers?”
“Lovers?” She wouldn’t know Billy Waleska if he’d popped up on her doorstep with a rose between his teeth and a bottle of champagne in his hands. But that was beside the point. Now wasn’t the time to melt into an embarrassed mound of middle-class mush. This was Europe. More than Europe. This was southern France. “Mr. Marchand—”
“Reese,” he said, his quiet response blending with the soft shushing of the sea.
“Reese.” Tilting her head, she nodded in a way that she prayed made her appear unruffled. Fat chance of that. Smiling, she slid on her glasses. “If it pleases you to think we’re lovers, go right ahead.”
“I’d rather not,” he said, in a way that made her smile disappear and her gaze narrow.
Moving away from him, she headed for the security of her beach chair. Dear Lord, where had she come up with such glib drivel? Damn you, Eugene. What else did you conveniently forget to tell me? Dropping her hat in the sand, she sank down in the striped canvas seat and sighed.
Following her a few seconds later, Reese took something from the tiny waistband pocket of his swim trunks. Squatting in front of her, he placed a small object in her hand.
“You dropped this last night.”
She looked down and saw a pearl resting in the center of her palm. The humiliating moment when she’d lost the pearls and whatever dignity she had left came back to her in one cheek-stinging rush of recognition. “But I thought you’d left. How did you know…?”
“I don’t miss much, Beth,” he said, taking a leisurely inventory of her face and then her body as he stood. “Will you be staying for the season?”
Crossing her legs, she casually rearranged her royal blue, knee-length cover-up across her thighs and shrugged. “If nothing else interests me more, I will,” she said, as she noticed him realize the filmy material was see-through and covered up nothing.
His gaze lingered over her, making her feel as closed in as that moment she’d been thrust against him last night. Only this time, they were inches away and all alone on a private beach in the middle of a sun-drenched morning. She squirmed in the chair. The scent of roses and the sea were mixing in the steamy atmosphere surrounding them. What happened to that lovely breeze just minutes ago? She was positively melting.
He smiled.
She melted a little more.
He leaned close and a drop of water fell from his chest and plopped on her knee. For a crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her. For a crazier moment, she wanted him to.
