Road to Destiny (Scorpio Stinger MC Book 5) (32 page)

“The meeting won’t be long. Then we can have lunch on the beach,” he promised.

Wanting to look pretty for Alain, especially when he introduced me to his clients, I made some effort in choosing my outfit, trying to emulate the chic French women I’d seen in Paris.

Alain was dressed casually, wearing chinos with a blue open-neck shirt that accentuated his eyes. He looked relaxed yet sophisticated; it came naturally to him.

“
Très
chic,” he said, while pulling me closer and sniffing my hair, “and you smell so good, too.”

The housekeeper gave us a knowing smile. I’d been avoiding her since she walked in on us yesterday.

Like a true gentleman, Alain opened the door of the Porsche. The top had been taken down.

“It’s such a beautiful day; we should enjoy the wind in our hair.” I scooted in, not wanting to risk another slap on the bum. He grinned wickedly, shaking his head as he rounded the car to the driver’s side.

We drove along the windy coastal road, the beauty of the French Riviera taking my breath away. Villas were built into the sides of the hills and every time we rounded another corner, I was enthralled by the sheer splendor of the ocean and the scenery.

At times, Alain accelerated, winding around tight bends. My heart pounded in my ears as the wind swept through my hair. I’d never felt more alive than in this moment, frightened, and excited at the same time.

We stopped for a drink in St Raphael and sat on the balcony of a hotel, overlooking the shimmering water. Baskets of flowers hung from the pergola, their heady scent filling the air. I relaxed, enjoying the calming effect the view had on me.

When we finally arrived in St Tropez, Alain helped me out of the car. My hair was windblown and my cheeks flushed. I tried to straighten my hair, but knew it was useless, so I just gave up. 

Alain reached out and smoothed the wayward hair. “Love it. Reminds me of your just-fucked look.”  The glint in his eyes had me squirming and pressing my legs together. Damn, he could turn me on with words alone.

Holding my hand, he led me into the restaurant. Alain introduced me to the two men and one woman already waiting at a table. All three pairs of eyes were scrutinizing me, a strange expression of amusement on their faces.

What, do I have toilet paper dangling from my shoe, or worse, my dress?

“Ah, the lady in the pictures,” said the very handsome younger man as he held out a hand. “You were on television this morning.”

What on earth is he talking about?

It dawned on me—the photographers at the festival.

We made the tabloids
and
the news?

“Your picture is splashed all over the morning paper.” The woman, Adrienne, had an icy tone to her voice. She wrinkled her nose as if something smelled off. 

What the hell?

My hand flew to my mouth. Thankfully Maxwell Grant wasn’t in Europe to see the pictures of his new employee splashed on the news.

Why exactly I was thinking of
him
of all people now, I couldn’t fathom. I swallowed hard and tried to regain my composure. From the corner of my eye I caught Alain’s expression; his brow curved into a frown and his lips pursed into a thin line. A vein was ticking in his neck.

Panic gripped my insides. Did I miss something?

What the hell was wrong?

He looked...worried. Was he ashamed of being photographed with me? I glanced sideways as he ran his fingers through his hair, his jaw clenched. 

He sat me down and called the waiter over, asking for a copy of today’s paper.

“Mon Dieu,” he spat, as he opened the newspaper. Splashed all over the front page—in color—was a picture of him kissing my cheek, his hand intimately on my ass, both of us looking very happy.

In spite of my poor French, I understood the heading: “Is this the future Duchess du Bois?”

What the hell?

I held my breath as I snuck a glance at Alain from under my lashes. His olive skin had paled visibly. Was a picture with me
that
bad?

The article went on about how I was a foreigner, suggesting that the most eligible bachelor in France was smitten with an outsider. The smirk on Alain’s face sent a pang through my heart. A warm flush rose from my chest, I wished the earth would swallow me whole.

Adrienne had a sneer on her face. She was enjoying my discomfort far too much.

“I’m so sorry, Alain,” I blurted, as I pushed to my feet, virtually running through the patio doors toward the ocean. In an instant, everything had changed, I felt like an unwanted outsider.

Hearing Alain calling my name twisted my heart. Why did it hurt so much? It hit me like a slap—I was falling for this man. Crap. And, he clearly was embarrassed by me. Could I feel any more of a fool?

How did this perfect day turn so horrible so quickly?

Grabbing me by the arm, he stopped me in my tracks. “Rebecca. Wait...” he puffed, as he turned me toward him. I turned my head away, not wanting him to see the tears streaming down my cheeks.

He cupped my chin and lifted my face to his.

“Cherie,” he choked, as he wiped my cheeks with his thumbs. Holding my face between his palms so I couldn’t look away, he leaned in to kiss me. I didn’t kiss him back.

Why is he prolonging my pain, hurting me even more?

“Please, don’t cry.”

Was he kissing me to stop me from crying and embarrassing him further?

“I...I am so sorry I embarrass you,” I whispered.

Alain looked at me as if I was crazy.

“How can you think that?” he asked, taken aback. “I love being with you. Every moment we are together is special to me.” His eyes were wide with panic now, his face grim.

“Then, why are you so shocked by the pictures?” I asked, trying to make sense of his reaction.

He pulled me toward him and held me tightly for the longest time, my face buried in his chest, stroking my hair softly, as one would a child’s when trying to calm them and reassure them. Slowly my tears subsided at his gentle touch. But, I was still worried he didn’t want me anymore. I bit into my lip, closing my eyes to just savor the moment, intoxicated by his closeness.

Raising my face up to his, he searched my eyes. 

“I owe you an explanation.” The frown on his brow worried me. “It’s my father. I wanted to introduce you to him personally.”

“I don’t understand?” What did his father have to do with a picture of us in the paper?

Alain sighed, casting his eyes down. “He expects me to marry a French woman of aristocratic blood.”

I froze.

Holy hell.

“I didn’t want him to find out about us in the tabloids. He’s a stubborn old man, very set in traditional ways.”

“You’re not embarrassed, then?”

He laughed.  “Never. I want to show you off to the whole world as
mine
.”

Sadness flickered over his face, his lips twisted into a half smile. “But, my father will see it differently. He will see it as treason that you are not French.” He held me so tightly I could hardly breathe.

“I want him to meet you personally, at the chateau. Maybe, I can change his mind. I want
you
.” His voice faltered. 

“You want
me
?” I needed to confirm what I’d just heard.

“I do. From the first moment I leaned over to help you with your earphones, and looked into your sad eyes.” He kissed my temple, his breath hot on my skin.

“But first, I want to tear that idiot apart,” he growled.

“Who?”

What was he is talking about? It was all so confusing.

“The fool who let you go. The idiot who caused the pain in your eyes.”

Julian
.

I swallowed hard. I hadn’t thought of him in days.

“It was my lucky day, because now you are mine.” His voice deepened with desire, triumph in his eyes. Leaning down, he kissed me hard, till I was breathless. 

I broke the kiss as I became aware of people clapping. Everyone from the restaurant had been watching us all this time. Alain had a sheepish grin on his handsome face; I was blushing from head to toe. Everyone was clapping, except Ms. Uptight. Her arms were folded across her chest, her eyes narrowed and a sneer on her face.

“Quite a show,” said the elder man scornfully.

The younger one was pumping Alain’s hand. “Does that mean she is off limits?” he asked Alain, nodding toward me, laughing.

“If you don’t want to fight me at dawn,” said Alain, cocking a brow to warn the younger man. 

What is it with men talking in code?

“Please excuse me,” I said, as I took off to the rest room. This was all so intense. My head was splitting with a headache. I ran the tap and splashed water on my face. When I looked up, I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror—Ms. Uptight was standing behind me, her arms folded, tapping one foot.

“He won’t marry you, you know,” she hissed, “he will be disowned. And, he loves his heritage too much for that to ever happen.”

In spite of my heart virtually jumping out of my throat, I tried to sound as cool and calm as possible.  “That’s for Alain to decide.” There was no way in hell I’d let this aggressive bitch unnerve me.

“No, you didn’t understand. It’s not possible for you to be with Alain—because it’s Alain’s father who decides.” Pleasure burned in her eyes. “Alain’s father knows I’m the one for him. The old man doesn’t like foreigners. And Papa is signing all these deals to seal
our
future marriage.”

Alain told me earlier that we would be meeting a very wealthy father and his two offspring—a son and daughter—over lunch to discuss some future contracts. I guessed they weren’t expecting me to tag along. My head was spinning now the pieces of the puzzle were falling together. Was this woman planning on marrying
my
French lover? Was Alain aware of this? I narrowed my eyes as I studied her. She was pretty, and although she had faint frown lines on her forehead, her face barely moved.
Botox?

“Mind your own damn business,” I blurted. I only just met the bitch and here she was telling me what to do.

“You little fool. It
is
my business. One last fling before he marries
me
. Papa is very angry with Alain this morning.” She scrutinized her nails for moment. “But, I understand men. He has to get this out of his system,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “If I were you, I’d pack my bags and get the hell out of here.”

But you aren’t me, sweetheart
.

I didn’t give up that easily. I’d fight for my man as long as I believed we had a future together. Alain wanted to introduce me to his father. That was a big step, enough for me to know he was serious about wanting to be with me.

Although my hands were trembling, I applied my lipstick as casually as possible before making my way to the door. Still not giving up, she hissed, “Save yourself further embarrassment. Get out now. The old man will never accept you.
Alain is mine
.”

There was something in her knowing tone when she spoke of Alain’s father that unsettled me. What if she was right? What if the old man rejected me? What would Alain choose to do? Clearly there was more to meeting Alain’s father than I originally thought. My knees were weak, I felt as if I’d run a marathon, yet I managed to get back to the table without crumbling.

Alain rose to his feet, his eyes searching mine, concern on his face.

“The plans have changed,” he said, holding his hand out to me, “we’re having lunch somewhere else.” He nodded at the two men and steered me toward the door.

Adrienne had followed me out and now she placed herself in our path, her arms folded across her chest, pouting. “No Alain, you can’t leave.” She turned to her father. “Papa, please...” she pleaded.  Her father didn’t react; he just pulled up his nose as if dismissing us. But Adrienne wasn’t giving up without causing a fuss. She was not letting Alain get away easily.

Stunned, I watched as she threw her arms around Alain’s neck and kissed him.

My God, doesn’t this woman have any shame?

Alain loosened her arms. “I am sorry, Adrienne, we must leave now.” His voice was cold as he literally lifted her by the arms, and put her aside so we could pass.

B
ack in the car, he turned to me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect this.” His eyes were hard to read. Was it anger and frustration I saw there?

“I should’ve warned you,” he rubbed his chin, “but I thought once they saw how good
we
are together, they would stop chasing me to marry Adrienne. Fuck them. I don’t care about their contract. I only want you.”

He wants only me?
Thank god. I would have died if he had chosen
her
.

“I want you too.” My breath hitched. His hand caressed my neck, pulling me closer to him.

He kissed me, long and hard, in the middle of the street in an open top car in St Tropez, as if in defiance of the world. His hand on my breast left no doubt that this was not a platonic kiss. A whirring noise registered in my brain. We were being photographed by the goddamn paparazzi.

“Let them all see this,” he hissed at the corner of my mouth, before plunging his tongue into my mouth and kissing me deeply—a true French kiss. A frenzy of flashlights went off around us as I closed my eyes and savored his kiss.

When he was done, he raked his fingers through his hair, started the car, and pulled away from the curb, tires screeching. He sped along the winding roads, yet I completely trusted his driving skills. I leaned back in my seat and enjoyed the exhilaration that flooded through me.

Alain placed his hand on my thigh and I let out a long sigh of contentment. But before long, it snaked its way up under my dress until his palm rested on my sex. His finger stroked me through the damp lacy fabric. The friction of the material against my clit was exquisite. I was panting, opening my legs wider, and begging wordlessly for more. Sweet Lord. He turned me into a needy puddle with his fingers alone. My heart beat wildly as adrenaline surged through me.

Should he be doing this while driving on these curvy roads? The imminent danger heightened my senses. He wriggled two fingers into my wet core, stroking inside. I moaned, pushing my pussy up to meet his hand, eager for more.