Carnal in Cannes (2 page)

And this matchmaker came highly recommended. She works with royalty, for Christ"s sake.” Harry stabbed his hands through his hair.

“And you didn"t have ten seconds to look over the candidates?”

4

Jianne Carlo

“It"s a business arrangement,” Harry muttered. “I didn"t want to make it personal.”

“Harry…you"re marrying a virtual stranger and you plan to have a baby with this woman.” Suresh rolled his eyes. “Surely that"s as personal as life can get?”

“Precisely the reason I made the decision to go with the matchmaker.” Harry drummed his fingers on the leather armrest. “I made the mistake of falling in love once. Love makes a man needy. A needy man is a weak and desperate man. I won"t be suffering from that affliction again. I marry this woman. I produce a child. We divorce and go our separate ways. We"ll share custody of the kid. It"ll all be amicable because no emotion will be involved. And Delora doesn"t get a copper penny.”

“Why do you hate her so?” Suresh shrugged. “Hey, I"ve tried to not ask that question, but it"s so unlike you. I"ve never seen you get hot and bothered. Never. Yet the mere mention of your stepmother"s name makes you see red.”

They drove in silence until the SUV negotiated onto the feeder lanes for a major motorway. In the distance Marseille"s famous canals glinted and sparkled under a cloudless, brilliant azure sky. The saliva in Harry"s mouth turned acrid as memories flooded his brain.

“Before Delora married my daddy, she screwed
me
.” Harry propped a booted foot on a metal gray emergency kit lying in front of the passenger seat. “She had the best of both worlds for a while. A young stud who couldn"t get enough of her, and Daddy wound around her pinky.”

Suresh made a strangled sound, and he shot Harry a brief glance before refocusing on the highway. “That"s the most god-awful tale I"ve ever heard.”

“Ain"t it?” Harry agreed.

“I know there"s nothing in the least bit funny about the situation,” Suresh said,

“but I can"t help but wonder. What are the odds of you and Terry…”

Terry O"Connor, captain and owner of the
Glory
, the yacht he had called home for the last few years, was Harry"s best friend.

“You mean the chance that two people serving in the same special-ops unit end up being friends and that we both just happened to have screwed our stepmothers as teenagers?” Harry rolled a shoulder. “And end up working together on the same boat? Been the topic of many a drunken night, let me tell you.”

“I begin to understand why you want to keep this marriage thing impersonal.”

As the vehicle merged onto the A7, Harry"s mobile rang again; his eyes crossed when he recognized the number.

“What now, Austen?”

“Delora"s changed the plans. We"re heading to the Carlton Cannes, not the Hotel de Paris.”

Most of the security team at the Hotel de Paris had served with Harry and Terry in Afghanistan, and he could vouch for them with his life. This change of venue, while not completely unexpected, was a definite setback.

Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

5

“Who do we know at the Carlton?”

“Security manager"s a friend of a friend.”

“That"s not the worst of it. You"re going to be taped.”

“Taped?”

“As in there will be cameras present to record the exams.” Son of a bitch, Austen had a macabre sense of humor and chose to show it at the worst times.

“That isn"t a joke.”

Jaw working, Harry managed to snarl, “The bitch can"t do that. It"s not in the will.”

“Her lawyer found some clause that allows it. I checked with Geoff, and he verified it.”

Sir Geoffrey Stanford"s legal expertise couldn"t be debated; neither could his loyalty to Harry.

He had to give his stepmother credit—she"d become street smart. Three times she"d outmaneuvered him during the legal battle over his daddy"s will. Harry couldn"t decide if given the choice of Daddy"s fortune or revenge, which Delora would choose. He might soon find out.

“I"ll get back to you.”

Stabbing the End button, he scowled at the display. “You heard?”

“Yes. I assume we"re heading to the Carlton Cannes?”

“Yeah,” Harry said and winced as all ten fingers encountered knots while combing the hair off his forehead. “If Delora"s managed to get cameras in the room…” He shuddered. “My prick goes soft just thinking of my stepmother watching me buck nekkid and screwing. I don"t know if I"ll be able to get old St. Pete to cooperate.” Harry"s gaze dropped to his crotch.

“Even at the worst of times you"re at half-mast, Ford.” Suresh shot him a smile over his left shoulder. “I don"t think that"s something you have to worry about.”

“I have issues with Delora.”

“Terry got over his issues with his stepmother.”

Afternoon sunlight flooded the dashboard and penetrated the dark tint of the SUV"s windows. Two medieval clock towers loomed as they maneuvered a four-leaf-clover ramp to the right, passing a sign labeled CANNES.

“Let"s not even go there,” Harry muttered.

Suresh winced again. “Sorry, I forgot that you"d slept with Carol Ann.”

“Yeah, my reputation was really enhanced by that smart move. If I"d known who she was, I"d never have touched Terry"s stepmother.”

“Yet the women still fall like dominoes,” Suresh said, furrowing his brow as he darted a glance to the passenger seat.

Sighing, Harry shifted, and the buttery leather squeaked in protest. He took a deep breath before meeting the other man"s charcoal eyes.

6

Jianne Carlo

“Carol Ann targeted me. She wanted to get back at Terry. Hell, I was in London and roadkill plastered when I met her. And I don"t even remember much of that one night.” Harry blew out a long breath.

“She even got to me. That night of the masquerade.” Suresh loosened a button on his polo shirt. “If I"d known, I wouldn"t have sent her after you.”

“I know, bubba. I know. Life"s a bitch, and then you die.” Harry"s lips curled. “I haven"t a fucking chance in hell of making what could be remotely described as a great marriage. I reckon I"ve dotted my i"s and crossed my t"s. It"ll work out the way I said. Marriage, baby, divorce.”

Suresh whistled. After four minutes of quiet he asked, “Did your father know?

About you and Delora?”

“When Mama took sick we needed extra help. Our housekeeper said no
problema
—she had a daughter who would be happy to oblige. Delora appeared the next day, and I thought I"d won the lottery. I couldn"t keep my hands off her.”

“She was doing both of you at the same time?”

Harry shrugged. “Ninety days after we buried Mama, Daddy announced he and Delora had gotten hitched. I never could figure out if she had us both all the while. There"s no way I"m letting that bitch get his money. If I have to stick my cock into an octogenarian, I"ll do it.”

“How did you word the ad?”

After two months sailing with Suresh, Harry had grown accustomed to the young genius"s tangential conversation and topic shifts.

“Geoff insisted on doing the wording—the lawyer in him, I guess. Proof of virginity required, younger than thirty but over eighteen, in good health, free of diseases, yada yada. Significant financial reward. He handled the screening once the letters started arriving.”

“And how long did the ad run for?”

“Two weeks,” Harry said and sat straighter in the seat as another thought occurred to him. “You ever had a virgin, Suresh?”

“No. Avoided them like the plague. In my circles taking a virgin means marriage.” Suresh geared down as they crested a hilltop. “I gather from the question you"re in the same boat.”

“Yeah. I don"t draw many lines in the sand, but that"s been one.”

“I can"t say I envy you. It"s bad enough you have to sleep with a stranger, but a virgin?” His shoulder blades squeezed together. “Not my idea of a good time.”

“Mine either,” Harry muttered.

“Does it matter that she"s black?”

Catching the billionaire"s tentative cut to him, Harry shook his head. “The virgin thing matters more. I like my women experienced. Very experienced and then some.”

Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

7

Suresh hit the left turn indicator. Ticktock, ticktock. They waited for the light.

On the right, the famous Cannes beachfront curved in a graceful arc. Striped tents of every shape, color, and size dotted white sand. One long wooden pier interrupted a seascape of aquamarine Mediterranean.

“I presume that your father chose to locate his holding company here in Monaco because of the tax benefits?” Suresh asked.

“Yep,” Harry replied. “And those benefits have been significant. I reckon we avoided paying millions. Isn"t your principal company based here too?”

“Yes. Though some of the newer ventures are based in the British Virgin islands.” Suresh tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “My advisors wanted me to switch to Bermuda a while back, but I held off. The island"s too heavily regulated for my liking.”

Harry punched the window button. Fruity suntan lotion and coconut oil teased his nostrils. Belligerent pigeons fought each other and pedestrians for sidewalk space, squawking their territory. The hum of cars idling, broken by the occasional revving by an impatient foot on the accelerator, provided a background murmur.

“Shall I valet park?”

“Yeah. Hopefully bitch stepmother hasn"t arrived as yet.”

Murphy"s Law ruled the rest of the day.

Suresh and Harry found an anxious Austen pacing the penthouse honeymoon suite"s entertainment area. The room reeked of luxury and aristocratic heritage.

Club-sized chocolate leather chairs and ottomans as soft as down were enclosed by walls of hardcover books stained with centuries of cigar smoke. Crystal decanters filled with liquids of varying hues and levels decorated a dark cherry sideboard, and the dim lighting reflected a space that oozed generations of secrets and conspiracies.

The French version of an exclusive gentleman"s club, London"s White"s to the extreme.

A man who bore a striking resemblance to a caricature of a Louisiana pot-bellied politician sat on a bar stool nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. His round face contorted into a grimace when they stepped out of the elevator. Watery blue eyes flickered brief disinterest, and he focused instead on the liquor swirling in the glass he held in one hand.

“Where is she?” Harry addressed his question to Austen, who stood in the center of the room idly tossing an orange from one hand to the other.

Jerking his head to the left, Austen answered, “In the bedroom unpacking.”

“My stepmother?” Harry"s eyebrows lifted.

“Due any minute with a new doctor.”

“That bitch never told me I"d have to put my finger up a darkie"s twat.” Dr.

Halliday took a swig of his liquor.

The revolting words raked memories Harry had worked hard to erase—Silas"s broken body, the skin on his face sloughed off by miles of gravel. His temper blazed.

8

Jianne Carlo

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Harry barked, a red haze distorting his vision, rage flooding his thoughts. “Get the fuck out of here!”

His voice escalated to a roar, the pulsing veins in his forehead emphasizing the loss of any semblance of logic. When the doctor curled one corner of his mouth in a sneer, Harry lost it.

Harry grasped the fat bastard"s jacket lapels and pulled him off the stool.

Bourbon splattered over the bar counter and dripped onto the carpet. The tumbler tottered at the edge of the bar, and then thudded and bounded three feet to the left, coming to rest at the foot of a coffee table.

Suresh pedaled backward and hit the down button on the elevator.

As soon as the doors opened, Harry shoved the man into the empty lift and punched Lobby. Bitterness pulled down the corners of Harry"s mouth. He stared at the elevator"s gold-mirrored finish, not seeing anything but the ugly past.

A slight movement in the blurred reflection alerted him to the present. He turned around, each movement lethargic, deliberate. The silhouette of a slender female, one hand braced on her right hip, came into his line of vision. She walked with the lithe grace of a gazelle, and his lungs faltered with each slow step she took.

Shadows dipped and danced, hiding her features from his sight. When she turned her head to greet Austen with a husky murmur, he absorbed her profile.

High cheekbones, an arrogant nose so perfect it belonged in a plastic surgeon"s after catalog, and a sloped Cleopatra brow. She kept her head averted for five more strides, and his gaze slid over bare feet encased in four-inch stilettos.

Her legs went on and on, long, toned, and shaped so fine no Vegas showgirl he"d ever dated could match such perfection. Lost in appreciation of her nymphlike curves, he hadn"t yet made it to her eyes when she halted. Not in any particular hurry, he lingered on a three-inch-wide leather belt hugging her narrow waist. A twinge of disappointment caused his forehead to pucker—B-cup breasts he guessed, but barely so.

All in all, he decided, raising his eyes, not bad.

She lifted her chin, and their eyes met.

Oxygen left the room. A water-in-the-ears sensation hushed all sound. Her lips moved, but he didn"t hear a word, just had an impression of a musical throaty voice.

Images bounced back and forth in his brain as the woman from Grasse blazed across his brain, her long legs encased in smoky nylons, the sexy black garter belt she struggled with, the glimpse of pouty pussy lips, and the curls of dark pubic hair.