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!

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!

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

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

My Shocking Monte Carlo Confession

Heidi Rice

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09812-0

MY SHOCKING MONTE CARLO CONFESSION

© 2020 Heidi Rice

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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To Teresa and Alan, the best hosts ever!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

Extract

About the Publisher

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.

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