Carnal in Cannes Read Free

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