The Affair: Week 6 by Beth Kery Page B

times during the four-course meal, Emma noticed Estelle watching Vanni from across the table with a hungry look in her eye. She glanced at a nearby table and saw Mario Acarde stare at her—Emma—in much the same way Estelle looked at Vanni.
    Apparently, not only did good looks thrive on the French Riviera, so did raging libidos, Emma thought dazedly, blinking and looking away from the amorous driver.
    As the waiter cleared away the remains of their meal and couples began to dance out on the terrace, Georgia regally excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. A dark haired man with a mustache drew Vanni away to clarify some question that was a point of contention at another table. Estelle and Simon Fournier were twirling together on the dance floor, and Dean and his wife were off socializing at another table. Only Niki and she remained.
    “Did I mention that you look amazingly beautiful tonight?” Niki asked her, smiling.
    “Only once or a dozen times,” Emma replied, blushing despite his light, teasing tone.
    “Something in France seems to be setting you alight,” Niki said, glancing pointedly across the room to where Vanni stood. “And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. You’ve caught the attention of almost every male in the room. Vanni is a fool to leave your side. Mario Acarde looks like he wants to eat you alive,” Niki said derisively under his breath, nodding subtly in the direction of the dark-haired man with the startling blue eyes. Mario was now talking to two women not twenty feet away. When Emma glanced in his direction, she saw him looking at her over the two women’s heads. He raised his highball glass as if in a private toast and took a healthy swallow of liquor.
    “Drunken, horny bastard has been circling ever closer to you ever since he noticed Vanni was called away,” Niki muttered darkly under his breath.
    “He’s one of your rivals, isn’t he? Marco told me a little about the race and the frontrunners,” she explained when he glanced at her in mild surprise.
    “Acarde wishes.”
    Emma chuckled. “I heard you won the time trials earlier. Congratulations. Are you nervous about the race on Sunday?”
    “A little,” Niki admitted. “I’m usually not nervous before a race, but no matter how much I’ve practiced on the stock car, it’s still my second language, so to speak.”
    “Do you think it’ll make a difference in the outcome of the race?”
    “The Americans have the advantage as far as the car. But we,” he said lifting his highball glass and giving her a pointed, mischievous glance, “have the advantage of the road. No perfect little oval racetracks here—narrow roads, tight hairpin curves, and plunging shifts in elevation down the mountainside.”
    “Will it be dangerous?” Emma asked warily.
    “Without a doubt,” Niki replied, as if she’d stated the obvious. She caught the gleam in his eyes and laughed. He smiled. “I realize you probably don’t know much about road races in the South of France, but they are traditionally the gladiator arena for drivers seeking their fame.” He noticed her alarmed look. “Don’t worry. It’s much better nowadays, and the local governments have assured we put together a safe race.” He shrugged. “Relatively safe, anyway.”
    He flashed her a grin when she gave him a teasing “don’t mess with me” glance. “If anything, it’ll be a test of our basic driving instincts. We’ve only been allotted two early mornings of practice in addition to the time trials before raceday, given the constraints of the surrounding villages. It’ll be exciting, that much is certain. It started out as a lark between Vanni and me. But the level of competition has grown fierce in the past several months. We all craved the unique challenge, apparently. I’m glad,” Niki said, setting down his glass. “It was a gamble on Vanni’s part to attempt it, but he’s got a phenomenon on his hands. Excellent publicity for Montand Motorworks