Читать книгу One Night Of Consequences Collection - Ким Лоренс, Annie West - Страница 31
ОглавлениеANDRÉ stood in the hall, chest heaving and fists shaking at his sides. He’d not intended to lock her in her room, but the moment he’d held her in his arms and kissed her he’d wanted her so badly he throbbed with need. Knowing she was receptive to him only made the urge to possess her again stronger than ever.
So he’d locked the door to keep her from charging from the room and challenging him. For this time he’d not be able to walk away. It was a chilling admission to make.
He’d never experienced this sensual intensity with another woman. He’d soared to a summit with Kira that he’d not known existed. A place he’d feared going all his life, for he’d had to relinquish control to get there.
It had been just one night of passion. One damned night. But he recalled every detail. The taste of her skin, the silken strength of her muscles straining with his, her lusty response to each intimate stroke of his hands, his mouth, his body.
Mon Dieu, her anger was as fiery as her desire—the flint to ignite his passion. Knowing she’d flung a set of exquisite rococo vases against the door had awakened a primitive side in him. Like the passion-crazed hero in La Valse Chaloupée, he was tempted to kick down the door, grab her by her hair, and drag her into his bedroom.
But this was life, not a facsimile of the Apache Dance. Though he was his father’s only son, he’d be damned if he’d let a woman blind him to reason. Not again!
History would not repeat itself through him. Never.
Yet it had, for he’d been lenient with her from the start. That would end now.
Though Kira was the object of his baser desires, she’d been his enemy’s mistress. She’d come here to seduce him, to drag his name through the muck. Her success had ruined the most lucrative deal of his life, and made a fool of him.
His enemy had won that battle through her. But he’d not be deterred from his goal this time.
Biting off a curse, he strode the length of the hall to his room. The southeasterly breeze drifting through his chamber failed to refresh him.
He was weary and hot, and disgusted with himself. Spending the better part of a day in Kira’s close company had driven him mad with lust.
André strode into his en suite glass-enclosed shower and turned the jets on full blast. Cold water rained down on his body, pelting muscles that had grown so tense and knotted they ached.
He flattened both hands on the ceramic-tiled wall and put down his head, welcoming the water coursing over his body, cooling his ardor, his anger. The intense feelings warring within him were new, and he hated that he’d lost control with her again.
Yes, this had to be similar to the hell his father had endured throughout his marriage. André would have none of it.
The water spurting from the jets beat his savage jealousy for Kira to a manageable level. He’d run on pure adrenaline the past few hours. But he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do.
He’d brought Kira to Petit St. Marc and he’d exact his revenge. Peter Bellamy would be livid by now, knowing that he held Kira here, that he’d use whatever means necessary to access any secrets she held about Bellamy Enterprises. Yet Bellamy had been deceptively silent, going about his life as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. What was his plan?
Perhaps Bellamy had anticipated André would strike back, that he’d go after Kira to bring Bellamy to heel? Perhaps that was why Kira hadn’t put up much resistance to leave the Chateau. Perhaps the plan was to ensure that lightning struck twice—she was to seduce him and create another media nightmare.
It was a possibility he couldn’t ignore. Paparazzi could be on their way to the island now, in hopes of catching André availing himself of Bellamy’s tempting mistress again.
The thought pulsed in his blood like lava, thick and scalding hot.
André pushed away from the shower wall and turned off the water. The cold dousing had cooled his temper, but he was still semi-aroused.
He stalked into his room, his body dripping water, his sex heavy. He stared at the security panel, smiled, then punched in numbers to deactivate the lock on her door.
Bellamy’s feigned uninterest in André taking Kira from the Chateau roused his darkest suspicions. If she made no attempt to escape, then it was likely she and Bellamy already had an ulterior plan in place, should André try to use Kira to crush Bellamy.
He wouldn’t be played for a fool again. He’d alerted his guards to bar anyone except their guests from the island. He’d set men to patrol the shoreline as well, for the same reason.
New game. New rules. One winner—him.
Kira pressed one hand to the en suite bathroom door while the other tightened around the knob, her pulse racing with a sense of dread and anticipation. She’d just decided she might as well take a shower to cool her anger when she’d heard the lock on her door click. But she hadn’t heard the door open.
She strained to hear, but the only sound she detected was the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the pounding of her own heart. André must have returned.
Good. She was ready to confront him, for the longer she put this off the worse it would be. Or was it already too late?
She pressed a hand over her still-flat belly, her emotions more tangled than before, her anger cooling. André believed she was Peter’s mistress. Believed she’d come to the island before to ruin him. Believed she was his enemy.
Kira could produce a document to debunk that claim. But, short of a DNA test, she feared she’d never convince André of his paternity. Not unless she earned his trust first.
Taking a resigned breath, she opened the bathroom door and stepped into the room. A glance proved she was the only one in residence. She eased to the entrance door and peeked through the louvers.
Her brow creased. No masculine shadow in the hall.
Yet someone had thrown open the heavy curtains in the hall and opened the windows to let the refreshing ocean breeze riffle in. She strained to hear sounds of life, and caught a faint murmur of voices echoing from below stairs.
Kira closed her door and paced the luxurious bedroom. Why had he locked her in, only to set her free soon afterward? Why had he left her in peace?
Peace? That was a laugh.
There’d be no peace until she and André came to amiable terms regarding their child. Though, considering who she was, it was likely he’d regard her with hate. And what of their child?
Surely the island tycoon who’d loved her to distraction wasn’t as cold as her own father? André would insist on playing a vital role in their child’s life. And hers as well?
If she was honest with herself, she wanted the fairy tale dream of a loving husband and family.
She wanted André.
This dangerous fascination she had with him made no sense to her. He was all wrong for her. She detested his infidelity. His arrogance. His ruthless intention to take what he wanted without a care for her feelings.
He believed she was Peter’s mistress—his enemy. What did he intend to do with her? What would he do when he learned the whole truth?
Restless energy pulsed within her, leaving her thoughts scrambled and her stomach alive with butterflies. She crossed to the window, where cream voile curtains fluttered like gossamer wings.
The vista was a feast: sky bathed in the richest bronze and edged in an ethereal glow. Like André’s tanned skin, smooth, unblemished, potently sensual.
She frowned, annoyed she couldn’t enjoy a pastoral thought without him crowding into her mind. Like a thorn, André Gauthier was embedded in her, festering, painful when poked.
Her hand stole to her belly and her eyes stung with tears she refused to shed. André was in her, his blood coursing in their child, mixing with hers. The child bound them together. But what would the future hold for them all? Could they find a way to resolve their differences for the baby’s sake?
Kira shook her head, apprehensive and weary. She’d worked so hard to gain confidence in herself, yet in less than a day he’d rendered her poise nonexistent.
He was too dominant.
Too virile.
Too addictive to her senses.
She didn’t want to want him. Didn’t want to think of him. Yet he remained constant in her mind. He kept her worries alive, churning like a whirlpool.
She needed to unwind, to work off the tension coiling and striking like maddened vipers within her. Because as long as her emotions were this frayed, she remained vulnerable to André.
Around the plantation house the rainforest had been cut back to allow a garden paradise. Lanterns outlined the fence, and more strategically placed lights spotlighted fabulous floral displays.
Nearly in the center lay a large swimming pool, awash in soft light. Several small thatched shelters strung with inviting hammocks stood nearby, the encroaching shadows of dusk lending them more privacy.
The pool beckoned to her. She licked her lips, debating.
Nothing had been said regarding an evening meal, though she caught a tantalizing spicy aroma drifting from below. She didn’t know if she was expected to dine with André or eat alone in her room. She wasn’t sure of anything. But she reasoned she had time for a quick dip in the pool.
Kira dug through her luggage and found her simple coral maillot. In another month her pregnancy would make her hesitant to wear anything this revealing. So she might as well enjoy this opportunity while she could.
Once she’d donned her swimsuit, she stood in front of the mirror and critically studied herself. She wasn’t showing yet. Still she hesitated, until she’d borrowed a large bath towel. She wrapped it sari-fashion around her and slipped from the room.
For a moment she stood there, listening, afraid André would appear. Or worse. That he’d take her in his arms. Kiss her. Melt her resolve.
But not a soul stirred, and the quiet bolstered her flagging courage. She hurried across the cool beechwood floors to the stairs. Again she paused, listening, heart hammering.
Nobody was about, so she padded down the steps and hurried to French doors thrown open to welcome the prevailing breezes. She stepped onto a terrace facing the forest and breathed in the exotic perfume of flowers.
The lights lent a fantasy glow to the garden, and in no time she’d padded down the terracotta stones to the pool. It seemed too good to be true that this enchanted garden was all hers to enjoy this evening.
Kira undid the towel at her waist and let it drop, then stepped to the deep end of the pool and dived into its turquoise depth. The water was almost too warm and drugging, but she forced her arms to slice through the water, her legs to scissor and propel her across the pool.
One lap and turn. Then two, three, four…
She stopped counting after that. Though she was tired to her core, the repetition was the nirvana she sought to banish André from her mind.
André watched the monitor, transfixed by the woman cleanly navigating his Olympic-sized pool. He’d not taken time to study her body impartially. If he had, he’d have recognized she possessed an athlete’s physique.
Her sleek suit was designed to minimize drag. It molded to her and left nothing for the imagination. Not that he needed to guess what was beneath the suit.
He remembered every nuance of her body. Every curve, every dimple, right down to the sexy mole on her derrière.
Yet his research into Kira Montgomery had failed to tell him she was an expert swimmer. Not a leisurely one either. No, she swam with speed and power, the defined muscles in her arms and shoulders attesting that she was fit. That she was a competitor.
He smiled, pleased to discover a reason for the aggressive tendency which had drawn him to her. Though he could see she was used to challenging others in the pool, she was far out of her league in trying to best him.
He was a shark, whereas she was a sleek dolphin. Graceful, swift and desirable. Cunning as well?
Heat pooled in his groin as he watched her slice through the water, over and over. A sea nymph come to life, luring him to come to her. That was likely her plan—to seduce him again.
But this time he was alert to her scheme. This time he’d use her own desire against her. This time he’d turn the tables on her.
He pushed from his chair and strode from the room, the cutoff jeans he’d donned barely clinging to his hips, his chest and feet as bare as his rising need.
With Bellamy’s help she’d succeeded in breaching his defenses. His lust for her had eroded his control, for he’d never been so attracted to a woman before. Never enjoyed such sensual sparring.
But he’d not make the same mistake twice. This time he was aware of the depth of her deceit.
Oui, when he was done with Kira Montgomery she’d be financially ruined and humiliated. As for her benefactor—he’d strip Peter Bellamy of his fortune and his empire.
Only then would his revenge be complete.
Kira felt the pressure of water swelling behind her, followed by the tingling sensation that she wasn’t alone. She faltered midway to glance back at the tiled edge.
She recognized the circle of ripples for what they were—someone had dived in. André?
The thought of him in the pool with her drugged her limbs and muddled her thoughts. It had to be him, for even the water was charged with an energy that hadn’t been there before.
Kira went hot and cold and hot again, her heart drumming too fast. She pulled herself through the water, determined to outdistance André. She found a burst of renewed speed and concentrated on reaching the far wall before him.
She had to get out of the water. She had to be on firm ground when she encountered him again.
Doing laps had cleared her head, and she was glad she hadn’t blurted out the truth earlier. He was too mired in anger to reason with, too set on seducing her out of some misguided sense of revenge to deal with the reality of their future.
There would be time later to explain everything. She’d make time. She’d somehow make him understand that she’d played no part in Peter Bellamy’s schemes. That she was the injured party in this—just like him.
That, despite the feud between the Bellamys and André, they’d created something beautiful together. That they had a chance for a bright future.
But now wasn’t the time to discuss it. The day had exhausted her and strained his patience.
Tomorrow. She’d deal with all this then.
Her arms sliced the water with precision, her shoulders burning from the exertion, her thighs growing tighter, her lungs starting to burn.
The intricate mosaic design on the tile edging the far end of the pool became clearer, the bright red, blue and yellow more intense. Almost there. Almost.
She felt the pressure of water pushing at her from below. Panic nipped at her, for she knew he was a heartbeat away from colliding with her.
A great white shark chasing her, poised to attack. She chanced a look down, faltering when she saw him.
His long powerful body surged upward to meld with hers, his hands on her waist anchoring her to him. Before she could think to fight him, he broke the water and shot upward, taking her with him.
The night breeze whispered over her body, pebbling her skin. She slammed both palms on his wet chest to push him away, but the raw hunger in his eyes paralyzed her.
He smiled, arrogant and potently sexy. Then his mouth captured hers and she surrendered with a whimper.
They fell back into the water, the splash noisy and ungraceful. Her hands slipped around his neck, her fingers memorizing the play of muscle flexing beneath warm smooth skin.
She’d missed this connection to him so much.
The water lapped over them as they sank in the pool, and she clung to him. The kiss deepened, breathing life into her.
He was her anchor and her damnation. As before, his kiss was unlike any she’d experienced. Deep, wild, intoxicating, dragging her through hell to glimpse heaven.
Each glide of skin against skin sent shockwaves of need vibrating through her, crumbling the walls of restraint she’d hastily erected. Just like that and she capitulated to him.
There was no reason to continue fighting when he’d won this battle. She wanted him, and she hated herself for being so weak around him, hated this intense need that coursed in her for him.
With just a kiss he’d reduced her world to her and him and the child in her womb, nestled between them. But he didn’t know that, or realize her concern at holding her breath too long.
He pushed off the bottom of the pool and propelled them upward. Toward air.
And another confrontation with André.
He held majority shares in her hotel as tightly as he held her life in his hands. She should fear him. But she believed that he’d protect her, even though her intuition warned she’d come out the loser in any personal war with him. Even knowing the danger ahead of her, she let him woo her heart without effort.
They broke the surface, each dragging in air—another form of torture, for her breasts rubbed his chest with each indrawn breath, teasing the nipples into aching peaks. And lower his sex pressed against her belly, separated only by her swimsuit.
A languid heat coiled in her at knowing he was naked. Knowing that it would be so simple to reach down and stroke his exquisite length, to guide him where she ached for him.
“You’re an expert swimmer,” he said, forcing her mind from sex—a blessing that part of her cursed.
“It’s good exercise.” No longer a passion.
Her dream to compete in watersports had died long ago, derailed by an injury, then later crushed beneath Edouard’s plans for her.
She’d not relinquish another dream to please a man, no matter how much she ached for his touch, his possession. Yet even as the thought crossed her mind she admitted that was a lie. She ached to have a family. To be wanted. Loved.
He moved, lifting her to nuzzle her breasts through the thin Spandex of her swimsuit. Fire shot through her. She dug her fingers into his strong wet shoulders, trembling and arching her back to press her bosom closer to his mouth.
“I want you,” he said, his teeth grazing one sensitized nipple before moving to the other. “You want me.”
She moaned, awash in need, refusing to fight what they both wanted. “That’s obvious.”
He scowled, as if angered by her admission. “I won’t take you now.”
Had she heard him wrong? No, even as he spoke with biting conviction he pulled away from her, putting her at arm’s length, slamming the door on the hot emotions she’d seen flickering in his eyes.
“Then why the foreplay?” she asked, disgusted that her face was flushed and her body trembled with desire.
“I was ravenous for an appetizer.” He left her standing in the water and strode to the edge. “We will indulge in the sensual entrée later.”
He hoisted himself from the pool, water sluicing down his naked and aroused body. He was tanned all over, though a slightly lighter hue banded his groin and his firm, sexy behind, indicating he wore a brief swimsuit on occasion.
The sight of his magnificent body intensified the ache in her. “I won’t have sex with you.”
“Oui, you will. But tonight I need rest and I need food.” His gaze slid over her with a hunger that made her breath catch. “When we make love it will be leisurely and very thorough.”
She trembled at the promise, at a loss as to what to say that wouldn’t betray her wants, her needs.
“Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes,” he said. “We’ll dine casually tonight.”
He stepped into his cutoff jean shorts, but left them unbuttoned, clinging to him like she longed to do. Then he walked away, his long strides taking him further from her. Just like that he could shut off his need for her, while she still quivered with want.
Damn him!
Kira slapped both palms on the calm water as anger danced up her limbs. He didn’t look back once, didn’t pause. He stepped onto the terrace and into the house.
Frustrated beyond words, she launched into a breaststroke that took her the length of the pool and back. Yet even though her muscles screamed for rest as she climbed from the water, a part of her was still ravenous for André’s touch.
She had to gain control of her emotions and her libido. For if she wasn’t very careful her weakness for him would be the downfall from which she’d never recover.
After a quick shower, Kira donned a simple sundress patterned in aqua and a rich brown the color of André’s eyes. That she could make the comparison confirmed she was still on dangerous ground around him. It didn’t help that her emotions swung wildly due to her pregnancy.
One moment she hated him, the next she craved his touch, his kiss. She’d even pondered engaging him in a debate, but quelled the urge. Their first and last verbal clash had led them straight to the bedroom.
Considering how she’d melted in his arms in the pool, she dreaded sitting across from him at the dinner table. But her fears were for naught. Soon after they’d sat down to dine and their meal had been served, André was called away—an urgent conference call he must take.
Alarm bubbled in her. Her first fear was he’d made good on his threat to destroy her hotel. “If this concerns the Chateau—”
“It doesn’t.” He drained his glass of wine, his features remote. “Enjoy your meal, Miss Montgomery.”
Without a backward glance, he strode from the room. His plate remained untouched.
Worry nipped along Kira’s nerves, leaving her edgy. She didn’t trust André to tell her the truth, for he was convinced that she was in league with Peter Bellamy.
He swore he had proof. So what did he have that condemned her? Or was it a bluff?
She speared a wedge of orange and trailed it through her serving of chicken, tomato and pepper and into a bed of wild rice. The subtle aroma of garlic and citrus that had appealed earlier deserted her. Yet she knew that she must eat something for the baby’s sake.
She forced herself to eat and let her mind roam. What electronic proof could he have that tied her to Peter Bellamy?
It couldn’t be genuine. So who’d manufactured this proof?
There were those at the Chateau who disliked her. Since she’d taken over things had gone awry. Items she’d needed hadn’t been ordered. Reservations were often jumbled.
But even if one of them took their dislike of her beyond reasonable in an attempt to ruin her, nobody there had the power to sell Edouard Bellamy’s shares.
No one except Peter. Edouard’s son. He’d been made executor of Edouard’s will. He’d inherited his father’s corporation. Had he set out to strip her of her inheritance?
She dropped her fork on her plate and rubbed her aching temples. It was very possible that he’d discovered the role she’d played in Edouard’s life. That Peter resented her with a towering hatred—just as Edouard had predicted would happen should the truth ever come out.
Everything had been a jumble since the accident. Edouard had clung to life while his mistress had lost hers. The dissolution of her stock had been swift and secretive, with André buying those shares in the Chateau.
That was what had sent Kira here to confer with André. A meeting André swore he’d never agreed to. Had she been set up from the start?
André believed she’d conspired with Peter to ruin him. Not true, but she had no idea how to prove her innocence. She didn’t know what to do, who to trust beyond Claude, her solicitor.
Kira slumped back in her chair, her appetite and what little remained of her energy gone. She wanted to crawl in bed and sleep. Wanted to forget this nightmare that had become her life. Her hand stole over her belly and, despite her annoyance and fears and worries, she smiled. More than anything she wanted to protect her baby. The best way to do that was rest.
She put her napkin on the table and rose. Her gaze collided with André’s.
As before, his stance was deceptively casual as he leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, arms hanging loose at his sides and one foot crossed over an ankle.
But his expression was dark and forbidding, and censure burned in his eyes. He was angry, and she wondered if that ire was the result of his conference call or with her.
“How long have you been there?” she asked.
“Long enough. You didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”
“It’s enough for now.”
He snorted. “But of course you must ensure your figure remains desirable, oui?”
His handsome face had graced many a business magazine, but she’d only seen this ferocious expression once before. Three months ago, when she’d fled Petit St. Marc.
So much had happened, so quickly. It seemed surreal that she’d gone from being the hospitality manager at Edouard Bellamy’s elite Le Cygne Hotel in London to stockholder of Chateau Mystique to André’s impromptu lover.
But that seemed a lifetime ago.
Now fury ruled his features. From the rigid set of his lean jaw to the grim slash of his firm full lips. As ruthless as he’d seemed when she’d escaped the island, he appeared menacing now, like a bloodthirsty pirate instead of a renowned island tycoon.
Whatever had taken him away tonight had put him in a dangerous mood. But she was too tired and emotionally spent to spar with him tonight.
Still she asked, “Is something wrong?”
He shrugged, but his body remained tense. Wary. “My guards intercepted paparazzi off the coast.”
“That should please you,” she said, suspecting that diverting the media was a common occurrence on the island.
He pushed away from the doorjamb and prowled the room, like a predator stalking its prey. “What is he paying you to continue this charade?”
She gave a brittle laugh. “Am I to assume you mean Peter again? Because, if so, the answer is the same as before. I’ve never met Peter Bellamy, and I’ve never taken any directives from him.”
“Oui, just from Edouard. He selected well when he chose you for his son,” he said, and she debated lobbing the water carafe at his arrogant head.
“Why do you hate him?” she asked, thinking she should know what drove André before she said anything more. Certainly before she divulged her secret.
“Why?” André released a caustic laugh, his features devoid of humor. “Edouard Bellamy destroyed my family.”
A sickening chill swept over Kira. “That’s why you engineered the takeover of the Chateau? Why you want to break Bellamy Enterprises?”
“Revenge, ma chérie.”
“But Edouard’s dead.”
His smile was so cold she felt as if she’d been plunged in ice water. “You are familiar with the concept of the sins of the father being visited upon his children, oui?”
Kira managed a weak nod, though her knees nearly buckled. “What has Peter done to you?”
Again the negligent shrug. “He’s a Bellamy.”
And that answer said it all. For she was a Bellamy as well, Edouard’s daughter. And her baby—their baby!—had Bellamy blood.
She had to escape Petit St. Marc before he discovered the truth—before his vendetta against the Bellamys destroyed her and their child.
