One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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the female employees, non?”
“Employees, guests—it makes no difference to him. Complaints have been lodged.” His manager’s sigh crackled over the line. “Perhaps if you spoke with him?”
“Oui. I will arrive this afternoon. Prepare my suite.”
André ended the connection, then rocked back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed he had to speak with Philippe again about his discretion and maintaining high business standards. Irked he had to leave Kira here. Though a night away from her might be just the thing to put his emotions back in perspective.
“Problems?” Kira’s voice reached across the desk to stroke over him in a silken caress.
“Oui. An ongoing one.” But no more. His cousin had been warned what would happen if he continued to play around.
He met her gaze, annoyed her excitement had vanished. Was she sorry to see him go, or was it a ruse?
No, she wasn’t deceiving him this time. He’d set out to bind her to him and he’d succeeded. But he’d not anticipated his plan would ensnare him as well.
He should leave her here and attend to business. But he selfishly wanted her to join him.
“We leave for St. Barth within the hour,” he said, clearly surprising her again.
Again her smile dazzled him, warming something that had been far too cold in him. “You’re taking me?”
“But of course.”
Her smile rivaled the sun.
Oui, she was excited to go away with him for the day. He hoped she wanted to see the island and La Cachette—to be alone with him in the romantic city. But she might be seeing this as her chance to contact Peter, perhaps even run away.
His jaw firmed, his heart chilling at those possibilities. He’d provide her with the means to deceive him. He’d charge his investigator to do a deeper investigation of her, turning over every rock in England if need be.
Then he’d have an answer. Then he’d know what the hell to do.
Kira wasn’t a neophyte when it came to five-star hotels, but the moment André escorted her into his hotel on St. Barth, there was something about La Cachette that set it apart from anything she’d seen before. Something besides the old-world beauty of the salmon-stucco structure trimmed in pristine white. Something other than what she’d read about the high-end suites that ran into many thousands of dollars a night.
The elegant hotel overlooking the expanse of turquoise sea made Chateau Mystique pale in comparison. It reduced the Chateau to what it really was—a glitzy hotel on the Las Vegas strip, an edifice of glass and steel and opulence meant to dazzle guests, like countless other ones in the neon town that played all night long.
Her nerves zinged and her senses absorbed the grandeur of it all as André tapped in a code to access a private lift. But once she and André stepped inside it, a far different excitement took root in her.
She’d been intimate with him in every way possible, yet she felt like an exposed novice trembling at his side. A good part of it was because of desire, for she wanted him with a hunger that shocked her.
But she was still shaken over taking the coward’s way out and holding her secret to her heart even after he’d asked for her opinion regarding his property on the French Riviera. At that moment she’d felt their relationship shift, and she hadn’t wanted to ruin it. And it had happened again when he’d offered that bit of praise for her ideas for the Chateau.
Her heart had melted.
After three months they’d gone from captive and captor, to sizzling lovers. Could they find even ground in a partnership in business? As parents?
Could they have even more?
She wanted to believe it was possible—that he’d not hold her paternity against her or their child. That he’d brought her to St. Barth not just because she was his willing mistress now.
She had to trust her heart that love would find a way.
That was so easy to do now, as his dark eyes glittered with blatant desire, caressing her in tantalizing increments. Her lips tingled, aching for his kiss. Her breasts felt heavy, tight, and her blood hummed with a strong sensual pulse.
His powerful presence filled the lift, filled her heart. She’d never met a man who captivated her so, who made her ache for such wicked pleasure in his arms.
Though the lift had whisked them to the penthouse, she was gasping for breath, her hand gripping the cool handrail as his gaze fixed on the juncture of her thighs. A deep throb of want vibrated low in her belly, her muscles contracting in erotic rhythm.
The apex of her thighs was growing hot, the scent of her sex making her cheeks warm more from arousal than embarrassment. She squirmed, as restless as if he’d touched her intimately.
The flames in his gaze blazed hotter. His wickedly sensual lips curved in a knowing smile—a triumphant smile, for he surely knew the power he had over her.
As if to prove it he licked his lips and moaned his pleasure. A tremor rocked through her and she pressed her thighs tight together, nearly coming in the lift, aroused simply by his gaze, by the carnal promise in his dark eyes.
With just one look she was lost. She was his.
He knew it, and so did she.
The lift door whispered open. André wrapped an arm around her shoulders and escorted her into the tower apartment, no doubt aware her legs trembled so badly she feared she’d collapse.
She’d expected him to whisk her to the bedroom, but he seemed in no particular hurry. If only she could be that relaxed.
Kira focused on the suite to calm her emotions. She’d not expected the apartment’s style to be so starkly elegant.
Open, yet intimate. The ultimate playpen for decadence.
Large windows on three sides welcomed sunlight to flood the open salon, which was sumptuously dressed in translucent swaths of lush green that mirrored the colors of the rainforest.
The curved sectional sofa in a warm butterscotch dominated the salon, affording an optimum view of the ocean and the vista stretching to the horizon. Her mind teased her with images of her and André frolicking on that sofa, having eyes only for each other.
An intimate glass-topped table for two sat by French doors that opened onto a white-railed Juliet balcony. A crystal vase overflowed with white lilies, cream isianthus and eucalyptus foliage to perfume the suite.
Her gaze climbed the curved staircase to the loft above. With André so close, and knowing what was to come, this was almost too much for her senses.
“The bedroom,” he said.
“Of course.” She studied the open plan again, noting one closed door on this level. “Are there others?”
“No.”
Her face flushed. She should be offended he’d brought her here. But all she could think of was making love with him on the plush sofa, and later in the tower bedroom.
“Do you want anything?” he asked.
She wanted him to take her now, to pleasure her—love her. “You,” she said simply.
An amorous glint lit his eyes. “Ah, ma chérie, you do speak my language. Unfortunately I have pressing business to attend to now.”
She crossed to him and laid a hand on his heart, emboldened by the strong rapid beat, unwilling to conform to the mistress’s role of waiting patiently for her lover. “When will you return?”
“An hour. Two at the most.”
A short time for him, but a boring afternoon for her. “Perhaps I’ll take advantage of the solitude