One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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protect her, make love to her until her fears dissipated.
Mon Dieu, he hated this raging desire that threatened to burn out of control for her. Hated the role she’d played in Bellamy’s life. Hated that he admired her pluck, that she hadn’t resorted to tears, threats or seduction once.
He escorted Kira up the circular stairs and propelled her through the main salon, dressed in the richest golden sateen and deepest burgundy velour, then up to the observation salon. His hand rested at the beguiling curve of her back—in part because he enjoyed touching her, and also because he knew it bothered her. He wanted her hot and bothered.
The bullet lights in the ceiling shot platinum and bronze streaks through her wealth of mahogany hair that his fingers itched to sift through. But she would not welcome his touch now. She was as flighty as a hummingbird, the pulse-point in her throat warbling to a frantic beat.
Still he ached to draw her close, to press his mouth over that spot, feel the beat of her heart match time with his. She’d not fight him. No, she’d melt in his arms—if only to take her mind off her fear.
That was reason enough to bide his time. It was imperative she crave his touch. That he earn her trust.
It shouldn’t be difficult to do, considering she’d been groomed to pleasure a man. Oui, before he was through she’d beg him to bed her.
It was inevitable—a fact Bellamy must be aware of. So why hadn’t his enemy contacted him yet?
“Make yourself comfortable.” He strode across the lounge to the bar. “Would you care for a drink before we get underway?”
“Water, please.”
He slipped behind the granite-topped bar and slid her a look. She’d taken a seat on the circular sofa, her legs curled beneath her and an overstuffed pillow hugged to her stomach. Her complexion was paler than before.
A spark of alarm hit him again. “Are you all right?”
“I’m just thirsty.” She flicked him an uncertain glance. “It’s been too long since I drank any water.” She shook her head as if dismissing the matter.
Another ploy to gather sympathy? To heap guilt on him for dragging her to the island against her will?
Of course. She’d only had to ask at any time and he would have made sure she was refreshed, that she was comfortable. He wasn’t an ogre, determined to make her suffer physically.
He poured sparkling water into a glass, added a twist of lime and took it to her. Annoyance burned his soul as he handed her the glass.
She took it, a telling gasp escaping her as their fingers brushed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” André said, which was far from the truth.
He stalked back to the bar and prepared a simple rum daiquiri with the barest squeeze of lime. Thoughts of Kira making love with Bellamy sped through his mind and left a white froth of rage in its wake.
Instead of savoring the heavy, rich swirl of rum, André tasted bitter revenge coating his tongue. Spending half a day with her had sharpened his senses to a razor’s edge.
Kira portrayed the ingénue when she was anything but innocent. Oui, he knew her for what she truly was, for he’d tasted her passion. One sip demanded more.
Every nuance of her was branded on his mind. The occasional tremor that rocked her, leaving her shaken. The pensive look he glimpsed in her eyes when she thought nobody was watching. Those odd moments when she rested a hand on her stomach and the most beauteous expression came over her.
It was as if she was sharing a secret with someone.
Well, he had secrets of his own. Dark, disturbing ones that robbed him of sleep.
“Do you have reliable internet on the island?” she asked.
“Oui. I have a private satellite connection in my office.” She would have limited access, at his discretion, and monitored. He prowled the carpeted salon and sipped his drink, her question spiking his suspicion. “Thinking of begging Peter to rescue you from the situation you’ve both created? Or do you need his instructions on how best to spy on me?”
Color streaked across her high cheekbones and her amber eyes snapped, her anger and defiance charging the air. “I intend to run my hotel from my prison.”
“You mean my hotel.”
“You are the majority stockholder now, but the Chateau will always be mine.”
His fingers tightened on his glass. She couldn’t be more wrong, but he’d let her hold her confidence for now. He took no pleasure in beating someone who was so near the edge.
The dark smudges beneath her eyes attested that she was close to exhaustion. Yet her narrow shoulders remained squared and her chin high, as if she was refusing to accept that she stood on thin ice regarding the Chateau—regarding him.
Her quiet strength intrigued him. He’d expected her to use her delectable body to court his favor, to deceive him more. But though she’d responded instantly to his touch, his kiss, she hadn’t attempted to take the initiative with him. Yet.
He tossed back his daiquiri as his anger burned anew. What was her game?
It didn’t matter. He’d have his revenge in the end. He had proof Peter had sent her to Petit St. Marc to seduce him, and alerted the paparazzi, and he now held documents proving her part in the deadly plot she and Peter had instigated.
The latter was enough to make him despise her. He hated that she’d acquired the Chateau with her deceit. Hated that she was Bellamy’s mistress. Hated that her solemn amber eyes had the power to make him question his plans.
He set his glass on the bar with a thunk and strode to her, his annoyance sparking like lightning when she lifted her chin and stared up at him, wide-eyed but unflinching. She was driving him mad, for he’d never wanted to intimidate a woman until now.
In one fluid movement he rested a knee on the cushions before her curled legs, braced one hand on the sofa’s arm and the other on its back. “I own Chateau Mystique and I own you. Never doubt you are both in my control.”
Her full lips thinned. “That is barbarous.”
“Perhaps you were unaware the blood of pirates courses through my veins?” He yanked away the pillow shielding her and splayed his fingers on her stomach, his thumb resting on her mons and his fingers grazing the swell of her breasts.
She gasped, eyes huge and dark, with awakening desire. The pulse in the ivory column of her neck throbbed to a savage tempo that mirrored his own erratic heartbeat.
Oui. She didn’t fear him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. In this they were equal. But not for long.
André affected a rapacious grin. “What? You have nothing to say?”
A tremor vibrated through her into him as she shoved his hand from her, but her eyes were still smoky with passion. “Nothing that you’d believe.”
“Save your professions of innocence.” He lurched from her and stared at her expressive eyes that challenged him. “Relax, ma chérie. I have no intention of ravishing you. At least not yet.”
She looked away, satisfying him that she understood his dismissal as well as his promise. The inevitability.
“Not ever,” she said, the words whispered, yet fierce.
The challenge hung between them—a cold, invisible wall that he longed to tear down.
André stalked across the salon and bounded up the stairs to the sundeck, knowing he was a hair’s breadth from toppling Kira back on the sumptuous sofa and showing her just how much she hungered for his touch. How easily she’d capitulate.
Now wasn’t the time. They were spent from the