One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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glint of longing softened his features, so brief she wondered if she’d imagined it, so real she nearly spoke with her heart. But no, it was too soon to trust him without question—never mind that she longed to do just that.
She’d been an unwanted child, disowned by her mother and regarded as an obligation by her father. She wouldn’t let her child be treated so dispassionately by a rich father.
“Your heir?” She forced a laugh, the sound harsh to her own ears. “Is that all our child means to you?”
How dared she ask that? André’s jaw throbbed from clenching his teeth. “There are tests that will prove if the baby you carry is your lover’s or—”
“I won’t risk my child’s life to satisfy your curiosity,” she said, a hand pressed protectively to her belly.
His temper flared. “Mon Dieu, do you think I’d put the baby’s life at risk?”
“I don’t know. You’ve done nothing to earn my trust.”
“Touché.”
André ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw, damning the tremor streaking up his arm. The baby was likely Bellamy’s.
But it was possible the child was his.
“My baby’s health is more important than anything,” she said, and he silently agreed with her. “Let me return to the Chateau. I need to see my doctor regularly—”
“I will arrange for an obstetrician from Martinique to visit you weekly here on Petit St. Marc.”
“Weekly? You can’t mean to keep me here.”
“Oui, you will stay on the island for the duration of your pregnancy.”
Until paternity could be proved, Kira realized with renewed annoyance.
Petit St. Marc would be her prison for the next six months. Unless she could break through the wall of resistance and hatred André had erected. Unless she could finally gain his trust. And if not—
“I never meant for you to find out this way,” she said at last, to fill the awful silence that roared in the room.
He let out a course bark of laughter. “Forgive me for not believing you.”
The thought of being unable to bridge this impasse made her queasy. “I’m going to my room.”
André cut her a sharp glare and cringed at the dark smudges beneath her eyes. She looked ready to collapse.
Guilt niggled at him, for he was responsible for her long, arduous journey here. He’d gone to Las Vegas to kidnap a scheming mistress, not an expectant mother. What the hell had he brought on himself?
Time would tell. For now he’d err on the side of caution. “Come. I’ll escort you to your room.”
She glared at him. “So you can lock me in again?”
He affected a negligent shrug as he longed to throw something—ah, she did speak to his inner beast. He waited until she’d started up the stairs before following her up.
“My apology for doing so earlier.” His fit of anger had been so reminiscent of his father that he still longed to rail at himself.
“But you did it anyway,” she said.
“You have my word that it won’t happen again.”
“Your word?” She laughed, a glacial sound vibrating with anger. “Why would I believe you?”
He grabbed her arm and tugged her to him, wanting to see her face when he replied. “Because, unlike your previous protector, I stand by my promises.”
She jerked free, her arms banding her middle to hug her tiny waist as he longed to do, amber eyes condemning him. “Tell me, André. Did you vow fidelity to your fiancée?”
“No.”
Clearly his admission was the last thing she’d expected, for the flush of anger left her cheeks, leaving her exhaustion plain to see. He huffed out an annoyed breath at himself. Continuing this war of words served no purpose tonight.
“Seek your bed, ma chérie.”
She stared at him, as if trying to see into his heart, his soul. A waste, for the lock to both was rusted shut and the key lost to painful experience.
“I don’t understand you, André,” she said.
“There is no reason why you should.”
André turned and sought his own room, leaving her to think what she would of him. It mattered little to him that she didn’t understand his motives.
Anger boiled in him—at himself, for he’d believed her when she’d admitted she was enceinte. He’d taken her at her word, which showed how dangerous she was to him.
He needed more than an admission. He needed proof.
Even then he wouldn’t tie himself to a woman who stirred such fiery passion in him. A woman who’d deceived him.
Just because she might be the mother of his child, it didn’t mean he had to include her in his life. If the child proved to be his, he could easily gain custody of his heir and banish Kira Montgomery from their lives.
She was a schemer. A puppet of Bellamy’s who’d thought nothing of doing the unthinkable. She didn’t deserve to be in charge of an innocent life.
Kira had smoothly lied to him from the start. He had proof. Proof didn’t lie, didn’t deceive.
She bore watching closely, for her will was strong. So were her wiles, and she knew how to use them to get her way. While her femme fatale act had won Bellamy over, it wouldn’t work on him.
But it had—and that shamed him.
He should not find her desirable—shouldn’t want her for his own. But he craved her with a hunger that startled him.
His body burned with need, even knowing what he did about her, knowing she would betray him the first chance she got. He loathed the crippling emotion and refused to be ruled by it.
As he’d watched Kira gain control of her emotions earlier, he’d realized she hated the attraction she had for him as well. She pulled him to her, a powerful, sensual magnet that he struggled to resist.
Oui, André was not alone in his passion. She wanted him with a fierceness that rivaled his. She would have given herself to him in the pool if he’d pushed. He’d come close to doing just that!
She was his for the taking. He knew it, and she did as well. He could have had her tonight if he chose to, but she’d expected that. Planned it! The damn paparazzi had even circled his waters like sharks!
Though he believed she was with child, he knew better than to trust a woman—especially one who’d deceived him before. Was still deceiving him.
He’d buy a pregnancy test kit in Martinique tomorrow and verify her condition. And after that?
After that, they’d wait to learn the baby’s paternity.
And while they waited she’d be his willing mistress, for there’d be no reason to deny what they both wanted.
Kira woke well past the first blush of dawn, stretching in the downy bed like a sated cat. She couldn’t recall when she’d felt so rested. Sleep had been a stranger to her of late—she’d endured weeks of minimal rest even before her arduous journey to Petit St. Marc.
She sighed, lulled by the distant crash of the sea to the shore and the foreign caw and trill of exotic birds. Most were distant or muffled, but all were soothing. She could lie in bed for hours—something she rarely did.
The creak of the rattan chair in her room seemed overly loud. Her nerves tightened, the calming mood gone.