One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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for though she’d lied to him, deceived him, he wanted to believe her. His desire for her had blinded him to her perfidy.
André shook his head and tore open the letter from his detective, his impatience with himself escalating. His gaze flew over the short message that ended with a cryptic “more to follow when I receive proof.”
He scanned the note again, then read it slowly, absorbing every word. His body tensed as his ire blazed to life again. Could this be some mistake?
But, no, the detective was meticulous in his findings, checking and double-checking everything he uncovered. Which made this bit of news all the more troubling.
Just what the hell was going on? He stuffed the note in his pocket and headed across the sand that was bleached white under the sun’s glare.
He’d known from the start Kira was doing Bellamy’s bidding, having had proof of her involvement. He’d deduced that she’d now sold her shares in the Chateau so she could embark on a new life—escape his grasp out of fear of retaliation should the child be Bellamy’s, or entrapment if the baby was his, as he suspected.
But the two million André had paid for complete control of the Chateau had never showed up in her account in Las Vegas or in England. Likely she’d had the money funneled into a Swiss or offshore bank account. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind he doubted its validity.
Kira hadn’t had any access to a telephone—so she couldn’t have made the transaction. No, the only way she could have had a hand in this sale was if she’d set it up before he took her from Las Vegas.
It was plausible, for she had admitted to ringing her solicitor, but even so she’d had no idea of his plan. Then, too, why had she refused his earlier offer to buy her shares and then turned around and given him the first crack to acquire them for the price he’d offered earlier?
It made no sense.
She wasn’t a flighty businesswoman—of that he was sure. Yet this offer made it seem that way.
Everything she’d queried him about on Noir Creux came back to him. Her surprise at his acquisition and at the amount he’d paid for her shares. The anger, panic and defeat when she’d realized it was a done deal.
Her admission that she’d risked her life just to phone her solicitor to find out the truth. She wasn’t lying—of that he was sure.
His mouth pulled into a grim line at that admission. Whether she was the injured party or not, there was nothing he could do about it now. If his detective turned up anything that nullified Kira he’d take action then.
André scanned the beach for Kira. He spotted her, staring forlornly out to sea.
A chill tripped up his spine when he thought how close she’d come to dying. Mon Dieu, he had nearly lost them both!
His woman. His child.
A strange warmth expanded in his chest as he allowed himself to believe the truth in his heart. If she was to be believed he’d soon be a father. Not Bellamy. Him—André Gauthier.
It was sobering.
He and his former fiancée had discussed having a family once. She’d wanted two—no more than that! And she hadn’t wished to start a family until they’d been married at least three years. No exceptions.
He’d agreed, simply because it was a solid plan. Controlled, like every facet of his life. Because his impending marriage had been nothing more than a business deal.
Then Kira had burst into his life, vibrant and fiery as the morning sun. Her blinding light had exposed the rigidity of his life—she’d roused his anger and his lust. But her sharp mind had been the spark to ignite his interest.
Even knowing she was his enemy’s plaything, he’d wanted her then.
Even knowing she’d conspired to ruin him, he still wanted her.
And, damn, he’d have her now.
André ducked under the canopy, pleased Kira was stretched out on the hammock. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall where it might. His cutoffs went next, and he heaved a relieved breath as his sex sprang free.
Her lips parted on a gasp. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.” He moved toward her. The darkening glow of passion in her eyes confirmed she was battling desire without success. “Take your clothes off, ma chérie.”
“Absolutely not! Someone could come by—”
“Not here. This is my private beach. Nobody will see you but me.”
André had the satisfaction of watching her eyes widen, the pupils dilate, her breathing grow heavy. She wanted him as much as he did her, but she was clearly hesitant to shed her inhibitions or her clothes.
Contrary behavior for a mistress. But he’d come to realize Kira wasn’t ordinary. Oui, she was a contradiction.
Sexy, yet shy.
Passionate, yet refined.
Savvy, yet reserved.
He leaned over her, noting the quickening of her breath, the flushing of her skin. His mouth grazed her soft flushed cheek, nuzzled her neck, moving slowly to where a telling pulse hammered in the slender column of her throat, keeping pace with his own wild heartbeat.
He’d never wanted a woman as much as he did her. Had never exercised such restraint in seducing a woman. But though the chase made the anticipation all the more sweeter, his patience would not last much longer.
“I’ve seen you naked,” he said. “Why hesitate now?”
He heard her swallow, felt a shiver rip through her. “You dare to ask after you threaten to bar me from my child’s life?”
He read the resolute determination in her eyes and almost smiled. Almost. She possessed more power than she realized.
“One has nothing to do with the other, ma chérie,” he said, his fingers releasing the tiny buttons on her blouse.
She grasped his hand, stopping him. “It has everything to do with this—this passion between us. I won’t be removed from our child’s life, André. Not now, not ever.”
She’d thrown down the gauntlet, giving him the choice to refuse to bend, to acquiesce to her demand, or to lie. “Very well. You have my word that I won’t mention it again.”
“I—” She swallowed. Stared straight into his eyes. And he saw her acceptance for what it was. Trust. “Thank you.”
He didn’t want her gratitude. Didn’t want to tie anything to this moment but mutual desire. No strings, no promises.
“Now we will make love à la Caribbean Française, oui?”
“Yes,” she said.
Triumph surged through him, along with emotions he didn’t want to face. Not now. Not when these new disturbing sensations were hammering away at him.
He pushed her blouse wide and traced a finger over the lace trim on her demi-bra, surprised his hand trembled. Stunned that with her he felt like an untried youth again.
She moaned and splayed her hands on his chest, the small fingers flexing over his muscles. An electric jolt shot through him, his muscles snapping taut, his body quivering with need. Mon Dieu, but he’d never experienced such sexual awareness from a simple touch.
He stared at her, his gaze ravenous as it swept over the creamy swells of her breasts pushing above the lacy scrap of her bra. A growl of annoyance rumbled through him, for he hated the barrier. With a flick of his fingers he released the clasp.
She moaned as her bosom spilled free. He palmed a globe, intrigued by the pale silken texture of her breast against his tanned skin, of the taut puckered nipple begging