One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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new appreciation for high-dollar French water jets.
In the small hours of the morning André sprawled in bed with Kira snuggled to his side. He should have fallen asleep shortly after she had, but slumber had eluded him.
Their lovemaking had been intense, passionate, deeper than he’d ever experienced in his life. He’d deliberately avoided talk, for he planned to spend the night making love with lazy abandon—a rich dessert to savor in nibbles and bites after a sumptuous meal. To celebrate. To seduce. To delight in each touch, each kiss, each joining.
But he’d sensed a desperation in Kira that had left him on edge. As if she feared this would be the last time they’d make love. A time or two he’d glimpsed guilt in her eyes.
Oui, she was keeping some secret, one that was causing her anguish. The likely scenario ate at him like acid.
The baby was Bellamy’s—not his. Despite the passion they found in each other’s arms she would chose Bellamy over him. She’d betray his trust and make a fool out of him again.
André set his jaw, anger tensing muscle and tendon, eroding the exquisite pleasure he’d found in her arms. Pleasure he’d never experienced to this extent with another woman!
Even knowing she’d been Peter’s mistress, he wanted her for himself. The admission came hard. He hated to be so captivated by a woman that he’d debate even for a second considering having something more than an affair with her.
But the brutal fact remained that he wanted Kira as his lover, his wife. As the mother of his children. He would give her anything she whimpered for to please her. He wanted her child to be his.
But if it wasn’t?
The guilt he’d sensed in her burned like acid in him, for it could only mean one thing. She’d already been carrying Bellamy’s child when she’d first come here to deceive him. His enemy was the father of her baby.
Mon Dieu, she was the fire that coursed through his blood. The siren who invaded his thoughts. She’d made a soft home in his hardened heart.
He wanted her. Now and forever.
But he couldn’t—wouldn’t!—claim Bellamy’s child. Admitting that pained him as nothing else had, and if that was her secret he’d lose Kira forever.
He should be relieved. When he was free of her he’d regain control of his life, his emotions.
He would escape the silken trap that had destroyed his father. He wouldn’t become intoxicated by a conniving woman, rendered drunk by her essence.
He would escape this affair with his pride and honor, leaving with only a few scars to his heart. They’d heal. He’d forget her. He would.
Then he’d be rid of this driving need to cover her luscious body with kisses, to sink into her welcoming heat and forget the world. Like he ached to do now.
He lurched from the bed and crossed to the window, refusing to heed her siren’s call, offering him the sweetest nectar of the gods. It was a trap, for her kind lured men to their ruin.
André heard the slither of silken sheets on the bed and tensed, willed her to stay there even though his body begged her to come to him. He’d be strong. Unyielding. Resistant to her charms.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice soft and sexy.
“No.” He flattened a palm on the windowsill, staring out into the night when every cell in his body ached to return to the bed. To her.
“I don’t believe you.”
His mouth pulled in a mocking smile, and he applauded her for her insight. “Go back to sleep.”
“I’d rather talk.”
Talk was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t wish to hear her confession. Didn’t wish to end this idyll.
A sudden gust of wind sent the filmy curtains fluttering over his heated skin like feathers, filling the room with whispers of the dark desires he’d run from all his life.
He was lost and he knew it, because he still wanted her. Standing here wouldn’t change that. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it was time they talked. Then she’d know what he was willing to give her, and what he’d never be able to relinquish.
“Very well. What is it you wish to say?”
He heard her shaky indrawn breath, and took satisfaction at knowing she was as off balance as he felt.
“What did Edouard do to merit your vengeance?” she asked.
Mon Dieu, she dared to bring Bellamy into their bed?
André whirled to face her, his body taut with anger. “I told you—he destroyed my family.”
“How?”
“C’est sans importance!”
“Speak English!”
He made a slashing movement with his hand and stalked across the room. “It’s not important. Nothing can change the past.”
Because if it had been possible he would have done so. He wouldn’t have told his father what his headstrong sister had done. He held himself to blame for setting in motion the events that had led to his parents’ deaths and his own abandonment.
“Please. I want to know,” she said. “I must know.”
He looked at her then, and a good deal of his rage cooled. She was huddled against the headboard, the sheet pulled tight around her. Even in the wan moonlight her face looked unnaturally pale.
Looking at her, he had trouble believing this woman with scruples had conspired with Peter to gain control of Edouard’s empire—that, like his sister, she’d done whatever a Bellamy wanted on the promise of inheriting the Chateau. Kira had come here to seduce him when his defenses had been at their lowest. Like his sister, she’d chosen a Bellamy over him.
How could he ever forgive her for that? He didn’t know if he could, and that realization had him tied in hard knots.
“André?” she asked. “Please?”
“My sister was Edouard’s mistress,” he began. “Seduced by him when she was fifteen.”
She jerked her gaze from his, staring at the wall as if enthralled by watching a drama play out. When she spoke, her voice was a pained hush that vibrated along his raw nerves. “You hate him for stealing her innocence, then?”
“Oui, it started then,” he said, and then wondered if anyone had given a damn when Bellamy had taken Kira from the schoolroom and become her benefactor.
He had proof of it even if she denied it. Even though she had ended up becoming Peter’s mistress.
“What’s the rest?”
He shook his head, bitten with guilt that his concern now rested with Kira instead of his family. Even admitting it didn’t change anything, for he suspected she’d been an easy target.
She should be the last person he’d wish to share his deepest grief and guilt with. Not the one woman he wanted to talk to about his tragic past.
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“Most intrigues are. Please go on.”
“My parents were outraged and forbade Suzette to see Edouard,” he said, frowning as memories of his parents’ heated arguments filtered back to him. “But my sister was charmed by Edouard’s wealth, by his promises of showering her with riches.”
“And Edouard was relentless in his pursuit of her?” she said, accurately guessing that much.
“Oui. One night she ran away.” He shook his head, having relived that event a thousand times in his nightmares. “I was twelve, and I took great pleasure rushing to let my father