One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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first impulse was to react with anger, but she didn’t want to confront the media. “Very well, I’ll stay here.”
“I’ll make your wait worth it.” His mouth closed over hers, hot, hungry, possessive.
She kissed him in kind, willing him to remember the promise awaiting him here. Willing him to hurry back to her.
He pulled back too soon, his eyes black with passion, his face taut. “Make yourself at home.” Then he was gone, disappearing into the lift and leaving her alone.
Kira stared at the green light on the lift’s keypad. He’d not locked it. Had he forgotten?
No, he wasn’t one to make that type of error. He’d left it unlocked for a reason. But what was it?
Kira fetched a bottle of sparkling water from the small refrigerator in the kitchen and paced the lavish salon, wondering if this was a test of her loyalty to him.
Could it be as simple as him knowing she wouldn’t go shopping and draw the media’s attention? Could he know she wouldn’t run away from him? Know that when he returned this evening she’d be here waiting for him?
Either way he trusted her—or at least had begun to.
She set the water aside and wrapped her arms around her middle, sick at heart that her secret would destroy that newfound trust. But even if she could prove she hadn’t conspired with Peter to ruin André, there was still the fact she was Edouard Bellamy’s daughter.
There was nothing she could do to forestall the inevitable. How much better it would’ve been to have lost him then rather than now. How much more heartache could she bear?
His avowal as they waited out the storm in the cave on Noir Creux came back to her. It’s too late. I paid your price.
But he didn’t know she’d been deceived, and she had nothing but her word to change his mind.
Kira crossed to the phone and quickly dialed the number of her solicitor. Her frustration hitched up another notch when the hotel operator answered.
“Pardon? I don’t understand,” Kira said.
The woman replied in French—then hung up on her! So much for placing a call.
She reclaimed her water and climbed the steps to the tower bedroom, her weariness eased marginally by the breathtaking view afforded by the bank of windows. No matter where she looked, her gaze fell on the sea.
A massive bed dressed simply and elegantly in jade and black dominated the space. She gripped her bottled water tighter, her body quivering with need. This was insane.
Her world was on the verge of collapsing and she was fantasizing about making love with him. Was she following in her mother’s footsteps?
No! She’d put her child first, even above her own needs.
She’d turned to descend to the main salon when she noticed a small desk set in an alcove near the far side of the room. It held a laptop computer and nothing else. Make yourself at home.
Doing just that, she sent a quick missive to her solicitor, demanding to know who’d forged her signature for the sale of her stock.
Time inched by as she waited on pins and needles for his reply. Alert, wary, and plagued with new guilt.
Her hands fisted. My God, how deeply André had woven her into his web if she felt guilty for contacting her solicitor about the takeover of the Chateau.
A soft tone issued from the computer as the “new mail” icon flashed on, seeming unnaturally loud in the stillness. She frowned as she read the reply from her solicitor.
He’d been forthright with her from the beginning, a loyal employee of Edouard’s. She’d trusted him without question.
But his cryptic reply worried her. Instead of answering her questions, he asked what game she was playing now?
She’d never played any game—that had been her father’s forte. Not hers. She’d been taken to Petit St. Marc against her will. She’d been robbed of her shares!
A ding below stairs alerted her that the lift had come up. She typed a quick response to her solicitor, telling him to explain in detail what he meant. She reiterated again that she was the injured party here. She’d never authorized the sale of her stock. Never. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.
She’d find a way to read his reply later. And if she couldn’t…?
Kira logged off just as the tap of shoes on tile echoed up from below. André had returned sooner than she’d expected.
She ran into the bedroom, then hesitated, knowing if she rushed down the steps that she’d either look guilty or eager to see him. She latched on to the latter, but when she got to the top of the stairs she froze.
It wasn’t André at all, but a woman. Her uniform was clearly that of a domestic. She set a box held tight with a crimson bow on the table and turned to leave, then stopped and looked up at Kira, as if sensing her there watching.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” the woman said, and smiled. “A gift for you. Monsieur apologizes for being detained.”
“André sent me a gift?”
“Oui.” The maid walked back toward the lift.
Curiosity carried Kira down the stairs. The maid was gone before she reached the salon. She read the note attached to the box.
Instead of returning to Petit St. Marc this evening they would enjoy a dinner at the celebrated La del’ Impératrice Chambre.
The fact her casual clothes were unsuitable for the elite restaurant barely registered. All she could think of was spending the night in that massive bed with André, loving him.
Heat spread across her middle, fanning out in delicious shivers. They’d enjoy dinner out, like a real date, then spend the night here.
Kira’s hands shook as she tore open the box and swept ivory tissue aside. Her gaze lit on a silky blue fabric that caught the light and shimmered like sunrays skipping over the Caribbean waters.
She held it up, as excited as a child at Christmas. It was indecent. Seductive. Daring. She’d never worn anything like this—had never even tried on risqué clothes.
But André had chosen this for her. The reason was clear.
She was his mistress. He wanted to show her off—boast to other men that she was his possession, his kept woman. She was his conquest over Peter Bellamy.
Her excitement dimmed as that fact stole away the glow she’d been basking in. It would end soon, for she couldn’t go on avoiding the inevitable much longer.
Kira dropped her gaze to the designer gown clutched in her hands. She couldn’t wear it and keep her self-respect. But she couldn’t resist trying it on either. Just once.
She was about to retreat upstairs when a scrap of color in the box caught her eye. No, he hadn’t—
But he had.
She picked up the flesh-hued scrap of silk that was panties. They felt like heaven in her hand but were surely devilish in design, for the cloth was transparent.
She might as well be wearing none at all! No doubt André had thought the same when he’d bought them.
The square box that accompanied the larger one had to be shoes. Curious to see what he’d chosen, she slipped the ribbon free and flung off the lid.
Her hand trembled as she lifted one beautiful mermaid sandal from the box. Shoes were her passion. Her weakness. And these sexy stilettoes called to her.
What would it hurt to try the entire outfit on, as he’d intended her to do? Nothing. André wouldn’t return for hours. Nobody would know. Nobody but her.
Flushed and excited at the prospect