One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West
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both were, she thought.
She made it to the third step when cramps sliced through her, far worse than the last time.
The doctor’s admonition blared in her mind. Avoid the sun. Drink two liters of water a day.
She hadn’t done either. But she would drink her fill as soon as she reached her room. As soon as she was away from André and his dark accusations.
Her next step sent pain knifing across her middle, so sharp and piercing it took her breath away. She gasped and bent double, gripping the railing for dear life and cradling her belly with the other. But her world continued to spin away.
“André!”
She heard glass shatter. Then he was beside her, gathering her in his arms, his face ashen beneath his tan. But it was the stricken look in his eyes that terrified her, for it confirmed her worst fear.
“Our baby,” she got out, as black pinpricks danced before her eyes to block out the light.
She fell into the blackness, into his arms. Her last tormenting thought was that she was losing the baby.
André paced the hospital corridor. The last hour had passed in a hellish nightmare, from the time Kira had collapsed in his arms until they’d arrived on Martinique. He’d never felt so helpless, so afraid for anyone in his life. He’d never been gripped with such crushing guilt—even after his parents’ deaths.
For all his tough exterior and his vows to keep his heart removed from a woman, André wept silent tears in the velvety night, holding her close to his heart, his chest so tight he could barely breathe.
Seeing Kira so helpless had stripped him of all pretense, all thought but moving heaven and earth to save her and his baby’s life. But as they’d raced across a moonlit sea fear had clung to him like the dense sea mist.
She’d been too pale, too cold. She hadn’t roused, hadn’t done anything but lie in his arms like a rag doll.
He hadn’t prayed in ages, but he had then, and he continued to now, in the hospital. Prayed and paced. He relived every tension-riddled moment between him and Kira that had led up to her collapse. He held himself to blame.
Mon Dieu, he should have recognized something was wrong with her at dinner. But he’d been too intent on castigating her for being a Bellamy, for trying to ruin him, staunchly clinging to his pride, his vengeance.
He’d attacked her with the same energy and ruthless bent as he would a corporate adversary. Perhaps worse, because his emotions were tangled in knots when it came to Kira.
For once in his life he couldn’t separate his business and personal life. She was too much a part of both. He’d removed her from her job and placed her into the role of his mistress.
But she didn’t fit that image well because she was carrying his child.
A child whose life he’d endangered. A child who might die.
Sacre bleu! If anything happened to either of them he’d never forgive himself. Never!
The accusations he’d hurled at her played over and over in his mind. She denied authoring those emails. Still denied she’d conferred with Peter Bellamy.
Yet the small fortune he’d paid for her shares had gone straight to Peter. He’d been sure she’d contact her half-brother when she was offered the chance on St. Barth. But, no, she’d emailed her solicitor, believing that ineffectual man could somehow help her regain her shares. He’d offered no solution. In fact he’d seemed pleased she was no longer a part of the “family” corporation. Had she been disowned? Betrayed?
It seemed that way. Peter had never contacted André after he’d seen him shuffle Kira from the Chateau. It was as if Peter had been glad to see her go. But if that were true, why had her millions gone to Bellamy? And why send the paparazzi to the island again?
The doctor emerged from the emergency room, his white coat fluttering wide. But it was his scowl that captured André’s attention.
“Monsieur Gauthier. On your word, you promised that Miss Montgomery would heed my advice, no?”
“Oui, I did.” But it was obvious he’d failed miserably. He’d been too intent on his quest for vengeance to care for the mother of his child. “How is she—and my baby?”
“Miss Montgomery is seriously dehydrated. We could not rouse her enough to drink fluids.” The doctor paused and shook his head, and André’s gut clenched. He was fearing the worst, fearing he’d lost them both. “We’ve forced fluids into her intravenously, and she is improving now.”
“The baby?” he asked, afraid to hope they’d avoided a heart-wrenching disaster.
The doctor smiled. “The fetus has a strong heartbeat.”
André simply stared at him, for though he’d believed Kira carried a child, he’d never thought a heartbeat could be detected so soon. He’d not thought of anything but vengeance and lust in turn.
“I ordered tests to check her chemical balance. If her electrolytes are normal, we will release her today.”
“No!” André ran a hand through his hair, damning the way it shook.
The doctor canted his head to the side. “No?”
“She can’t be trusted to hydrate herself this soon,” André said, hoping the doctor wouldn’t see through that flimsy excuse.
In truth, he didn’t trust himself around Kira right now, for his emotions were still bouncing between love and hate.
The doctor rubbed his chin and frowned. “She will not like being detained, monsieur, for she has told me she wants to go home.”
Home. The Chateau Mystique had been her home, and he’d taken that from her. He’d stripped her of everything.
“You will be rewarded for keeping her here for a few days,” André said, calculating that would give him enough time to do what he must. “Tell her she must stay, for the baby’s welfare.”
“Very well, monsieur. We appreciate your largesse.” The doctor turned to leave, then paused. “You may see her now.”
André wanted to, but he didn’t dare see her face to face until he found out if she’d been telling him the truth. Because if she was innocent, as she proclaimed, then his honor demanded that he right the wrongs he’d done her.
But even if that wasn’t the case he would give her anything and do everything to keep her well, so she would deliver a healthy child. Their child.
His chest tightened, his heart heavy and burning. Raw.
He’d been ready to marry her. To make her his forever.
But she was a Bellamy, and no matter how much André desired her, no matter how much his heart ached to make her his, he couldn’t marry his enemy’s daughter.
Kira sat in bed, staring out the window at the thin white clouds drifting across the azure sky. The scene hadn’t changed much in the two days she’d been hospitalized. Clear blue sky broken by occasional clouds, their formation the only variance.
Inside nothing changed either. The same nurse and doctor tended to her every whim, as if she were royalty. The food was above par, though her appetite was nil. But she ate and drank for the baby’s sake.
Thank God her child was safe. If she’d lost the baby, or hurt it in any way because of her neglect, she never would have forgiven herself.
But she’d lost André. She was sure of it, for she hadn’t heard from him since that confrontational scene at his house.
She’d relived that moment when she had walked away from him a thousand times. The anger blazing in his eyes had burned into her, incinerating her will to win his heart, her determination to carve a