Kira regret that she’d set out to destroy him.
André joined her in the lift and they rode up in silence to the fifth floor. He wondered if she’d entertained Peter Bellamy there while the old man had dominated his mistress in the penthouse.
The dark thought stayed with him as he followed Kira to a fifth-floor door. She slid a card key in the slot and stepped into a small but cozy suite. He noted the room bore quaint personal touches, typical of an English parlor, and carried her light floral fragrance. It seemed too benign. Too cozy.
“Pack light,” he said, annoyed by the thought of her entertaining Peter Bellamy here.
Her shoulders stiffened—proof the order had grated. Good. He wanted to keep her off balance, keep her wondering what he planned to do to her.
“Do you plan to keep me locked in a room?” she asked.
“If I must.”
The color leached from her face, only to return in a rosy flush that hinted of righteous anger. He ground his teeth, annoyed she could project such a quality.
“This is wrong of you to force me to leave here,” she said.
How dared she accuse him of wrongdoing? “You should have thought of that before you agreed to do Bellamy’s bidding.”
She stared at him, her expression guarded. “As I’ve said all along, I was told you’d agreed to meet me on your island to discuss the Chateau.”
“Save your lies,” he said. “I have proof of your part in his scheme.”
Her lovely mouth fell open, as if she was shocked by his claim. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re referring to.”
His smile was as tight as the tension bouncing off the jade brocade walls. “It amazes me that people shred the paper trail but forget the electronic one.”
“There is none,” she said.
“Don’t be too sure.”
“But I am certain.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
She flushed, but instead of continuing her defense she looked away from him. Guilt? It must be.
André smiled. He’d caught her. Her game was over, and his was just beginning.
“Enough wasting time,” he said, eager to leave this place that pulsed with bad memories.
She moved into her bedroom like someone walking to the guillotine. Soundlessly she rolled a case from the closet. The damned thing was half as tall as she.
When he realized her intent, he took it from her and hefted it onto the bed. “Take only the essentials.”
“I’ll pack what I wish to,” she said, her amber eyes too bright with moisture.
Her tears had no effect on him. He’d learned long ago from his mother and sister that women cried over everything and nothing just to get their way. He certainly wouldn’t allow Bellamy’s mistress to beguile him again.
His mobile phone chirped and he immediately answered it. The tone signaled it came from his guard. “What?”
“Peter Bellamy just arrived.”
André cut a sharp glance to Kira, who seemed preoccupied packing her bag. She’d not been out of his sight, so either Bellamy was making a surprise visit to the Chateau to see his lover, or someone on Kira’s staff had phoned him.
“Watch him.” André slipped his mobile in his pocket. “How much longer are you going to dawdle over what to take?”
“I only need a few more things, and my files.” She moved to a desk and secured a laptop. “Everything is here so I can keep abreast of the hotel.”
“You cannot mean to continue working?”
“I’m not one to sit around and while away my time.” She flicked him a defiant glare and slipped the laptop in a carryon. “And I don’t require your permission.”
“Do not be too sure of that.”
André had the satisfaction of watching her face drain of color before his mobile chirped again. He answered it curtly.
“Paparazzi just arrived,” his guard said. “They’re swarming around Peter Bellamy.”
Damn. The last thing André wanted to do was engage in another public confrontation with Kira and the media at the start of his takeover.
He met her questioning gaze. “We need to leave without the gossipmongers seeing us. Unless you prefer a repeat of our last encounter?”
She flushed crimson and shook her head. He feared she’d balk—that she’d court the media’s attention again. “The service entrance is our best choice.”
He repeated that to his guard. “Meet us in five minutes.”
“But I’m not ready yet,” she said.
He swore and checked his watch. “You have three minutes. Then we leave, no matter your state of dress.” He gaze slid over her body, openly appreciating her curves. “Or undress.”
She stiffened, as if ready to argue.
He fed on his annoyance and tapped a finger on his watch. “You’re down to two minutes and forty-five seconds.”
Mumbling an oath, she grabbed lacy undergarments from a drawer and ran to the walk-in closet. He made to follow.
“Don’t you dare come closer,” she said, making him wonder if she could read minds.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He strode to her suitcase, zipped it shut and heaved it from the bed.
With five seconds to spare, she stepped from the dressing room wearing a floral skirt that hugged her firm bottom and thighs and stopped above her knees to accentuate the curve of her calves and dainty ankles. A fashionable summer sweater in a clear turquoise molded the full bosom he knew filled his hands. She stepped into sling heels that were sexy as hell, and tossed a smaller bag into her carryon.
She zipped it shut with impatient finality. Her small hand closed around the reinforced handles, her intent clear.
“I’ll take that.” André slung the strap over his shoulder.
She grabbed her purse and slipped a mobile inside it. He took the bag from her and removed the phone, setting it high on a shelf. “So you managed to ring Peter after all?”
“I left a message for my solicitor.”
“I trust you bade him au revoir, for we leave now, Kira.” André held the door for her.
She glanced once at the shelf, then swept past him, her head high. He smiled and followed. She moved with a staccato click of heels and a beguiling sway of her hips down the corridor
