thing?” she asked.
“No, he can have the Jet Ski.”
“Why?”
“Because he is loyal. Because it pleases me.”
She tipped her head back and stared up at him curiously. The angle was just perfect for the sun to streak highlights in her vibrant hair. The mass hung in rebellious curls, giving her that just-pleasured-by-a-man look.
He caught himself on the verge of smiling and shook his head, surprised again by the contradiction that was Kira Montgomery. She portrayed a refreshing innocence at times, like now, with a flush tinting her cheeks and her eyes wide with wonder.
It was a quality he’d never seen in a mistress before—certainly in none of the women he’d employed! Was it possible that Bellamy had been her first lover?
The thought of her lying with the old man rankled. He entwined his fingers with hers, his chest tightening with annoyance.
A woman with Kira’s passion deserved a virile man who could match her in bed, who’d boldly explore the myriad ways they could pleasure each other, who knew how to give and take in bed.
A man who treasured a woman instead of beating her.
He had it on good authority that Edouard Bellamy’s finesse in amour was lacking, that he was given to bouts of unparalleled jealousy and rage. He knew it was true, for he’d seen the bruises on the old man’s former mistress.
André had listened in silent rage as Suzette had made excuses for Bellamy’s inexcusable behavior. But she’d stayed with the old man because he had showered her with everything she wanted. She’d chosen Bellamy over her family. She’d loved their enemy.
Had Kira fallen into the same trap? Was she fatalistically loyal to Edouard Bellamy? Would she stab André in the back too?
“What makes you so angry?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He glanced at her and shrugged, pushing the past into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. “After your adventure to Noir Creux, I have reason to be angry, n’est-ce pas?”
“Perhaps. I just thought—” She shook her head, her expression pensive. “We need to talk, André.”
He frowned, knowing she sought reassurance. It was beyond him to offer comfort, yet he was hesitant to crush her spirits again. Nothing could be gained by beating her down more.
His win was her loss. He’d bested her. So where was the feeling of satisfaction?
André motioned to a massive hammock strung between poles and shaded by a canopy of palm fronds. “This way. I’ll join you in a moment.”
She bit her lip, as if hesitating, then set off toward the shade without argument.
He watched her, noticing her wet clothes no longer clung to her like his hands longed to do. That was his most challenging problem, 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,
