but uncaring what he thought of her. “I hate you.”
“I would expect no less from you.” His eyes blazed with dark emotion as his head lowered to hers.
Kira knew he intended to kiss her, and she knew it wouldn’t be gentle. She knew she should push him away—at the very least turn her head. And she knew she would do neither. For she wanted him to kiss her with a desperation that shocked her.
His mouth closed over hers with a hunger that devoured what remained of her will. She shuddered violently and held herself impassive for a heartbeat, knowing capitulation would signal her doom. Then the kiss changed, softened, and a different type of tremor swept through her, stripping her of reason.
She splayed her free hand over his heart, marveling at the strong rapid beat so in tandem with her own, kissing him in kind. He tasted of exotic spices and seduction, and she suddenly craved both so much she knew she’d die of want if he denied her.
As the boat cut across the waves, the rhythmic duel of their tongues and the ravenous glide of lips on skin consumed her with memories. She was lost. Adrift at sea with her corporate pirate. Enslaved to the sensations she’d only known with him.
His long strong fingers played an erotic melody on her back that made her heart sing and her body hum with need. Like a rosebud caressed by the sun, she blossomed in his arms, kissing him back with all the hunger she’d denied for so long.
He’d done nothing to earn her trust, yet she felt safe in his arms. Wanted. So she simply gave up rational thought and relished this moment.
Too soon he pulled away, when she would’ve begged him to touch her breasts, her sex.
“We’ve reached the Sans Doute, ma chérie, and you are safe.”
It was a lie. As long as she surrendered to his slightest touch she was in mortal danger of losing her heart and soul to this enigmatic man.
André prided himself on his rigid control in the boardroom and the bedroom, yet kissing Kira had been a mistake. He’d done it to take her mind off her crippling fear. But he’d come close to losing control of the situation.
She wasn’t an innocent, yet he’d felt hesitation ripple through her, felt her lips tremble against his, felt her fear of the sea. Then that whispered moan of surrender had sung through his blood and instinct had taken over.
She was an enchantress. A sea witch. Now she was his.
He helped her climb onto the aft deck of the Sans Doute, mindful of her shaky posture and her frantic hold on his hand, the nails digging in so deep they’d leave a mark. He was gripped with the sudden urge to hold her, protect her, make love to her until her fears dissipated.
Mon Dieu, he hated this raging desire that threatened to burn out of control for her. Hated the role she’d played in Bellamy’s life. Hated that he admired her pluck, that she hadn’t resorted to tears, threats or seduction once.
He escorted Kira up the circular stairs and propelled her through the main salon, dressed in the richest golden sateen and deepest burgundy velour, then up to the observation salon. His hand rested at the beguiling curve of her back—in part because he enjoyed touching her, and also because he knew it bothered her. He wanted her hot and bothered.
The bullet lights in the ceiling shot platinum and bronze streaks through her wealth of mahogany hair that his fingers itched to sift through. But she would not welcome his touch now. She was as flighty as a hummingbird, the pulse-point in her throat warbling to a frantic beat.
Still he ached to draw her close, to press his mouth over that spot, feel the beat of her heart match time with his. She’d not fight him. No, she’d melt in his arms—if only to take her mind off her fear.
That was reason enough to bide his time. It was imperative she crave his touch. That he earn her trust.
It shouldn’t be difficult to do, considering she’d been groomed to pleasure a man. Oui, before he was through she’d beg him to bed her.
It was inevitable—a fact Bellamy must be aware of. So why hadn’t his enemy contacted him yet?
“Make yourself comfortable.” He strode across the lounge to the bar. “Would you care for a drink before we get underway?”
“Water, please.”
He slipped behind the granite-topped bar and slid her a look. She’d taken a seat on the circular sofa, her legs curled beneath her and an overstuffed pillow hugged to her stomach. Her complexion was paler than before.
A spark of alarm hit him again. “Are you all right?”
“I’m just thirsty.” She flicked him an uncertain glance. “It’s been too long since I drank any water.” She shook her head as if dismissing the matter.
Another ploy to gather sympathy? To heap guilt on him for dragging her to the island against her will?
Of course. She’d only had to ask at any time and he would have made sure she was refreshed, that she was comfortable. He wasn’t an ogre, determined to make her suffer physically.
He poured sparkling water into a glass, added a twist of lime and took it to her. Annoyance burned his soul as he handed her the glass.
She took it, a telling gasp escaping her as their fingers brushed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” André said, which was far from the truth.
He stalked back to the bar and prepared a simple rum daiquiri with the barest squeeze of lime. Thoughts of Kira making love with Bellamy sped through his mind and left a white froth of rage in its wake.
Instead of savoring the heavy, rich swirl of rum, André tasted bitter revenge coating his tongue. Spending half a day with her had sharpened his senses to a razor’s edge.
Kira portrayed the ingénue when she was anything but innocent. Oui, he knew her for what she truly was, for he’d tasted her passion. One sip demanded more.
Every nuance of her was branded on his mind. The occasional tremor that rocked her, leaving her shaken. The pensive look he glimpsed in her eyes when she thought nobody was watching. Those odd moments when she rested a hand on her stomach and the most beauteous expression came over her.
It was as if she was sharing a secret with someone.
Well, he had secrets of his own. Dark, disturbing ones that robbed him of sleep.
“Do you have reliable internet on the island?” she asked.
“Oui. I have a private satellite connection in my office.” She would have limited access, at his discretion, and monitored. He prowled the carpeted salon and sipped his drink, her question spiking his suspicion. “Thinking of begging Peter to rescue you from the situation you’ve both created? Or do you need his instructions on how best to spy on me?”
Color streaked across her high cheekbones and her amber eyes snapped, her anger and defiance charging the air. “I intend to run my hotel from my prison.”
“You mean my hotel.”
“You
