Edouard had regarded him as a pest, Peter Bellamy set out to destroy him. And Kira had sided with the enemy to bring about his ruin.
Yet he desired her.
Mon Dieu! Sleep deprivation was warping his mind. He rubbed his gritty eyes and winced. His body screamed for rest, yet he couldn’t afford it yet.
André threw the pen on his desk and stormed from his stateroom. In moments he’d reached the main salon. His gaze sought and found the object of his scorn.
She lay curled on the sofa, napping, her hair spilling over a pillow in a waterfall of mahogany curls. He wasn’t sure how she managed to look innocent and provocative at the same time. Nor could he understand why he wanted her, knowing she was a calculating liar.
But his pulse quickened all the same. He longed to run his fingers through her hair as he covered her body with his. Would she welcome his caresses? Melt in his embrace? Sigh as he thrust inside her?
He undid the knot in his tie and gave it a savage jerk. The silver-gray silk whistled free in the quiet. He’d know soon.
KIRA stirred, awakened by the crushed-velvet voice of her dreams. She understood very little French, but her body recognized the sultry promise his tone evoked.
She frowned, annoyed. It was always this way—André’s voice rousing her from sleep as if to taunt her about the passion they’d shared once. Passion she’d never had with another man. Passion she missed with a soul-deep ache that never left her.
As always, she was helpless to stop the desire radiating in her belly, spreading low and leaving her hot and throbbing and so restless she couldn’t lie still. She thrashed and arched in mute supplication for his touch, his kiss.
His hand glided under her skirt and up her inner thigh, his fingers splaying over her skin, so close to where she wept for his touch. Sensations exploded in her in dizzying colors and she moaned as she was drawn into the kaleidoscope of desire.
A soft laugh shattered the dream. She froze, knowing before her eyes popped open that the intimate touch was as real as the man. André loomed over her, his eyes dark and his features unreadable, his fingers inches from the juncture of her thighs.
Her heart careened crazily, for in that second she wanted him to touch her there like he had before. Wanted him to see her as a woman with dreams and hopes, not just as a sexual partner. The knowledge that wouldn’t likely happen snapped her from her sensual haze.
She slammed her hands against his shoulders. Mistake. Electricity arced into her as his muscles bunched and quivered. Her hands shifted over his chest, and she marveled at the power pulsing beneath her palms that she ached to explore.
“Stop it,” she said, as much to herself as to him, shoving against him to scoot away, only to have the sofa’s marble-topped divider table stop her. “What do you think you are doing?”
His lips pulled into a predatory smile that made her shiver with sexual awareness. “That should be obvious.”
She shook her head, shocked he’d taken advantage of her while she was sleeping, stunned that she’d nearly begged him to take her. Hard. Fast. Deep.
“I’m not making that mistake again.”
Something akin to pain flashed in his eyes, a lightning strike of emotion she couldn’t read. “Yet you desire me, oui?”
“No.”
“I know when a woman is faking and when she is gripped by passion.”
One bold hot finger slipped beneath the lace trim of her silky panties and traced the sensitive crease of her leg. She couldn’t stop the tremor that bolted through her, leaving her quivering with need.
She drew on every ounce of courage she possessed to defy his potent masculinity and preserve what remained of her dignity. “You’re wrong. I don’t want you.”
André slid his finger from her, depriving her of his touch, giving her false security. He flashed a beautifully masculine smile and skimmed that same finger over the desire-dampened crotch of her panties.
Her body jerked of its own volition. She bit her lip to stifle a moan of raw pleasure, and her face flamed with embarrassment and anger for he’d proven his point.
She was putty in his hands. Helpless to resist him.
“I knew you were ready before I touched you,” he said.
“André, don’t,” she said, curling her fingers into fists so she couldn’t clutch him and draw him to her.
“Why? We have nothing to lose.”
“You’re wrong.” She was already in danger of losing her heart to him—which made no sense, considering how he’d taken over her hotel and was dragging her to his island lair.
“Is that a challenge?” His hand slid down her calf and lower, sending hot quivers of sensation spiraling up her leg.
“No.” She’d be a fool to square off against André when her defenses were so low, when she was so weary she could barely think straight.
He didn’t play fair, and she did. Even now, with her emotions stretched thin, she became lost in his touch. Her breath hitched and her heart raced, and she willed his hand to glide back up her leg, to—
His palm cupped her foot, the fingers curling beneath the arch to skim the ball of her foot. A burning pain shot up her leg and her pleasure popped like a child’s balloon.
“Don’t! That hurts.” An exaggeration. The skin burned hot all over.
He examined her foot, his frown darkening. His finger lightly traced the strap indentations cutting across her skin and she set her teeth against the fiery pinpricks that danced across her skin.
He spat out a torrent of French that she was sure were curses, yet his touch remained gentle. “You are a fool to sacrifice comfort for fashion. How long have your feet been like this?”
“They began hurting as we walked from the car to the dock.”
“You should have told me.”
She glared at him and tried pulling her foot free of his hold. “You were not exactly in a friendly mood.”
He moved faster than lightning, pressing her deeper into the sumptuous cushions, blanketing her with his powerful body. His arms bracketed beside her head kept some of his weight off her, but not his groin. She felt the steely length of his sex against her belly and bit back a moan, afraid he’d ravish her, and equally afraid she’d not find the will to stop him.
“Discovering I had been tricked by my fiercest rival’s mistress puts me in a bad mood,” he said, his mouth tantalizingly close to hers, his eyes dark and mercurial.
“I’m not Peter’s mistress,” she said, willing him to believe her this time.
His
