won’t you believe me?”
He snorted. “Because I know what you are.”
Hot color stained her cheeks, her anger mounting. “No, you only think you do.”
“Then tell me. How did you gain control of the Chateau?”
The truth was poised on her tongue, burning to be released. There was no reason to keep the promise she’d made Edouard. No reason except to weigh the danger in confiding in André. For if he hated her now, he’d despise her when he knew the rest.
“Having trouble sorting out your lies?” he asked.
No, the truth. “Nothing of the sort.”
Kira looked away from the anger flashing in André’s eyes. She was tired of working long hours to earn her rightful place at the Chateau, only to have a stranger step in and take it all away from her. Tired of living on the fringe of Edouard Bellamy’s life so his family would be spared the stigma of knowing that he’d sired and provided for his bastard. Tired of receiving only crumbs of Edouard’s affection. Tired of fighting this same argument with André.
“I’m simply an employee who invested wisely in Bellamy Enterprises,” she said at last, repeating the excuse Edouard had devised.
“Did you receive a bonus when you came to my island and seduced me?”
“Of course not. I came to talk with you,” she said.
“So you said. Yet you found your way into my bed.”
“It was a mutual seduction.”
“Oui, but I wasn’t the one who invited the world to witness our affair the next morning.”
Kira shook her head, having nothing to say in her defense. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. She wouldn’t rail at him, because he volleyed her barbs back with the ease of a tennis pro—only his shots drew blood.
“Neither did I.”
“Perhaps you didn’t issue the order,” he said. “But you were aware that was Peter’s intent before you came.”
“If I had known, I assure you I’d never have come,” she said, furious that he doubted her at every turn. “And, for the last time, my solicitor had assured me that you’d requested a meeting between us.”
“Bravo, Miss Montgomery, for sticking with your story. Perhaps later you can entertain me with the story of how a new employee managed to buy a forty-nine percent holding in a multimillion-dollar Las Vegas hotel.”
Before she could think how or if she should respond to that, a shrill whistle echoed in the salon.
He surged to his feet, his features rigid with anger. “We’ve arrived at Petit St. Marc.”
Kira intended to do little more than rest for the remainder of this day, and maybe the next as well. She’d deal with André and the baby that tied them together later.
She watched him shrug into his suit jacket and give the lapels a tug. Except for the shadow of a beard lending him a roguish look, he looked no worse for wear.
Kira was sure she looked as weary as she felt. She swung her legs off the sofa and tugged down the skirt he’d rucked to her thighs. Her checks burned hot with mortification.
In London she’d spent her days working in a hotel and her evenings devoted to night classes. Edouard Bellamy had paid for her hospitality degree, but he’d insisted that was all the education she needed. She was, as her father had reminded her often, only suited to be a hospitality manager. But she’d had higher aspirations.
She needed a business degree to run a hotel. Her hotel!
Kira picked up her sling heels, hooked her purse over her shoulder and started across the main salon. The carpet felt good underfoot, but the onyx floors were sheer heaven, cooling her feverish feet like nothing else had.
No matter what else she did when she settled into a cottage, she intended to soak her abused feet. She descended the steps with care and moved across the carpeted deck to the railing. Her first look at the island took her breath away.
The lush rainforest on Petit St. Marc covered the humped dome of an extinct volcano. The knot of trees was so lush and dense that the forest appeared black at its heart—much like André’s must surely be.
Palm trees close to the water swayed in the gentle southeasterly breeze that was refreshing her heated skin as it skipped over the expanse of sea, carrying with it the tang of salt and the intoxicating sweet scent of exotic flowers.
She tensed as his shadow fell over her, but as the island came into sharp focus her temper mellowed. “It’s breathtaking.”
“Oui,” he said.
She looked away from the men mooring the yacht with quiet efficiency to André. Instead of staring at the island he frowned at her, as if he couldn’t believe she’d seen beauty here. As if he couldn’t believe she was here again.
Not by choice. And not for long, if she had anything to say about it.
“Come. The hour grows late.” He motioned toward the short gangplank being secured to the aft deck.
Kira moved down it with care, and stepped onto the weathered boards of the dock. Heat burned the soles of her feet. She hissed in a breath and took a cautious step.
“Do you need help?” he asked.
“No. I just need to put on my shoes.”
She gripped the railing and tried to don her slings. Impossible. Her feet were too swollen to fit under the straps.
Strong arms swept her off her feet.
She grabbed André’s shoulders and felt a frisson of heat shoot through her. “You don’t have to carry me.”
“There is much I don’t have to do, ma chérie.” He carried her with effortless grace down the length of the dock.
Kira wanted to upbraid him for his Neanderthal ways, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock his kindness. The closeness to him was to her detriment, though, for resting against the stalwart wall of his chest not only teased her with erotic memories, but incited the desire to create new ones.
Dangerous thoughts. Hopefully when she was in her own quarters she’d be able to control this bizarre attraction to André. She wasn’t fool enough to believe she could remain indifferent to him.
André deposited her in the front seat of a canopied utility cart, his hands lingering on her bare skin for a charged fraction before deserting her. She tugged her skirt over her knees, annoyed that her body still throbbed with desire.
The utility cart dipped slightly as he eased his big frame behind the wheel, power and sensuality radiating off him in waves that rivaled the golden-tinged ones rolling toward the shore. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing tanned forearms corded with muscle and sprinkled with black hair. The breeze flattened his fine shirt against the hard planes of his chest and upper arms.
