The vista was a feast: sky bathed in the richest bronze and edged in an ethereal glow. Like André’s tanned skin, smooth, unblemished, potently sensual.
She frowned, annoyed she couldn’t enjoy a pastoral thought without him crowding into her mind. Like a thorn, André Gauthier was embedded in her, festering, painful when poked.
Her hand stole to her belly and her eyes stung with tears she refused to shed. André was in her, his blood coursing in their child, mixing with hers. The child bound them together. But what would the future hold for them all? Could they find a way to resolve their differences for the baby’s sake?
Kira shook her head, apprehensive and weary. She’d worked so hard to gain confidence in herself, yet in less than a day he’d rendered her poise nonexistent.
He was too dominant.
Too virile.
Too addictive to her senses.
She didn’t want to want him. Didn’t want to think of him. Yet he remained constant in her mind. He kept her worries alive, churning like a whirlpool.
She needed to unwind, to work off the tension coiling and striking like maddened vipers within her. Because as long as her emotions were this frayed, she remained vulnerable to André.
Around the plantation house the rainforest had been cut back to allow a garden paradise. Lanterns outlined the fence, and more strategically placed lights spotlighted fabulous floral displays.
Nearly in the center lay a large swimming pool, awash in soft light. Several small thatched shelters strung with inviting hammocks stood nearby, the encroaching shadows of dusk lending them more privacy.
The pool beckoned to her. She licked her lips, debating.
Nothing had been said regarding an evening meal, though she caught a tantalizing spicy aroma drifting from below. She didn’t know if she was expected to dine with André or eat alone in her room. She wasn’t sure of anything. But she reasoned she had time for a quick dip in the pool.
Kira dug through her luggage and found her simple coral maillot. In another month her pregnancy would make her hesitant to wear anything this revealing. So she might as well enjoy this opportunity while she could.
Once she’d donned her swimsuit, she stood in front of the mirror and critically studied herself. She wasn’t showing yet. Still she hesitated, until she’d borrowed a large bath towel. She wrapped it sari-fashion around her and slipped from the room.
For a moment she stood there, listening, afraid André would appear. Or worse. That he’d take her in his arms. Kiss her. Melt her resolve.
But not a soul stirred, and the quiet bolstered her flagging courage. She hurried across the cool beechwood floors to the stairs. Again she paused, listening, heart hammering.
Nobody was about, so she padded down the steps and hurried to French doors thrown open to welcome the prevailing breezes. She stepped onto a terrace facing the forest and breathed in the exotic perfume of flowers.
The lights lent a fantasy glow to the garden, and in no time she’d padded down the terracotta stones to the pool. It seemed too good to be true that this enchanted garden was all hers to enjoy this evening.
Kira undid the towel at her waist and let it drop, then stepped to the deep end of the pool and dived into its turquoise depth. The water was almost too warm and drugging, but she forced her arms to slice through the water, her legs to scissor and propel her across the pool.
One lap and turn. Then two, three, four…
She stopped counting after that. Though she was tired to her core, the repetition was the nirvana she sought to banish André from her mind.
André watched the monitor, transfixed by the woman cleanly navigating his Olympic-sized pool. He’d not taken time to study her body impartially. If he had, he’d have recognized she possessed an athlete’s physique.
Her sleek suit was designed to minimize drag. It molded to her and left nothing for the imagination. Not that he needed to guess what was beneath the suit.
He remembered every nuance of her body. Every curve, every dimple, right down to the sexy mole on her derrière.
Yet his research into Kira Montgomery had failed to tell him she was an expert swimmer. Not a leisurely one either. No, she swam with speed and power, the defined muscles in her arms and shoulders attesting that she was fit. That she was a competitor.
He smiled, pleased to discover a reason for the aggressive tendency which had drawn him to her. Though he could see she was used to challenging others in the pool, she was far out of her league in trying to best him.
He was a shark, whereas she was a sleek dolphin. Graceful, swift and desirable. Cunning as well?
Heat pooled in his groin as he watched her slice through the water, over and over. A sea nymph come to life, luring him to come to her. That was likely her plan—to seduce him again.
But this time he was alert to her scheme. This time he’d use her own desire against her. This time he’d turn the tables on her.
He pushed from his chair and strode from the room, the cutoff jeans he’d donned barely clinging to his hips, his chest and feet as bare as his rising need.
With Bellamy’s help she’d succeeded in breaching his defenses. His lust for her had eroded his control, for he’d never been so attracted to a woman before. Never enjoyed such sensual sparring.
But he’d not make the same mistake twice. This time he was aware of the depth of her deceit.
Oui, when he was done with Kira Montgomery she’d be financially ruined and humiliated. As for her benefactor—he’d strip Peter Bellamy of his fortune and his empire.
Only then would his revenge be complete.
Kira felt the pressure of water swelling behind her, followed by the tingling sensation that she wasn’t alone. She faltered midway to glance back at the tiled edge.
She recognized the circle of ripples for what they were—someone had dived in. André?
The thought of him in the pool with her drugged her limbs and muddled her thoughts. It had to be him, for even the water was charged with an energy that hadn’t been there before.
Kira went hot and cold and hot again, her heart drumming too fast. She pulled herself through the water, determined to outdistance André. She found a burst of renewed speed and concentrated on reaching the far wall before him.
She had to get out of the water. She had to be on firm ground when she encountered him again.
Doing laps had cleared her head, and she was glad she hadn’t blurted out the truth earlier. He was too mired in anger to reason with, too set on seducing her out of some misguided sense of revenge to deal with the reality of their future.
There would be time later to explain everything. She’d make time. She’d somehow make him understand that she’d played no part in Peter Bellamy’s schemes. That she was the injured party in this—just like him.
That,
