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His smile was glacial. “You’re coming with me, ma chеrie.”
Her skin pebbled as a cloying sensation settled over her. “In your dreams,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice.
A muscle pulsed madly in his cheek. “I’ll carry you if I must, but we are returning to Petit St. Marc.”
The island? Her heart stuttered, then began racing. “Why?”
“To trump your lover, ma chеrie.”
Had he gone mad? “Then you are wasting your time, because I don’t have a lover.”
“I know you’ve been doing Peter Bellamy’s bidding from the start. Now it stops.”
“Peter?” A hysterical laugh bubbled from her. “I assure you that I’m not his lover.”
“Spare me your lies. I know the truth.”
No, he couldn’t be more wrong. But she realized that if he didn’t believe her in this, he’d never believe he was the father of her child.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Leave now or I’ll—”
He snapped his fingers and she jumped, slamming her back against the wall. “That’s all it would take to have this hotel razed. Your shares would be worthless. Is that what you want?”
This was blackmail. Kidnapping at the very least! But to balk would bring about the destruction of her hotel.
“No,” she said, knowing he wasn’t bluffing. “But I can’t leave the Chateau without making arrangements.”
“You can and you will.” His long fingers curled around her bare arm and he guided her out the door, his touch surprisingly gentle.
Yet she felt the underlying steel and rage in him and knew fighting was futile. And she was so weary already.
Andrе was a man who took what he wanted, when he wanted. He’d proved that when he’d seduced her on Petit St. Marc. Proved it again when he’d swum in from the Caribbean like a great white shark and gobbled up control of the Chateau.
Yet she’d glimpsed another side of him on the island—a tenderness that had called to her heart, and a vulnerability she hadn’t understood.
Yes, for now she’d return to the island with him. Perhaps there she’d find the right time to tell him about their child. Perhaps there she’d be able to reason with him about the Chateau—convince him she’d been robbed of her birthright. Perhaps in time they’d be able to start over.
Andrе Gauthier stared at the deceptive woman walking down the corridor before him, her rounded hips rocking in an invitation that any red-blooded man would accept. No wonder Bellamy had given her forty-nine percent of Chateau Mystique.
Kira Montgomery was sex personified. She had certainly beguiled him with the oldest trick in the book.
He’d prided himself on his cool control under duress, nurtured it until it was second nature. It had never let him down—until Kira had invaded his island three months ago.
Andrе hadn’t been surprised when Bellamy had sent a female employee to Petit St. Marc to charm him after his last offer to buy the Chateau had been turned down. The excuse that she’d come for a prearranged meeting had been a lie.
The old man had banked on Kira’s charms and Andrе’s moment of grief to alter his ultimate goal. Or so Andrе had believed.
It had worked. For that one night. Kira had pleaded her case with passion, and Andrе had found himself caught up in the most stimulating debate of his life.
He hadn’t realized the extend of her deceit until much later. The elder Bellamy hadn’t sent her—his son had. Peter. His most fierce rival. Peter—the man he now suspected had set in motion events that had brought about the accident that had killed Edouard’s mistress and landed Edouard in a hospital.
Kira was not only Peter’s mistress, she was his accomplice as well. Oui, she was the brains of the maneuver that had ultimately eliminated the old man—that had earned her control of Chateau Mystique.
But her treachery had robbed Andrе of something far more valuable than property. She’d had a hand in destroying the last of his family.
Kira had deceived him in the worst possible way.
She deserved no less in return.
Retribution coursed through his blood like a molten river.
Peter Bellamy would chaff, knowing that Andrе held Kira on Petit St. Marc. She in turn wouldn’t be able to contact her accomplice—her lover.
She’d be at his mercy when he launched the final takeover of Bellamy Enterprises.
His revenge wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d bested Bellamy’s conniving son at his own game—until he’d made Kira regret that she’d set out to destroy him.
Andrе joined her in the lift and they rode up in silence to the fifth floor. He wondered if she’d entertained Peter Bellamy there while the old man had dominated his mistress in the penthouse.
The dark thought stayed with him as he followed Kira to a fifth-floor door. She slid a card key in the slot and stepped into a small but cozy suite. He noted the room bore quaint personal touches, typical of an English parlor, and carried her light floral fragrance. It seemed too benign. Too cozy.
“Pack light,” he said, annoyed by the thought of her entertaining Peter Bellamy here.
Her shoulders stiffened—proof the order had grated. Good. He wanted to keep her off balance, keep her wondering what he planned to do to her.
“Do you plan to keep me locked in a room?” she asked.
“If I must.”
The color leached from her face, only to return in a rosy flush that hinted of righteous anger. He ground his teeth, annoyed she could project such a quality.
“This is wrong of you to force me to leave here,” she said.
How dared she accuse him of wrongdoing? “You should have thought of that before you agreed to do Bellamy’s bidding.”
She stared at him, her expression guarded. “As I’ve said all along, I was told you’d agreed to meet me on your island to discuss the Chateau.”
“Save your lies,” he said. “I have proof of your part in his scheme.”
Her lovely mouth fell open, as if she was shocked by his claim. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re referring to.”
His smile was as tight as the tension bouncing off the jade brocade walls. “It amazes me that people shred the paper trail but forget the electronic one.”
“There is none,” she said.
“Don’t be too sure.”
“But I am certain.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
She flushed, but instead of continuing her defense she looked away from him. Guilt? It must be.
Andrе smiled. He’d caught her. Her game was over, and his was just beginning.
“Enough wasting time,” he said, eager to leave this place that pulsed with bad memories.
She moved into her bedroom like someone walking to the guillotine. Soundlessly she rolled a case from the closet. The damned thing was half as tall as she.
When he realized her intent, he took it from her and hefted it onto the bed. “Take only the essentials.”
“I’ll pack what I wish to,” she said, her amber eyes too bright with moisture.
Her tears had no effect on him. He’d learned long ago from his mother and sister that women cried over everything and nothing just to get their way. He certainly wouldn’t allow Bellamy’s mistress to beguile him again.
His mobile phone chirped and he immediately answered it. The tone signaled it came from his guard. “What?”
“Peter Bellamy just arrived.”
Andrе cut a sharp glance to Kira, who seemed preoccupied packing her bag. She’d not been out of his sight, so either Bellamy was making a surprise visit to the Chateau to see his lover, or someone on Kira’s staff had phoned him.
“Watch him.” Andrе slipped his mobile in his pocket. “How much longer are you going to dawdle over what to take?”
“I only need a few more things, and my files.” She moved to a desk and secured a laptop. “Everything is here so I can keep abreast of the hotel.”
“You cannot mean to continue working?”
“I’m not one to sit around and while away my time.” She flicked him a defiant glare and slipped the laptop in a carryon. “And I don’t require your permission.”
“Do not be too sure of that.”
Andrе had the satisfaction of watching her face drain of color before his mobile chirped again. He answered it curtly.
“Paparazzi just arrived,” his guard said. “They’re swarming around Peter Bellamy.”
Damn. The last thing Andrе wanted to do was engage in another public confrontation with Kira and the media at the start of his takeover.
He met her questioning gaze. “We need to leave without the gossipmongers seeing us. Unless you prefer a repeat of our last encounter?”
She flushed crimson and shook her head. He feared she’d balk—that she’d court the media’s attention again. “The service entrance is our best choice.”
He repeated that to his guard. “Meet us in five minutes.”
“But I’m not ready yet,” she said.
He swore and checked his watch. “You have three minutes. Then we leave, no matter your state of dress.” He gaze slid over her body, openly appreciating her curves. “Or undress.”
She stiffened, as if ready to argue.
He fed on his annoyance and tapped a finger on his watch. “You’re down to two minutes and forty-five seconds.”
Mumbling an oath, she grabbed lacy undergarments from a drawer and ran to the walk-in closet. He made to follow.
“Don’t you dare come closer,” she said, making him wonder if she could read minds.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He strode to her suitcase, zipped it shut and heaved it from the bed.
With five seconds to spare, she stepped from the dressing room wearing a floral skirt that hugged her firm bottom and thighs and stopped above her knees to accentuate the curve of her calves and dainty ankles. A fashionable summer sweater in a clear turquoise molded the full bosom he knew filled his hands. She stepped into sling heels that were sexy as hell, and tossed a smaller bag into her carryon.
She zipped it shut with impatient finality. Her small hand closed around the reinforced handles, her intent clear.
“I’ll take that.” Andrе slung the strap over his shoulder.
She grabbed her purse and slipped a mobile inside it. He took the bag from her and removed the phone, setting it high on a shelf. “So you managed to ring Peter after all?”
“I left a message for my solicitor.”
“I trust you bade him au revoir, for we leave now, Kira.” Andrе held the door for her.
She glanced once at the shelf, then swept past him, her head high. He smiled and followed. She moved with a staccato click of heels and a beguiling sway of her hips down the corridor to the lifts.
Oui, enjoying her luscious body would assuage his rage.
She stepped inside the lift and he joined her, wrestling the baggage behind them and forcing her closer to him.
The doors started to shut. The ones on the car directly across from theirs opened in perfect synchronization.
In that split second, when each had a full view of the opposite lift, Andrе locked gazes with Peter Bellamy. His rival fixed a black scowl on him, then looked sharply to Andrе’s side, where Kira stood.
Bellamy stared, then his mouth dropped open as he realized his lover, his deceitful accomplice, was at his enemy’s side. His furious gaze snapped back to Andrе.
Andrе smiled, draped an arm around Kira’s slender shoulder, and gave his arch rival a smart salute.
CHAPTER TWO
KIRA wondered if this day would ever end as she exchanged Andrе’s private jet for the limousine waiting for them at Aimе Cеsaire International Airport. And what had her solicitor made of the harried message she’d left him?
She had no way of knowing. At least the flight from Las Vegas to Martinique had gone smoothly, but nearly fourteen hours of travel had exhausted her.
Andrе’s stony silence had drained the last of her energy. She’d hoped to talk with him rationally on the flight, but he’d closed himself off from her. Now she was in no mood to engage in heartfelt conversation with him.
Her summer-weight sweater smothered her, and the skirt she’d thought would be refined and comfortable hung like a limp rag. The island humidity, vastly different from the dry Nevada air, urged her heavy hair into the natural curl that she’d struggled to straighten all of her life. She was sure the make-up she’d applied before Andrе dragged her from the Chateau was gone.
But she had the satisfaction of not being the only one wearied by the trip. Though Andrе’s perfectly tailored suit retained the crisp lines that complemented the brooding intensity of his dark eyes and matched his arrogance, dark stubble delineated his arrogantly handsome face.
That rogue’s shadow emphasized the grim set of his mouth and gave him a dangerously sexy look. She caught herself remembering how those firm lips had felt moving against hers, tearing down her defenses and arresting her fears. How his hands and mouth and powerful body had brought her to her first shattering climax, and then continued to do so more times than she could recall, until she’d been deliciously sated and more happy than she’d ever been.
That had been the calm before the storm. What she couldn’t fathom was what tempest now brewed in Andrе, as the limo raced past fields of sugar cane toward Fort-de-France.
