Pirate Tycoon, Forbidden Baby

He tossed back his daiquiri as his anger burned anew. What was her game?

It didn’t matter. He’d have his revenge in the end. He had proof Peter had sent her to Petit St. Marc to seduce him, and alerted the paparazzi, and he now held documents proving her part in the deadly plot she and Peter had instigated.

The latter was enough to make him despise her. He hated that she’d acquired the Chateau with her deceit. Hated that she was Bellamy’s mistress. Hated that her solemn amber eyes had the power to make him question his plans.

He set his glass on the bar with a thunk and strode to her, his annoyance sparking like lightning when she lifted her chin and stared up at him, wide-eyed but unflinching. She was driving him mad, for he’d never wanted to intimidate a woman until now.

In one fluid movement he rested a knee on the cushions before her curled legs, braced one hand on the sofa’s arm and the other on its back. “I own Chateau Mystique and I own you. Never doubt you are both in my control.”

Her full lips thinned. “That is barbarous.”

“Perhaps you were unaware the blood of pirates courses through my veins?” He yanked away the pillow shielding her and splayed his fingers on her stomach, his thumb resting on her mons and his fingers grazing the swell of her breasts.

She gasped, eyes huge and dark, with awakening desire. The pulse in the ivory column of her neck throbbed to a savage tempo that mirrored his own erratic heartbeat.

Oui. She didn’t fear him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. In this they were equal. But not for long.

André affected a rapacious grin. “What? You have nothing to say?”

A tremor vibrated through her into him as she shoved his hand from her, but her eyes were still smoky with passion. “Nothing that you’d believe.”

“Save your professions of innocence.” He lurched from her and stared at her expressive eyes that challenged him. “Relax, ma chérie. I have no intention of ravishing you. At least not yet.”

She looked away, satisfying him that she understood his dismissal as well as his promise. The inevitability.

“Not ever,” she said, the words whispered, yet fierce.

The challenge hung between them—a cold, invisible wall that he longed to tear down.

André stalked across the salon and bounded up the stairs to the sundeck, knowing he was a hair’s breadth from toppling Kira back on the sumptuous sofa and showing her just how much she hungered for his touch. How easily she’d capitulate.

Now wasn’t the time. They were spent from the journey. In thirty minutes they’d land at Petit St. Marc. That wasn’t nearly enough time to enjoy her charms, and he fully intended to savor every inch of Kira at his leisure, for bedding her would enrage Peter Bellamy. Never mind that it would satisfy the savage beast within him as well.

For a moment he paused at the starboard side and simply soaked in the breathtaking view of the silvery disk of the sun as it slipped into the rippling mocha waters.

The horizon gleamed like buttered rum. Golden glimmers tinged with red skipped over the waves as if they were ablaze, glimmers of light that matched the highlights in Kira’s long luxurious hair.

Kira. Why did she bring out such poetic yearnings in him?

Out here was nothing but the sea, mistress to many of his ancestors. Mistress to him in many ways.

He shook his head at his own fanciful musings and took the stairs to the fly bridge. A stocky old sailor, wearing cutoff jeans and a tattered T-shirt, manned the helm.

“How’s she sail, Captain?”

The old salt flashed him a cunning grin. “I’d ask the same of you if I thought you’d tell me who that tempting gal is that you stowed on board.”

André scowled. “It’s a long story.”

The Captain chuckled. “Most interesting ones are.”

He shrugged. Though their friendship spanned a decade, he was loath to explain his association with Kira.

“Just keep it steady,” André said. “The lady isn’t accustomed to the sea.”

“Aye, aye, boss.”

André gave the horizon one last look, then hit the stairs. Annoyance bobbed within him like a storm-tossed buoy. Thanks to the scandal, every moment away from his desk cost him a fortune.

He hadn’t intended to make any changes at the Chateau as yet, for he wanted Kira to squirm, to wonder what he planned to do, to get comfortable in her role as his lover. Then he’d swoop in and exert his will over the hotel—and her.

Oui, he’d not soften toward Kira. He would not make the same mistakes his father had made. No woman would rule him.

André slammed into the master stateroom and dropped onto a tufted leather chair at his desk, even though he ached to pace the confines like a caged tiger scenting fresh meat. He grabbed the phone and put in a call to his private detective. The man answered on the second ring.

“Is Bellamy still at the Chateau?” André asked, dispensing with pleasantries.

“No. He left an hour after you did.”

“Back to Florida?”

“To California, to inaugurate a new hotel,” he said. “Do you want me to continue surveillance?”

“Oui. I want to know every damned thing he does. Who he talks to, who he does business with.”

“You got it,” the detective said.

André ended the connection and rocked back in his chair, his mind sifting through this startling news. Why was Bellamy carrying on as if nothing had happened instead of rushing back to his compound in Florida? It didn’t make sense, for Bellamy had seen André leave with Kira. The deception was over.

Had she simply been Bellamy’s pawn, used to publicly humiliate André? Used as needed and then discarded? Paid off with shares in the Chateau? It was a possibility he’d considered.

His fight with Edouard had been personal, rife with emotions André deemed crippling. Simple revenge. He was David going up against Goliath.

His feud with Peter was strictly business. One corporate raider battling another. But over the last six months Bellamy had turned vicious. Personal attacks on André that the media fed on.

Where 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.

CHAPTER THREE

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 features changed, hardening more than she’d thought was possible. “Why do you persist in lying?”

“Why 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.

He was all power and dominance, a king in his kingdom. But it was that sultry gleam in his eyes as they undressed her that took her breath away. For just one look had her forgetting about the tenuous position she was in.

Disgusted at her weakness for him, she turned her head to watch a young Carib jostle her luggage onto the rear deck of the cart. Unlike his decadently rich employer’s, his smile was kind and respectful.

Kira returned the gesture. Though the Caribs treated her like a guest, she suspected none of them would help her escape.

What unnerved her was that her captivity was two-fold. For the child growing within her bound her tighter to André than any lock or key.

The vehicle jolted forward, the electric hum of its engine fading as the peaceful sigh of the island took dominance. “Do you ever grow weary of it here?”

“Only during hurricane season.”

He maneuvered the utility cart up a winding path paved with crushed seashells, the fat tires crunching them into a finer roadbed. The smooth surface was a welcome surprise.

Kira scanned the area anew. The first time she’d come here she’d been too incensed to appreciate the resort. And now? Her gaze took in the red-tiled roofs of the cottages almost hidden in the forest, and moved down to the secluded white beach below.

She caught a glimpse of a couple strolling hand in hand, naked as the day they were born. “You have a nude beach here?”

“Four natural beaches, all private, and all reserved before-hand by the guests.” A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “Tops are optional on the public beach. We are very European here.”

“I’m too British to appreciate it.”

“You’ll learn to enjoy it.”

Never. Unlike her mother, she didn’t flaunt her body.

Kira closed her eyes to the beauty around her as the ugliness of her past tried to intrude. No, she wasn’t like her mother at all. She slid a hand over her belly. The past was just that—past. This baby was her future.

The utility vehicle whirred past another lane leading to another cottage and sped up an incline beneath a canopy of trees alive with birds. Through the light flickering through the foliage Kira caught a glimpse of the big house, nestled into the hillside.

She gripped the handrail and swallowed the panic building in her chest. He couldn’t mean to move her into his dwelling.

But as the vehicle emerged from the trees into an area cleared behind the old plantation house, she was certain that was his intention. Living on his island would be taxing enough. But to stay in his home and endure his temper? Impossible.

“I’d prefer my own quarters.” Away from him and temptation.

“The cottages are for paying guests.” He stepped from the cart and pocketed the key.

“Fine. I’ll pay,” she said, craning her neck to see where he’d gone. “I won’t live with you.”

“You don’t have a choice, ma chérie.”

She whipped around to find him at her side. One arm rested on the top of the canopy and the other gripped the support pole.

At first glance his was a casual pose. But one look at his white knuckles, at the corded muscles in his arms and the grim set of his mouth, dispelled that thought.

“I won’t be your mistress,” she said.

“I didn’t offer you the position.”

It was true. He hadn’t said a word about her being his lover. She should feel relieved, not disappointed. What was wrong with her?

His enigmatic gaze held hers another long moment before he straightened and extended a hand to her. “It has been a taxing journey. Come. I’ll help you inside.”

“I can manage myself.” Kira swung her legs out and stood.

Her sensitive feet settled onto the crushed shells and her breath hitched, but she was determined to walk into his house under her own power.

“Mon Dieu!” André stepped forward and swept her up in his arms again. “Are you always this stubborn?”

She planted her hands on his shoulders to force a minute distance between their bodies. “Are you always this domineering?”

“Only with you.”

Kira didn’t believe that for a moment as he strode up the walk, his shoes crunching the walkway. She resisted the urge to rest her head against his shoulder, refused to relax against the comforting wall of his chest.

He climbed the two steps to the front terrace with ease. The temperature was refreshingly cooler beneath the roofed porch. His housekeeper stood at the open door, the white ruffle on her peasant blouse and the hem of her orange floral skirt fluttering in the breeze that filtered through the house.