Pirate Tycoon, Forbidden Baby

She swallowed her panic and closed her eyes, struggling to calm the riotous beat of her heart. “Small boats terrify me.”

“You’ve nothing to fear.”

Was he joking? No, the taut line of his jaw shadowed with stubble told her he was dead serious.

Panic clawed at her throat. As a child, she’d nearly died in a boating accident on Lake Mead. That memory and its devas tating aftermath still haunted her.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t, get in a small boat.

Kira jerked free, but before she could bolt up the pier he swept her into his arms. She squirmed, then went still as death as he stepped down into the rocking boat.

She flung her arms around his neck and clung like a sandbur, her heart beating so hard she knew he must feel it too. Each gasp for air drew the spicy scent of him deeper into her lungs, further muddling her senses.

A laugh rumbled from him, at odds with the ferocious temperament he’d shown thus far. “Relax, ma chеrie. See that cruiser anchored in the bay?”

She reluctantly lifted her face from the shelter of his warm neck. A sleek white cabin cruiser gleamed like a pearl against the caramel-tinged sunset. But it was so far away.

“You’ll be perfectly safe on the Sans Doute.”

Her mouth formed a soundless “oh.”

Andrе set her on her feet, his own braced wide as the boat rose and fell with the tide. He rattled off instructions in French to the boy manning the motor.

The engine powered up. Andrе sat on the bench and pulled her down beside him. Her stomach pitched and her skin turned clammy, despite the refreshing seaspray.

She trembled with bone-deep fear. Her hand gripped the single handhold so tightly her fingers went numb.

He stared at her, his brows slammed together. “Mon Dieu, you are afraid.”

She gave a jerky nod.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, one hand making soothing circles on her arm. “Relax.”

If only she could. The dinghy raced away, the hull rising as they picked up speed. Her insides quivered and snapped like the nautical flags on nearby boats. She buried her face against his chest, her mind trapped in a nightmare.

“Look at me. Mon Dieu, look at me!”

She met his penetrating gaze, knowing hers was wide with fright, but uncaring what he thought of her. “I hate you.”

“I would expect no less from you.” His eyes blazed with dark emotion as his head lowered to hers.

Kira knew he intended to kiss her, and she knew it wouldn’t be gentle. She knew she should push him away—at the very least turn her head. And she knew she would do neither. For she wanted him to kiss her with a desperation that shocked her.

His mouth closed over hers with a hunger that devoured what remained of her will. She shuddered violently and held herself impassive for a heartbeat, knowing capitulation would signal her doom. Then the kiss changed, softened, and a different type of tremor swept through her, stripping her of reason.

She splayed her free hand over his heart, marveling at the strong rapid beat so in tandem with her own, kissing him in kind. He tasted of exotic spices and seduction, and she suddenly craved both so much she knew she’d die of want if he denied her.

As the boat cut across the waves, the rhythmic duel of their tongues and the ravenous glide of lips on skin consumed her with memories. She was lost. Adrift at sea with her corporate pirate. Enslaved to the sensations she’d only known with him.

His long strong fingers played an erotic melody on her back that made her heart sing and her body hum with need. Like a rosebud caressed by the sun, she blossomed in his arms, kissing him back with all the hunger she’d denied for so long.

He’d done nothing to earn her trust, yet she felt safe in his arms. Wanted. So she simply gave up rational thought and relished this moment.

Too soon he pulled away, when she would’ve begged him to touch her breasts, her sex.

“We’ve reached the Sans Doute, ma chеrie, and you are safe.”

It was a lie. As long as she surrendered to his slightest touch she was in mortal danger of losing her heart and soul to this enigmatic man.

Andrе prided himself on his rigid control in the boardroom and the bedroom, yet kissing Kira had been a mistake. He’d done it to take her mind off her crippling fear. But he’d come close to losing control of the situation.

She wasn’t an innocent, yet he’d felt hesitation ripple through her, felt her lips tremble against his, felt her fear of the sea. Then that whispered moan of surrender had sung through his blood and instinct had taken over.

She was an enchantress. A sea witch. Now she was his.

He helped her climb onto the aft deck of the Sans Doute, mindful of her shaky posture and her frantic hold on his hand, the nails digging in so deep they’d leave a mark. He was gripped with the sudden urge to hold her, protect her, make love to her until her fears dissipated.

Mon Dieu, he hated this raging desire that threatened to burn out of control for her. Hated the role she’d played in Bellamy’s life. Hated that he admired her pluck, that she hadn’t resorted to tears, threats or seduction once.

He escorted Kira up the circular stairs and propelled her through the main salon, dressed in the richest golden sateen and deepest burgundy velour, then up to the observation salon. His hand rested at the beguiling curve of her back—in part because he enjoyed touching her, and also because he knew it bothered her. He wanted her hot and bothered.

The bullet lights in the ceiling shot platinum and bronze streaks through her wealth of mahogany hair that his fingers itched to sift through. But she would not welcome his touch now. She was as flighty as a hummingbird, the pulse-point in her throat warbling to a frantic beat.

Still he ached to draw her close, to press his mouth over that spot, feel the beat of her heart match time with his. She’d not fight him. No, she’d melt in his arms—if only to take her mind off her fear.

That was reason enough to bide his time. It was imperative she crave his touch. That he earn her trust.

It shouldn’t be difficult to do, considering she’d been groomed to pleasure a man. Oui, before he was through she’d beg him to bed her.

It was inevitable—a fact Bellamy must be aware of. So why hadn’t his enemy contacted him yet?

“Make yourself comfortable.” He strode across the lounge to the bar. “Would you care for a drink before we get underway?”

“Water, please.”

He slipped behind the granite-topped bar and slid her a look. She’d taken a seat on the circular sofa, her legs curled beneath her and an overstuffed pillow hugged to her stomach. Her complexion was paler than before.

A spark of alarm hit him again. “Are you all right?”

“I’m just thirsty.” She flicked him an uncertain glance. “It’s been too long since I drank any water.” She shook her head as if dismissing the matter.

Another ploy to gather sympathy? To heap guilt on him for dragging her to the island against her will?

Of course. She’d only had to ask at any time and he would have made sure she was refreshed, that she was comfortable. He wasn’t an ogre, determined to make her suffer physically.

He poured sparkling water into a glass, added a twist of lime and took it to her. Annoyance burned his soul as he handed her the glass.

She took it, a telling gasp escaping her as their fingers brushed. “Thank you.”