Pirate Tycoon, Forbidden Baby

“My pleasure,” Andrе said, which was far from the truth.

He stalked back to the bar and prepared a simple rum daiquiri with the barest squeeze of lime. Thoughts of Kira making love with Bellamy sped through his mind and left a white froth of rage in its wake.

Instead of savoring the heavy, rich swirl of rum, Andrе tasted bitter revenge coating his tongue. Spending half a day with her had sharpened his senses to a razor’s edge.

Kira portrayed the ingеnue when she was anything but innocent. Oui, he knew her for what she truly was, for he’d tasted her passion. One sip demanded more.

Every nuance of her was branded on his mind. The occasional tremor that rocked her, leaving her shaken. The pensive look he glimpsed in her eyes when she thought nobody was watching. Those odd moments when she rested a hand on her stomach and the most beauteous expression came over her.

It was as if she was sharing a secret with someone.

Well, he had secrets of his own. Dark, disturbing ones that robbed him of sleep.

“Do you have reliable internet on the island?” she asked.

“Oui. I have a private satellite connection in my office.” She would have limited access, at his discretion, and monitored. He prowled the carpeted salon and sipped his drink, her question spiking his suspicion. “Thinking of begging Peter to rescue you from the situation you’ve both created? Or do you need his instructions on how best to spy on me?”

Color streaked across her high cheekbones and her amber eyes snapped, her anger and defiance charging the air. “I intend to run my hotel from my prison.”

“You mean my hotel.”

“You are the majority stockholder now, but the Chateau will always be mine.”

His fingers tightened on his glass. She couldn’t be more wrong, but he’d let her hold her confidence for now. He took no pleasure in beating someone who was so near the edge.

The dark smudges beneath her eyes attested that she was close to exhaustion. Yet her narrow shoulders remained squared and her chin high, as if she was refusing to accept that she stood on thin ice regarding the Chateau—regarding him.

Her quiet strength intrigued him. He’d expected her to use her delectable body to court his favor, to deceive him more. But though she’d responded instantly to his touch, his kiss, she hadn’t attempted to take the initiative with him. Yet.

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.

Andrе 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 chеrie. 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.

Andrе 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.”

Andrе 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,” Andrе said. “The lady isn’t accustomed to the sea.”

“Aye, aye, boss.”

Andrе 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.

Andrе 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?” Andrе asked, dispensing with pleasantries.

“No. He left an hour after you did.”