Janette Kenny - Pirate Tycoon, Forbidden Baby

“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.