LITMIR.BIZ

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solicitor.

      Kira slumped back in her chair, her appetite and what little remained of her energy gone. She wanted to crawl in bed and sleep. Wanted to forget this nightmare that had become her life. Her hand stole over her belly and, despite her annoyance and fears and worries, she smiled. More than anything she wanted to protect her baby. The best way to do that was rest.

      She put her napkin on the table and rose. Her gaze collided with André’s.

      As before, his stance was deceptively casual as he leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, arms hanging loose at his sides and one foot crossed over an ankle.

      But his expression was dark and forbidding, and censure burned in his eyes. He was angry, and she wondered if that ire was the result of his conference call or with her.

      “How long have you been there?” she asked.

      “Long enough. You didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.”

      “It’s enough for now.”

      He snorted. “But of course you must ensure your figure remains desirable, oui?”

      His handsome face had graced many a business magazine, but she’d only seen this ferocious expression once before. Three months ago, when she’d fled Petit St. Marc.

      So much had happened, so quickly. It seemed surreal that she’d gone from being the hospitality manager at Edouard Bellamy’s elite Le Cygne Hotel in London to stockholder of Chateau Mystique to André’s impromptu lover.

      But that seemed a lifetime ago.

      Now fury ruled his features. From the rigid set of his lean jaw to the grim slash of his firm full lips. As ruthless as he’d seemed when she’d escaped the island, he appeared menacing now, like a bloodthirsty pirate instead of a renowned island tycoon.

      Whatever had taken him away tonight had put him in a dangerous mood. But she was too tired and emotionally spent to spar with him tonight.

      Still she asked, “Is something wrong?”

      He shrugged, but his body remained tense. Wary. “My guards intercepted paparazzi off the coast.”

      “That should please you,” she said, suspecting that diverting the media was a common occurrence on the island.

      He pushed away from the doorjamb and prowled the room, like a predator stalking its prey. “What is he paying you to continue this charade?”

      She gave a brittle laugh. “Am I to assume you mean Peter again? Because, if so, the answer is the same as before. I’ve never met Peter Bellamy, and I’ve never taken any directives from him.”

      “Oui, just from Edouard. He selected well when he chose you for his son,” he said, and she debated lobbing the water carafe at his arrogant head.

      “Why do you hate him?” she asked, thinking she should know what drove André before she said anything more. Certainly before she divulged her secret.

      “Why?” André released a caustic laugh, his features devoid of humor. “Edouard Bellamy destroyed my family.”

      A sickening chill swept over Kira. “That’s why you engineered the takeover of the Chateau? Why you want to break Bellamy Enterprises?”

      “Revenge, ma chérie.”

      “But Edouard’s dead.”

      His smile was so cold she felt as if she’d been plunged in ice water. “You are familiar with the concept of the sins of the father being visited upon his children, oui?”

      Kira managed a weak nod, though her knees nearly buckled. “What has Peter done to you?”

      Again the negligent shrug. “He’s a Bellamy.”

      And that answer said it all. For she was a Bellamy as well, Edouard’s daughter. And her baby—their baby!—had Bellamy blood.

      She had to escape Petit St. Marc before he discovered the truth—before his vendetta against the Bellamys destroyed her and their child.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ANDRÉ watched Kira. The skin at his nape was hot, his muscles bunched to spring forward and catch her should she faint. It seemed imminent. She swayed slightly and her face was leached of color again. All because he’d told her that he intended to destroy Edouard Bellamy’s empire.

      “It’s been a trying day,” she said at last, her voice strained and tinged with weariness. “I need sleep.”

      So did he, but he was too livid at his investigator’s initial report to shut off his mind. “I have just discovered that Edouard Bellamy paid for your education and your efficient Mini Cooper car. And how interesting that you moved into the spacious flat that Peter had called home for over a year.”

      “You had me investigated?” she asked, features suddenly tense and expressive eyes wary.

      “Oui.” She was the product of a single parent, and raised in an elite boarding school. Illegitimate, with “father unknown” marked on her birth certificate. “Bellamy gave you your first job as the hospitality manager at Le Cygne. Were you Peter’s mistress by then?”

      An angry red flush mottled her cheeks. “No! Edouard offered me a scholarship to further my education, but I landed that position at Le Cygne because of my high marks. I had no idea that his son had once lived in the flat I was lent.”

      He didn’t believe that for a heartbeat. “What did you do to acquire forty-nine percent of Chateau Mystique?”

      “We’ve been over this once—which was quite enough. Nothing has changed. Nothing will change. Because I’ve never been any man’s mistress!”

      She whirled toward the door and stumbled. He caught her, alarmed by her too-pale complexion and near faint.

      “You should have eaten more,” he said.

      “It wouldn’t stay down.”

      His brows slammed together. “You’re ill? Should I send for a physician?”

      “No, I’m just tired and thirsty. The doctor stressed I need to drink more fluid in my condi—” She broke off, her lips parting and her eyes going wide. It was the look of someone who’d said more than they’d intended.

      His gaze narrowed on hers, his heart beating too fast as his mind found the only appropriate word to finish her thought. “What is your condition?”

      She swallowed hard, her gaze locking on his. “I’m three months pregnant.”

      Mon Dieu! He drove his fingers through his hair, his mind reeling with that news. Had he known, had he suspected, he never would have taken her from the Chateau.

      “But of course—you are enceinte with Peter’s child.”

      “No, I’m not,” she said, jerking free of him. “You are the father.”

      It was a lie. It had to be. But even as he thought it his mind replayed a vivid image of the one time he’d neglected to use protection. He’d wanted Kira so much that he’d not even thought about birth control until after the fact.

      Now he would pay for that consequence. If it were true.

      “When did you plan to tell me, ma chérie?”

      She shook her head, hating that she’d blurted out the truth. But at least that secret was out. “I hadn’t decided.”

      “Convenient.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Was this part of Bellamy’s scheme to further smear my reputation, or your ticket to gain a greater fortune?”

      Kira stared into dark angry eyes that flashed as fierce as the desert lightning storms that terrified her.

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