Pirate Tycoon, Forbidden Baby. Janette Kenny
her with unbridled passion and made her feel wanted, if only for a moment.
He’d withdrawn from her like a wounded animal. She debated scooting closer and taking him into her arms. Intuition told her he wouldn’t welcome her gesture of comfort and empathy.
Kira bit her lower lip, exhausted and pensive. She’d never been this undone by a man, and her lack of control over her emotions mortified her. But then, she’d never been plunked into the middle of a dark drama without a script either.
She shifted on her seat as traffic slowed and the sleek white limo crawled past La Savane. Palms towered over the public gardens, lush with greenery and a profusion of flowers. How sad she’d not had time to visit the gardens when she was here before. She certainly wouldn’t ask André for a tour now.
As they neared the harbor, quaint shops and houses were stacked against the hills like colorful children’s blocks in bright crayon colors. A reggae beat from the market area danced in the air, yet the silence in the limo throbbed to the weary cadence of her heart.
“How much longer?” she asked, glancing at the harbor, where the docked sailboats resembled a denuded forest.
André gave a terse shrug, drawing her attention from the impressive breadth of his shoulders to the fatigue lines etched under his eyes. His was an intense gaze that seemed to look right through her. “An hour and a half at the most.”
No rest or respite anytime soon, then. She took small consolation in the fact he looked as weary as she felt.
Not for the first time she suspected he’d left near midnight to arrive in Las Vegas early this morning. Perhaps, like she, he’d had a sleepless night.
But where he’d likely dwelled on blackmailing her to leave the Chateau, her mind had spun with the miracle of motherhood. For the first time in her life she’d no longer be alone.
Kira rested a hand on her stomach and smiled. Last night she hadn’t been concerned about the hours ticking by while she lay in bed in wonder, awed by the precious baby growing in her.
She’d tried to envision how her life was about to change—had debated how she should let André know. She’d naïvely believed impending fatherhood might mellow him, that what they’d shared once could grow into something meaningful.
Love? Yes, the possibility of that blooming between them had played over in her mind as well, teasing her with how good her future with him could be.
For the first time in ages she’d taken a peek at the schoolgirl imaginings she’d painted in the dark of night back in the days of her youth, when she’d dreamed her prince would ride in on a white horse and whisk her away to his castle, where they’d live happily ever after. When she’d fall in love forever, and not just for a stolen moment.
Not once had she thought André would sail back into her life this morning like a bloodthirsty pirate, with pillaging and revenge burning in his soul. That he’d accuse her of joining forces with Peter to ruin him. If he only knew the truth.
No, if only he’d believe the truth!
She shut her eyes against cold, hard reality. Instead of a white horse bearing her to a castle, a white limo raced her toward an uncertain future. Instead of her prince gazing at her with loving eyes, André barely spared her a glance.
What would he do when she told him she carried his child? Accept his responsibility with resigned indifference, as her father had done? Surely he wasn’t that cold, that callous?
“What’s wrong?” André asked, his warm breath fanning her face. “Are you ill?”
I’m pregnant. She looked up at him, prepared to tell him, but his eyes were as dark and turbulent as a winter storm. She was simply too weary to brave the gale now.
“I was just—” Caught in a fairytale. But they never come true. Never. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long journey.”
He stared at her for a tense moment, his expression shifting to the hard, indifferent mask she’d come to hate. “You can rest on the boat.”
Kira laughed to herself as he moved to his side of the limo again, though the space between them afforded her no comfort. The express ferry she’d taken to and from the island before had provided seating, but no place where she could put her feet up.
Right now her ankles felt hot and swollen. Strange, since she’d refrained from satisfying her thirst so she wouldn’t spend the whole flight in the tiny restroom.
She stared at the glistening expanse of Flamands Bay, where a cruise ship dwarfed the catamarans and yachts that bobbed lazily in a turquoise sea. A welcoming breeze sent the palm fronds swaying, and gentled the tide to a mesmerizing ripple touched with gold. But she feared she couldn’t tolerate much more travel without succumbing to motion sickness.
That certainly wasn’t the way she wished to alert André of her condition. In fact, she was totally lost on how to broach the subject in light of today’s shocking events and his aggressive mood.
André exited the limo the second it stopped, as if anxious to get away from her. Fine. She welcomed the reprieve. But it was short-lived again. Instead of the driver helping her out, the handsome billionaire, unyielding and resolute, opened her door.
He extended an exquisitely manicured hand to her. She stared at it, at the fingers long and graceful, the tanned skin smooth and dusted with black hair.
Memories of those hands skimming over her naked flesh and bringing her to pleasure time and again tormented her. There was nothing of her body he hadn’t touched. Including her heart?
“I won’t bite,” he said, the arrogant tilt to his mouth hinting the opposite.
Not that she needed to be reminded. “You did before.”
She saw her own burning need flickering in his eyes and gasped. A flush stole over her, and she chided herself for reminding him of their night together.
“I wasn’t the only one with teeth, ma chérie.” He took her hand, and the electricity that zinged from him staggered her.
Kira wanted to jerk away, but couldn’t. She wanted to lean into him, but didn’t dare.
The warmth of his skin and his steely power made her feel safe when she was anything but. How pathetic she must be.
Only a fool would fantasize about the man who’d accused her of bringing the paparazzi to his island. Who’d somehow acquired majority shares in her hotel. Who’d forced her to return to his island, where she’d experienced blazing passion. Where they’d created a child.
Kira forced her feet to move, grateful the setting sun had taken the heat out of the day. Yet a more dangerous warmth replaced it as she kept pace with André toward the waterfront, his hand firmly grasping hers, his narrowed gaze seeming to look beyond the people around them.
A few native workers near the boatyard glanced their way as they passed, speaking in a rich patois accented with French. She could only make out a word or two—greetings, mostly, interspersed with his name. Obviously the billionaire was known here, but no one attempted to engage him in talk.
Several express taxis were moored at the ferry terminal, their gangplanks crowded with a blend of tourists, transplanted islanders and native Caribs. The thought of joining that mass of humanity made her break her out in a nervous sweat.
At the dock, André guided her away from the larger craft. All she saw were small speedboats, bobbing wildly in the water. Her stomach lifted, then slammed down again as she scanned the jetty for a larger vessel.
None were moored along its length. None!
“Please tell me you don’t expect me to ride in one of those little boats?” she asked.
“Oui, a dinghy. It is the fastest way.”
She held back—not easy, considering his strength and the way her knees knocked. “No, I