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.
At first glance his was a casual pose. But one look at his white knuckles, at the corded muscles in his arms and the grim set of his mouth, dispelled that thought.
“I won’t be your mistress,” she said.
“I didn’t offer you the position.”
It was true. He hadn’t said a word about her being his lover. She should feel relieved, not disappointed. What was wrong with her?
His enigmatic gaze held hers another long moment before he straightened and extended a hand to her. “It has been a taxing journey. Come. I’ll help you inside.”
“I can manage myself.” Kira swung her legs out and stood.
Her sensitive feet settled onto the crushed shells and her breath hitched, but she was determined to walk into his house under her own power.
“Mon Dieu!” André stepped forward and swept her up in his arms again. “Are you always this stubborn?”
She planted her hands on his shoulders to force a minute distance between their bodies. “Are you always this domineering?”
“Only with you.”
Kira didn’t believe that for a moment as he strode up the walk, his shoes crunching the walkway. She resisted the urge to rest her head against his shoulder, refused to relax against the comforting wall of his chest.
He climbed the two steps to the front terrace with ease. The temperature was refreshingly cooler beneath the roofed porch. His housekeeper stood at the open door, the white ruffle on her peasant blouse and the hem of her orange floral skirt fluttering in the breeze that filtered through the house.
A smile wreathed her face. “Bonjour, Monsieur Gauthier.”
“Bon après-midi, Otillie.” André shouldered through the door with Kira in his arms, speaking rapidly in the island patois which sailed right over Kira’s head.
Otillie volleyed back with what sounded like affronted questions, and stepped in front of André, bringing him up short.
After a few choice words from him, Otillie tossed her hands in the air and quit the living room, muttering under her breath.
“What was that about?” Kira asked.
“Otillie is annoyed with me for not telling her I was bringing a guest home.”
“You should have let me rent a cottage.”
“I should have kicked you off my island when you first came here to play out your vengeance.”
“Why didn’t you?” she asked, refusing to be baited into the same argument about her reasons for coming here.
“Because you intrigued me.”