Carnal in Cannes (10 page)

This ain"t gonna faze them. Shit happens.” A smile played at Harry"s mouth. “E-mails can be doctored. Delora"s phone can be stolen. Better yet destroyed. I"m not dancing to her hand a second longer.”

“You came up with an idea about the will,” Suresh uttered, folding his arms and grinning widely.

“Yeah. I"ve been attacking this will business from the wrong angle. Plain as day Daddy had to be insane when he wrote the fricking will. Clearly the conditions stated in this new will contravene the right to privacy between a husband and wife.

DNA testing invalidates the need for a test after I"ve proved my wife"s virginity.

And what the fuck do cameras and tapes and making us stay in a hotel suite overnight have to do with proving any child that"s conceived is mine?”

“Keep going,” Terry said. “If nothing else it"ll keep the probate tied up for decades.”

“That plus the fact that your wife"s pet thug can arrange any kind of theft-related shee-it in a heartbeat ought to back Delora into a corner.”

“Casmir"s not my wife"s pet thug. He"s reformed. Remember?” Terry"s tone held not one gram of conviction.

“Yeah, tell that one to your Royal Marine buddies,” Harry retorted. “Last I heard Casmir was still operating a ring of pickpockets, not to mention his teensy foray into drug smuggling.”

Suresh shook his head. His mop of Harry Potter-styled straight black hair glinted raven in the morning sunlight. “I"ll take care of the e-mails personally. And I can guarantee my work.”

“Thanks, bubba.”

“I"ll text you Casmir"s number. If we don"t leave now, I"ll miss my flight.”

Terry"s brow crinkled. “Harry, you"ve got to stop flying by the seat of your pants if you"re going to win this one. I know you"ve the luck of a zillion and one leprechauns, but it"s time you start living by that saying. Luck is what happens when—”

46

Jianne Carlo

“Preparation meets opportunity,” Harry said through a clenched jaw. “Yeah, yeah.”

A rustling from behind drew Harry"s attention. Martine had tucked the sheet sarong-style over one shoulder, and she"d climbed off the bed. Didn"t that old-lady head-to-toe nightgown provide enough cover? How did she manage to look like Cleopatra bundled like an Eskimo? She clasped her hands together at the waist and stood as still as a chameleon waiting to strike, her long, slender neck lifting her chin in a regal arch.

“Harry, for Christ"s sake, pay attention.” Terry snapped his fingers so close to Harry"s nose the tip stung. “I have enough on my mind with Thom"s pending surgery. I don"t need to be worrying about you.”

“My bad, Terry. Go catch your flight. And tell your twin I wish him all the luck in the universe. If I was a prayin" man, he"d be in my prayers.” Harry jammed his hands onto his hips. “Concentrate on your brother. You don"t need to worry about me. I have everything under control.”

Harry convinced himself that the skeptical expression shadowing both men"s faces was due to a sudden thundercloud and not sheer disbelief about his bland assurance.

As soon as Terry and Suresh left, Harry locked the double doors to the suite and those to the master bedroom in the faint but futile hope the obstacles would slow Delora"s entrance. He found Martine in the same position as she had been earlier, unmoving, no emotion showing on her face.

You’re a puzzle, Martine Bellamy, so passionate in bed, so ice-maiden in public.

A vision of Martine"s stunned euphoric features as her first climax tore through her danced in his brain. He"d hit the jackpot with his virgin wife.

Last night went right. More’n right.

A watershed of good cheer lifted the black haze dancing at the periphery of his vision, and Harry whistled the first stanza of the “William Tell Overture” while rocking on his heels. Martine carefully untied the sheet, revealing the don"t-touch-me nightgown printed with annoyingly stupid blue flowers. Visions of feeding the damned garment into a shredder eased the sudden throbbing behind his pupils.

“Perfect Cannes morning,” he drawled.

Martine shot him an are-you-crazy glance worthy of the sternest Texas Bible Belt Sunday school teacher

His wife had a fantastic body, and he still hadn"t seen her naked, still hadn"t licked his way up the crease of her ass. St. Pete hated the confines of the boxers and demonstrated his displeasure by poking his head through the unbuttoned front flap.

Her jaw dropped, and she stared at his dick, and Harry groaned when her lips formed an O.

She took two steps back, edging in the direction of the other bedroom.

Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

47

No way, Jose. No way he"d lose the ground he"d gained. He marched over to her, caught her jutting chin between his thumb and index fingers, and kissed her soundly, tasting the minty leftovers of the toothpaste she"d used the night before. At first she didn"t respond; then her breathing accelerated, and whispery pants skipped like dainty butterflies over his cheek.

He touched the tips of their tongues together, and she sighed into his mouth as her hands snaked over his bare chest, her short nails sifting through the hairs curling the borders of his areolae. The temptation to linger and drown in her essence reared as St. Pete twitched and thickened, testing the stretchiness of his cotton boxers, trying to push through a too-narrow opening.

Jerking his head so their lips separated, he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, knowing if he looked at her she would have the lust-dazed, slightly out-of-focus pupils of the night before and he"d never be able to resist the sultry temptation of her expression.

“Good morning, Mrs. Martine Ford.” He savored the way the last three words rolled off his tongue. “Did you get the gist of my conversation with Terry and Suresh?” His thumb stroked the soft, supple skin under her bottom lip, and he gazed at the picture she presented.

“Oui. You will have pickpockets steal the picture evidence of us leaving the hotel.” A wandering ray of sunlight lit one of Martine"s black irises to a lighter chocolate color. For a second the image of the woman in Grasse, who"d become his obsession since Suresh"s charity masquerade ball, blurred his vision. Guilt surged but didn"t prevent St. Pete from leaking precum and making his underwear damp.

I have a boner for Martine. Martine. Not some phantom woman in Grasse
dressed in black stockings, garters, and no fucking underwear.

“Will you be able to contact Casmir in time?”

Harry tried to will all the blood to his brain and succeeded somewhat. St. Pete fizzled into a half-hard state, thank the almighty.

Martine repeated her question.

“For the money I"ll pay the Gypsy thief for this job, he"ll be here before the phone call"s ended.” Harry let his fingers fall away from her chin. “If I"m here with you when Delora arrives, she can serve me with an injunction immediately, claiming she has the proof we violated the terms of the will. If I"m not here and we get the phones, she can"t do squat.”

Martine"s throat muscles worked, and she twined her fingers together. “Je—I understand. I will be alone for the examinations.”

“My doctor will be there with you.” Harry"s gut cramped as if an assassin had twisted a stiletto into his intestines. “And my lawyers.”

Half-shuttered lids hid her eyes, and she seemed to be staring at his clavicle.

Harry glanced at her bare toes peeking from the hem of the nightgown. All ten digits curled into the carpet fibers. She lifted her chin, the movement oddly familiar after a mere night and day in her company. “When you get your money, I get mine.

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Jianne Carlo

I"ve been through the exams. I know what will happen now. Go. Do what you must, and I will do the same.”

“Good.” Harry took two steps away from Martine, and oxygen logjammed hard and fast in his throat and chest, and he had to work to get more words out. “I"ll leave my cell number by the sink in the bathroom. Call me after Delora"s left.”

Grinding his teeth, Harry spun around and stalked out of the bedroom, knowing he was leaving Martine to face his stepmother"s wrath.
You raised me
different, Mama. I’m leaving her defenseless, and it’s killing me.

He hurriedly dressed and left the suite through a side entrance.

At first Harry decided to go to the
Glory
, but a conscience he didn"t know he possessed bucked and reared, and he instead phoned the hotel"s reservation desk and booked a room under Suresh"s name. Then after he"d called Suresh and asked him to meet him on the fifth floor with the room key, he phoned Casmir and outlined his plans.

As soon as Harry ended the call with the price-gouging, criminal Gypsy entrepreneur, he made two other calls. Seconds after he"d completed his last conversation, Harry"s cell vibrated, but he didn"t recognize the number blinking on the LCD panel. He"d memorized Delora"s number on her first call when she"d arrived in France, but his scheming stepmother could have picked up a disposable cell just to screw with him. After a three-second debate, he thumbed Accept.

“Harrison?”

Recognizing her sexy accent he frowned at the phone. “Martine?”

“Did you get Casmir?”

“Yes.”

“
Bien
. Adieu.”

Dial tone sounded, and he was left staring dumbly at the screen.

Huh
? That back-of-the-neck shiver he hated but relied on crept up two vertebrae and into his scalp, making his hair lift and raise like a brush scattering static electricity. Head down he marched through the fifth-floor hallway, puzzling about what had started his senses pinging.

“Oouf!” Suresh"s hard skull cracked into the side of Harry"s head, and Suresh stumbled and fell against the wall, his elbow catching the edge of a baroque-framed painting.

“Damn it,” Suresh gasped. “That smarts.” He shot Harry a scowl and knuckled the side of his head.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, rubbing a stinging spot. “But maybe that blow kick-started my fricking fuzzy brain. I don"t want my wife alone with that she-devil during a gynecological exam.”

Suresh"s tanned complexion grayed. “You want me to be there for
that
?” He pedaled backward, splayed the fingers of one hand, and shook his head. “No way.

That"s going beyond the pale. Sorry.”

Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

49

“Oh for freaking sake. You think I"d let you see her naked, her…” Harry sputtered and slapped a palm against the wall. “The docs put up a tent for the exam. They"re at one end, and you"ll be by Martine"s head. All I"m asking you to do is distract her.”

“Damn, Harry. You"re asking too much.”

“I"ll give you a blank check for your soccer foundation,” Harry wheedled.

“Serve as CFO for three years, and you have a deal,” Suresh said, holding out one hand.

“Done.” They shook on the verbal agreement.

Harry blew out a long audible breath. “You"d better get a move on.”

“Sure. Here"s the key card.”

After Suresh handed him the card and pivoted in the other direction, Harry halted the other man in midstride by calling out, “If there"s the slightest hint that Martine"s uncomfortable or that Delora"s gone into bitch mode, call me right away.”

Suresh turned to face him and rolled his eyes. “I didn"t make three hundred million before I was twenty-four and accumulate a billion since then by not being able to handle myself in a hostile situation, Harrison. I"ll set the ground rules and make sure they"re not violated.”

Violated.

The word echoed in Harry"s brain as he watched Suresh stroll to the elevator.

So far he"d allowed his wife to be violated too many times. Not happening after today. Trouble was he"d never put a human face on the exams, distanced himself so entirely from the marriage that he"d never reconciled
his
wife having to undergo the humiliation of yesterday.

He slid the key card into the door slot and walked into the hotel room.

Harry prowled the length of the room, pacing back and forth in front of a burnished cherrywood dresser. He kept visualizing Martine on a cold steel gurney covered only by a thin sheet, her legs spread apart while Delora watched and gloated. By the time his iPhone jangled, he"d worn a groove in the luxurious handmade Persian carpet"s long fibers.

“Speak to me,” Harry barked into the receiver.

Casmir got right to the point. “The two lawyers" cell phones are in my possession. Do I destroy them?”

“Yes. Delora"s?”

“Not yet. She has it with her, and she"s still in her hotel room. We"re waiting for her to leave.”

“Let"s cover all the possibilities, destroy anything electronic in her possession.”

Harry leaned a shoulder on the window frame and stared down at the hotel"s front driveway. “If she has a laptop, wipe it clean. Check to see if she has any other electronic devices, PDA, backup phones, and wipe them clean too.”

50

Jianne Carlo

Casmir"s sigh turned into a static crackle. “That"s going to take some time.”

“I can guarantee you ninety minutes, not a second longer.”

“We may not be able to get Delora"s phone until she enters the hotel lobby.”

“Just get it. I don"t care how.”

“If we get the phone from her in the lobby, you still want the hotel sweep?”

“Yes.”

“You realize that it"s going to look suspicious what with all of their phones disappearing on the same day,” Casmir stated.