Carnal in Cannes (26 page)

“Delora was my girlfriend before she became my stepmother. She was my first woman. Even after Mama died and she married my daddy, I didn"t believe it was her fault. I convinced myself he"d forced himself on her.”

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Martine"s jaw dropped. She laid her hand over Harry"s, sandwiching his big palm against her cheek. “I"m sure your papa was in shock and grieving for your maman.”

“No. Mama took a long time to die, and by the end she and Daddy had no love for each other. I found out later that Delora told him about her and me. She taunted him about it, and he spent the rest of his life punishing me for being her lover.”

“When did your papa die?”

“Six weeks ago.”

“I thought it was long ago.”

“We haven"t spoken in years, so it may as well have been. I"ve lived for revenge since I was sixteen. Now it"s within my grasp, and it doesn"t seem that important anymore. Right now you could be pregnant.” He dropped his free hand to her belly.

“I want my kid to have a mom and a dad. To be brought up in a home filled with love and laughter. Want to give it a try?”

Yes bubbled up her throat. Yes giddied her mind. Yes spiraled the beginnings of happiness low in her belly.

I have to tell him.

“There are so many things.” She began and then clamped her lips together.

Trying another tack she said, “I am so ignorant in so many ways. When we went to L"Epuisette, I didn"t know what to do, what knife or fork to use. I will shame you, Harry, through my ignorance.”

“Never,” he growled, shaking his head. “Never, Martine. Knowing what knife and fork to use is something you can learn in an afternoon. Knowing right from wrong instinctively is something that comes from deep inside. Being strong in the face of overwhelming odds is character. It"s what makes you, you. And I could never ever be ashamed of you. In fact there are times when you shame me. There isn"t a single aspect of your personality that I don"t admire. That you"re not bitter after such trial of a childhood speaks volumes about your courage, your pride, and your goodness. I am proud to call you my wife.”

He hauled her into his arms and hugged her close before pulling back to scrutinize her face. “You"re exhausted.” Glancing at the iPhone"s dock, he grunted.

“It"s almost dawn. Delora"s lawyers will be here before noon requiring proof of our legal union.”

Martine didn"t realize how tired she was until her head hit the pillow. Harry spooned her, and for the first time in her life, she didn"t care that her back was exposed. His chest warmed her spine, and her eyelids grew weighty. Before a minute ticktocked by, sleep claimed her overtaxed brain.

* * *

His forefinger traced the whorls of Martine"s ear, tickling her flesh, and she nudged Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

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his hand with her shoulder, not willing to surrender slumber"s hold on her mind.

“It"s near eleven, and Delora will be here by noon.”

She shot up off the crumpled bedsheets, her blurred vision clearing as she knuckled her eyelids and scrubbed a hand over her face. Dressed in jeans, a white shirt, and his boots, Harry half lounged, half sat on the mattress with one elbow propped on the headboard and his Stetson cocked at a rakish angle on his head.

He caught her staring at his cowboy hat, slashed her a devilish asymmetrical grin, and tipped the hat a tad to the left. “It"ll irritate the daylights out of Delora,”

he said by way of explanation. “I"ve a few surprises for my stepmother, and I want her distracted before I sic "em on her.

“Today you"re not allowed to sink into the background. I want you wearing high heels and subtle makeup. Delora tarts up like a whore working a Tijuana plaza. Wear something with clean lines that broadcasts quiet elegance. Like that Ralph Lauren shirtdress you and Yvonne bought the other day.”

Martine blinked and shook her head, trying to dislodge the sleep fuzzies from her brain. “Surprises?”

“Mmmm.” He winked. “The doo-doo"s gonna hit the fan today.”

Only when he tugged her against his chest did Martine realize she didn"t have any clothes on. She struggled to free herself from his embrace.

“Wondered when you"d cotton on to the fact that you"re buck nekkid,” he drawled and stroked a broad, warm palm down her spine, tracing one of her scars with his forefinger. “You know I"m going to kill whoever did this to you.” Harry said the words in a pleasant it"s-sunny-today tone. “Tell you what, though. If you give me the son of a bitch"s name right now, I won"t draw his last moments out too long.”

Two fingers trailed over her collarbone, and he rested the pad of his thumb for a few seconds on the pulse throbbing in the center of her throat. Tipping her chin up and locking her eyes to his, he asked, “Care to share?”

“You mean it,” she whispered, reading the banked rage in the twin pinprick-size pupils staring at her intently.

“He"s a dead man walking,” Harry stated. “It"s a question of when and how.”

What have I done? What will Jean-Claude do when he finds out about Harry?

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Chapter Thirteen

“Everything ready?” Harry asked Austen.

“Yeah. I have our surprise guests in the lounge off the small dining room.

Delora and her lawyers are in the library, and everyone else is in waiting in the bar area.” Austen"s grim tone didn"t surprise Harry.

“Let"s get this done,” Harry said.

Together he and Austen walked to the bar area to find Geoff, Suresh, Martine, and Yvonne waiting for them. Geoff and Suresh sat on bar stools, long legs dangling, while Yvonne and Martine sat side by side on the sofa in front of a glass coffee table. A muted flat-panel plasma screen hanging on the wall behind the bar flashed the latest headlines in stock-quote white titles across the bottom of the screen. The closed-captioned words depicting the announcements of a female reporter with gaunt features and pixie-cut brown hair flashed above the ticker-tape news.

A continental breakfast graced a sideboard under the window kitty-corner to the bar. Glistening silver platters bearing apple turnovers, croissants, Danishes, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, slices of cantaloupe, and bunches of green and purple grapes crowded the sideboard. Diamond-cut crystal bowls containing marmalade, ginger preserves, and softened sweet butter crowded the spaces between the trays.

Harry grinned when he saw that the plate Martine had in front of her was piled high with mounds of fruit and pastries. Since his discussion with Suresh, he"d arranged for their cabin to be stocked daily with a basket of fruit, a cheese plate, and a selection of breads. At first she"d hadn"t eaten in front of him, but the baskets and platters steadily declined.

Then a persimmon appeared in a basket. A fruit Martine had obviously never encountered, as she kept staring at it. Coming out of the bathroom, he found her holding the orange fruit and sniffing it. He"d taken a step back, cleared his throat, and faked a craving for the fruit when he reentered the cabin. Together they"d eaten the sweet, firm flesh, and she"d immediately demanded to know all about it, declaring the fruit her favorite—after berries, of course. Harry looked up persimmon on the iPhone and read her all the Wiki information. Figs had caused a similar rapture.

Yet that morning he"d found food stashed away in her hiding place.

It’s only been days. I can’t expect miracles.

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Martine wore a Ralph Lauren powder blue shirtdress nipped in at the waist by a wide brown belt. As she crossed her legs, he glimpsed her footwear and missed a step. Knee-high boots of a soft buttery cocoa shade tasseled at the top Indian-style with at least five-inch pointy heels. Immediately he pictured her in the boots, the belt, and a bra and thong of a matching color.

Catching his eye, she flashed him a smile so wicked, so full of sensual promise, St. Pete had conniptions, and when she winked at him with her blue eye, his wayward prick attempted a high jump.

I’m never letting you go.

He winked back at her and then turned his attention to his duties.

“Morning,” he said, greeting everyone. “This meeting shouldn"t last long.

Thanks for coming. Geoff, Austen, want to escort our guests here?”

“Be my decided pleasure,” Geoff replied.

Harry couldn"t resist the allure of the aroma of strong Espresso-injected coffee, a favorite of Austen"s always served on the
Glory
throughout the day, and he poured a mug. The midmorning sun lit the room, and through the glass windows the azure sky held only the wisps and swirls of white clouds. That the wind blew strong was obvious as the Mediterranean Sea hosted dozens of unfurled sails of all colors whisking travelers and tourists to different destinations.

He drank his coffee while sifting through the meeting agenda for the zillionth time. The team had decided unanimously on all points save one. Harry had wanted to “do the dirty” and handle the details, but he had been outvoted on that point.

Harry sat in a high-backed chair in a corner opposite the bar, which gave him a clear view of the mirror on the far wall and the arched entrance to the room. He didn"t intend to miss the reactions of any of the players involved in the farce about to be enacted.

Austen brought in Delora and her two lawyers first. Her gaze swept the lounge and settled on him, one corner of her lip curling into a sneer. He read the triumphant glint in her black eyes.

Deliberately not standing, he said, “Delora, gentlemen, thank you for coming.”

Her chin crooked side to side. “
I
called this meeting.”

Ignoring her attempt to control the proceedings, he waved a hand at the sideboard and said, “Help yourselves. There"s food, coffee, tea, juices, and a full bar, of course, should you feel like indulging.”

The two suits blanched, and Harry figured they"d never had to fetch their own beverages before. Delora"s mouth tugged down. She glanced at the urn, wet her lips, and Harry remembered how she loved strong coffee. “I"m certain we won"t have time for food and drinks.”

She sashayed to the obvious power position, took a seat in the chair adjacent to the couch, and crossed legs bared to midthigh as she snuggled her back into the upholstery. She sat in king stance, hands draped on the armrest, one foot doing a jaunty circle with the scarlet tip of her CFM pump.

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“I"m looking forward to this, Indy,” she commented, placing a small, flat clutch on her lap.

As am I.

Harry declined to respond but smiled and sipped his coffee.

Low voices, a mixture of male and female, preceded the sound of soft footsteps.

Harry fixed his gaze on Delora, rewarded by her widened eyes, the pinch of her nostrils, and the slackening of her mouth as his first surprise visitor, Judge Kinky Wilson, entered the room followed by his wife, Honey.

Wilson froze in midstep; he turned to Geoff and growled, “What the fuck"s going on? I thought we were meeting with the acting CEO of Barclays.” His head whipped around; his narrow-eyed gaze scanned the room. When he fixed on Harry, his weathered complexion darkened, and his Adam"s apple bobbed like a buoy in a hurricane.

“I
am
the acting chief financial officer of Barclays,” Geoff replied.

Kinky Wilson had been a frequent visitor to Daddy"s ranch, but the last time Harry"d seen him years ago at the funeral service for Mama, he"d still had a somewhat athletic build and almost a full head of hair. Not anymore.

Wilson hadn"t aged well, now jowly, thick-necked, and flabby, even about the ears. The last strands of his follicles had given up the ghost without a fight; he was as bald as a newborn.

Kinky turned to Geoff. “There"d better be a damned good explanation for this.”

“There is. And it will all be apparent in a few minutes,” Geoff assured the man.

“Allow me to introduce you to everyone else.”

Harry studied Delora surreptitiously.

Delora"d recovered quickly, fixing her gaze on a triangular pink depression bowl filled with chocolate kisses on the coffee table. Her top leg betrayed her appearance of calm, as the red pump jerked in fits and starts.

Harry"s lips twitched, but he didn"t allow his internal grin to form as his gaze intersected with Honey Wilson"s. He inclined his head in greeting. She dipped her chin, but her blue eyes held the grim intensity of a woman bent on finishing a repulsive task.

Married to Kinky for thirty-nine years, Honey wore the financial pants in the family. Chair of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas for several years, she wielded a political and social influence few men or women enjoyed in the Lone Star State.

Honey"s glance flickered to Delora, and her mouth flattened.

Harry languidly pushed out of his chair as Geoff finished the introductions.

“Welcome, Judge, Mrs. Wilson. Thank you for coming. We have one more guest who"s just arrived. Then we"ll begin the proceedings.”

“I"ll take care of that,” Geoff stated. “Please, sit, Judge, Mrs. Wilson. Martine, would you do the hostess honors?”

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Shooting Geoff a squint of displeasure when his wife visibly blanched, Harry started to walk to her when Martine"s voice stopped him. “But of course, Geoff.” She turned to the newcomers and inquired about their beverage preferences.

Harry relaxed his fisted hands but remained standing and changed direction, heading to the bar. Martine fixed a mug of coffee for Kinky and poured a glass of sweet tea for Honey. While she did this Austen escorted the Wilsons to the couch where Yvonne sat.