Carnal in Cannes by Jianne Carlo Read Free Book Online

arrogance of nobility. His gaze dropped lower. He couldn"t take his eyes off a full mouth that ignited wicked, sinful images. Rosy lips, the top one full and lush and a perfect shape, the lower an oomph thinner but plumper right in the center.
    St. Pete did a soft-shoe under his bathrobe, moistening the cool fabric. Harry shot his nether parts a surreptitious peek and stifled a groan when he saw the dark, wet splotches on the bathrobe"s fabric.

    Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

    25

    “Dinner"s here.” Harry did a quick about-face so the evidence of St. Pete"s eager salute wouldn"t be obvious to Martine. “Shall we?” He waved a hand at the table and took three long strides to the far chair whose back faced the fireplace.
    He"d never seen a woman move with such effortless grace, those long legs sliding across the plush carpet, the only sound the supple cloth whispering against her body. Entranced, he almost forgot his manners and had to dart to the other side to ease her chair from the table and then gently shift her into place.
    His chin grazed the rich milk-chocolate curls falling to her nape when he slid her chair forward, and he inhaled the aroma of honeysuckle and lemons. As he lifted his head, he caught a glimpse of small perfect ears with tiny conch earrings decorating the lobes.
    “Champagne?” He let his hands rest on the back of her chair, and he allowed his fingers to brush the tempting flesh the robe"s shawl collar bared along one shoulder.
    At least she didn"t flinch away from the slight caress, but her voice when she answered stumbled. “As you wish.”
    Fricking hell if she didn"t have the sexiest voice he"d ever heard, laced with the dusk of just-had-screaming-sex hoarseness. St. Pete jiggled his impatience as Harry popped the cork from the bottle, then poured the fizzing liquid into two glasses. The wine had a fruity aroma, and the bubbles formed a rim of froth as he set the flute to the right of her glistening sterling knife.
    The courage and pride that had kept her going during the gynecological exams required to prove her virginity dissolved during the three seconds it took for him to circle the table and take a seat. Her plump bottom lip quivered, and her nostrils flared ever so slightly. The carbonated liquor held her attention, and she didn"t look up when he cleared his throat.
    Sitting, he slipped his hand under the pristine tablecloth and adjusted his erection, squeezing the head of his dick in reprimand. St. Pete wanted full speed ahead and straight to ignition.
    Martine"s long, elegant fingers curled around the fragile crystal stem, but the glass made a shaky ascension to her mouth. She hadn"t noticed the magnificent one-eighty panoramic view of the Bay of Cannes, and not once had she inspected the luxurious contents of the twelve-bedroom suite. Martine tipped her head back and downed the entire glass of champagne.
    Okay, if he were she, he"d get a little tipsy too.
    Harry leaned over and refilled Martine"s glass when she set the flute on the table.
    Evidence of Martine"s nervousness abounded. She wouldn"t meet his gaze, and her pink tongue snaked out to lick the corner of her lip every few seconds. The silence stretched to the tautness of a fishing line taken to the darkest ocean depths by an eighty-pound tarpon.
    “Where"re you from?”

    26
    Jianne Carlo

    Martine"s fingers fluttered around the crystal stem. She knocked the glass sideways, and the flute tumbled to the carpet, liquid spattering the shell pink linen and the burgundy-and-cream-patterned carpet.
    “Merde,” she whispered and bent to retrieve the glass. “Pardon, pardon, Monsieur.” She straightened, set the crystal on the table, stared at a tulip vase filled with fresh sweet pea stems and baby"s breath, and said, “Monsieur—”
    “Harry or Harrison, Martine.”
    “This.” She waved a hand at the table. “It is not necessary. We have a business arrangement, non? Can we not do the fornication and then