Carnal in Cannes by Jianne Carlo Read Free Book Online Page B

of her hands loosely, he thumbed a text message to Terry O"Connor. Plan B ASAP.
    The response came within twenty-five seconds.
    I figured - 15.
    Adrenaline coursed through his blood, and Harry grinned at the iPhone"s screen. He hadn"t fought an enemy, save for internal demons, in years. The future suddenly seemed brighter than the stars on a Texas plain in the middle of nowhere at midnight.
    He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the center of her palm, ignoring the way her spine straightened.
    So she"d sold him her virginity. Long ago he"d sold his soul to Satan.
    Special-ops mode kicked in—divide the mission into achievable, incremental goals, and proceed. “The suite"s bugged. There are cameras in there.” Harry hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Delora, my stepmother, plans to record our, as you so 28
    Jianne Carlo

    blithely put it, fornicating. St. Pete ain"t going for that. We"re getting out of here while the going"s good. A friend and his wife are going to take our place.”
    Martine"s breathing hitched, and her eyes dominated her face. She frowned, her lips formed the words St. Pete , but she said nothing aloud and stared at him like he was the Loch Ness monster. All the color drained from her complexion, and her mouth opened and closed once, twice. He"d probably confused the daylights out of Martine with his reference to St. Pete, the name Terry"d given Harry"s randy cock after a particularly lewd R & R spent in a famous Thai bordello.
    “Don"t speak once we"re inside. Not a word no matter what happens, okay?”
    Tawny eyebrows lifted a fraction, and her nostrils quivered a tad, but she lifted her head and replied, “As you wish, Mon—Harrison.”
    The prearranged switcheroo, plan B, went without a hitch.
    As they walked through the streets of Cannes, intermittent streetlights revealed the slow paling of Martine"s caramel complexion, and she swallowed visibly but squared her shoulders and asked, “Cameras. Bugs—not insects, but the spy things like in James Bond? Why would she do this, Mon—Harry?”
    He had a damned hunch that Delora planned to stream the tape or a portion of it on the Internet. This whole will farce was her way of getting back at him for refusing her after Daddy"d died. How she ever imagined they could pick up from where they"d left off ten years ago… He scrubbed his chin. “Yeah, like in James Bond. She"s vicious.” And that sex DVD would"ve rocked Houston oil society.
    Fifteen minutes later Harry massaged his right shoulder as the yacht, the Glory , maneuvered from its Cannes dock, heading for a small, privately owned cay near the Italian coastline. He gulped in the familiar and soothing salty pungency of the Mediterranean Sea as the ship accelerated. Martine stood beside him, her slender fingers curled around the Glory’s aft railing, curls ruffling when a lazy wind drifted aft to stern.
    Harry glanced to her profile and caught her chewing the inside of her left cheek, more emotion in the simple gesture than she"d showed since they met.
    She looked like she was about to upchuck.
    “Do you get seasick?”
    A fringe of spidery eyelashes fluttered three times in rapid succession.
    “Non. Not even when the storms whipped the Gulf of Gonâve—” Fist to mouth she choked back a gasp, and their gazes met before she quickly averted her eyes.
    The name tickled a memory neuron that refused to blossom.
    “Look at me, Martine.”
    For a second her cheeks hollowed in and out; then she gave a side-glance to the lapping sea, lifted her chin, and stared into his eyes.
    St. Pete saluted as if the commander in chief had issued a command.
    “For you to get your money, I have to fulfill the conditions of my father"s will.”

    Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

    29

    He studied her face. She hadn"t so much as blinked faster, but her jaw clenched a mite.
    She nodded.
    Her lashes fluttered, and she studied a spot between his mouth and his nose.
    Her throat worked, and when she