Carnal in Cannes Read Free Page A

thoughts. “Get the fuck out of here!”
    His voice escalated to a roar, the pulsing veins in his forehead emphasizing the loss of any semblance of logic. When the doctor curled one corner of his mouth in a sneer, Harry lost it.
    Harry grasped the fat bastard"s jacket lapels and pulled him off the stool.
    Bourbon splattered over the bar counter and dripped onto the carpet. The tumbler tottered at the edge of the bar, and then thudded and bounded three feet to the left, coming to rest at the foot of a coffee table.
    Suresh pedaled backward and hit the down button on the elevator.
    As soon as the doors opened, Harry shoved the man into the empty lift and punched Lobby. Bitterness pulled down the corners of Harry"s mouth. He stared at the elevator"s gold-mirrored finish, not seeing anything but the ugly past.
    A slight movement in the blurred reflection alerted him to the present. He turned around, each movement lethargic, deliberate. The silhouette of a slender female, one hand braced on her right hip, came into his line of vision. She walked with the lithe grace of a gazelle, and his lungs faltered with each slow step she took.
    Shadows dipped and danced, hiding her features from his sight. When she turned her head to greet Austen with a husky murmur, he absorbed her profile.
    High cheekbones, an arrogant nose so perfect it belonged in a plastic surgeon"s after catalog, and a sloped Cleopatra brow. She kept her head averted for five more strides, and his gaze slid over bare feet encased in four-inch stilettos.
    Her legs went on and on, long, toned, and shaped so fine no Vegas showgirl he"d ever dated could match such perfection. Lost in appreciation of her nymphlike curves, he hadn"t yet made it to her eyes when she halted. Not in any particular hurry, he lingered on a three-inch-wide leather belt hugging her narrow waist. A twinge of disappointment caused his forehead to pucker—B-cup breasts he guessed, but barely so.
    All in all, he decided, raising his eyes, not bad.
    She lifted her chin, and their eyes met.
    Oxygen left the room. A water-in-the-ears sensation hushed all sound. Her lips moved, but he didn"t hear a word, just had an impression of a musical throaty voice.
    Images bounced back and forth in his brain as the woman from Grasse blazed across his brain, her long legs encased in smoky nylons, the sexy black garter belt she struggled with, the glimpse of pouty pussy lips, and the curls of dark pubic hair.
    For a second, for a hairbreadth instant, he thought he"d found the woman from Grasse, the one with odd-colored eyes. She"d worn a mask like the other catering staff, but there was no mistaking the deep blue of her left iris or the rich brown of the right. Passion and fierce determination blazed in the way she tilted her chin, and her lips curled in a sneer, as if he hadn"t caught her half-naked in an empty room, and as if she wasn"t in the wrong.

    Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

    9

    A rose hue darkened twin spots at the apex of this woman"s cheekbones, and her eyes—Harry did a double take—her unremarkable coal eyes flickered down his form. Her blush deepened into a delectable cherry shade.
    Mouth watering, Harry followed the direction of her gaze to his groin and knew his complexion matched this beauty"s. He wore faded jeans, a brown belt with a silver buckle, and tented couldn"t begin to describe how his erection strained against the tight denim.
    Austen cleared his throat.
    Harry jerked, and his stare collided with hers again for a hint of a second. In a rush to avoid another strained, uncomfortable ogling, he strode in the direction of the bar but halted as soon as his boot hit the floor, and swallowed an expletive.
    Two zipper teeth pinched the underside of his cock"s crown.
    Mortification and pain stamped his skin with a fiery heat, but even though his freaking organ throbbed, he couldn"t will it into flaccidity.
    Harry twisted the cork out of a bottle of scotch, poured a stiff shot into a