Carnal in Cannes Read Free Page B

crystal tumbler, and downed the liquor using his right hand. The left he utilized to surreptitiously separate flesh from brass zipper teeth, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment as the sting subsided. Harry did a two-step spin.
    “Introductions, Austen.”
    “Miss Martine Bellamy, Harrison Indiana Ford.”
    “Miss Bellamy.” Harry ambled her way, hand outstretched.
    Chin cocked, eyes half-hooded, she returned the gesture, and her slender fingers gripped his hand in a firm shake.
    “Mr. Ford,” she murmured, and she had that sexy French accent down to a purr.
    “Under the circumstances I believe it best if we forgo the formalities, Martine.
    My name is Harry.” He didn"t release her palm or her gaze.
    She tried to tug away from him, but his hold tightened, and he exerted enough pressure to show who commanded this scene. Martine"s bottom lip jutted out, and rebellion flared ever so briefly in her half-hidden eyes before a rigid self-control battened down her emotions.
    The elevator pinged.
    Every follicle covering his flesh stood at attention as the ventilation system swirled Chanel No. 5 through the room. Harry fought his automatic gag reflex.
    Delora.
    “Miss Bellamy, would you wait in the bedroom until we"re ready?” Harry shuffled about as quickly as he could within the confines of the tight pants and bruised skin.
    The last time he"d seen the onyx-eyed beauty standing at the entrance to the penthouse, she"d flashed a ten-carat engagement ring with matching eternity band under his nose.

    10
    Jianne Carlo

    “Why, Indy in the flesh.”
    The years had been kind to Delora Consuela Perez Ford. Her creamy olive complexion still glowed, and those saucer-sized black eyes blazed her Gemini nature, one minute oozing passion and love, the next flashing contemptuous, taunting hatred.
    “ Como estás, mi madre ?” Harry drawled, imitating an illiterate peasant"s pronunciation, knowing she hated when he reminded her of her origins.
    Austen cleared his throat.
    Suresh choked back the beginnings of a guffaw.
    Harry glared at both of them.
    Twisting his lips to one side, Suresh shrugged, and Harry turned his attention to Delora.
    At least his damned prick had calmed down. Harry exhaled, stalked to the bar, and poured a stiff shot of bourbon.
    “I see you haven"t changed.”
    She"d perfected her English. Not a hint of her Mexican accent remained. He downed the liquor, measured another ounce, swallowed that too, and slapped the glass on the wood.
    “Let"s get this show on the road,” he said, exaggerating his native old-boy drawl. Harry shifted and braced both elbows on the bar. Out of the corner of his right eye, he caught a slight motion and realized the beauty, Martine, hadn"t moved an inch.
    He squinted his displeasure at Austen.
    Suresh"s mouth twitched a couple of times, his onyx eyes twinkling their amusement. Harry zinged him with narrowed eyes.
    A quick sweep of the room and he"d memorized each person"s position, assessed potential reactions, and formulated a change in direction.
    “What"s Halliday doing back here?” He pointed his chin at the stout medicine man standing next to Delora.
    “He"ll do what he"s supposed to.” Delora hadn"t taken her eyes off him. “He says you managed to find a woman, a black woman.”
    Her voice radiated contempt. Delora liked finding those on a ladder rung lower than her to torture. And her prejudices ran deep; she"d been the one to sic her brothers on Silas, his father"s sole black employee. The grizzled foreman of the ranch had been more of a father to Harry than his actual daddy. Forgive and forget didn"t get close to working as far as Delora"s role in Silas"s ultimately fatal injuries went.
    His stepmother"s nostrils flared, and Harry realized she"d thinned them—eye wrinkles smoothed too, he surmised—and wondered how many original body parts remained.

    Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

    11

    “You"re going to screw her,” she jeered and pointed a red-painted