Carnal in Cannes by Jianne Carlo

answered, her voice had coarsened. “You need a virgin bride, a child of both our loins, and to be married when the child is born.”
    A child of both our loins? Who speaks that way these days?
    For a second his concentration wavered; then he refocused. “Correct on all points. And what that means is that we"ll be living together for at least a year. And my stepmother will be trying to break us up every second of that time. With me on this?”
    Her lids descended to shutter her eyes, and she took a deep breath, her firm breasts rising and filling the ivory shell top she wore. “ Je comprende .” Martine met his gaze directly. “We have an enemy, non?”
    Harry gave in to temptation and brushed his lips on her forehead before pulling back to lock their stares together. “Dead right. We have a formidable enemy.
    From now on, it"s you and me against my stepmother. I have to trust you, and you have to trust me. I"m not saying that"s going to happen overnight. All I"m saying is that we have to have each other"s backs.”
    The tip of her tongue touched her upper lip, and she frowned, actually frowned, three creases etching the space between her brows.
    “Go ahead,” he urged, splaying his palms on her backside and nudging her closer. “Ask me what it means.”
    “I am not an imbecile,” she snapped. “It means we fight the enemy back-to-back, non? Like D"Artagnan and his amis in the Three Musketeers ?”
    What I’d give to see her in a full-blown temper, those obsidian eyes flinty and sparking.
    Damn but she scrambled his concentration.
    “Precisely. So are we agreed? We have each other"s backs?”
    Her hesitation had his lungs stuttering.
    “Oui, Mon—yes. Yes, Harrison.” She said the words in a quiet, even tone.
    “Okay. Let"s go eat.” Sliding one arm around her waist, he sidestepped, and she mimicked his actions. They now faced the stern. Harry pointed to the top deck.
    “I asked the chef to serve us dinner up there. The view is phenomenal. From there you can see clear to Italy.”
    “Italy,” she repeated, staring at the stairs.
    “Ladies first,” he ordered, gentling the command by bowing at the waist and waving an arm at the top tier.
    By the time they reached the balcony deck, St. Pete leaked precum and fought the constraints of his pants. She had an athletic rear, and those Vegas showgirl legs 30
    Jianne Carlo

    had his mouth watering, and lurid images of her naked body doing a samba hazed his vision.
    “ C’est magnifique ,” she whispered, halting in the middle of the top deck.
    “Absolutely,” he concurred, unable to stop gawking at the first unmasked expressions flitting across her face. Her eyes, big and round and hypnotic, inched along the vista of the Mediterranean coastline as if she were memorizing the scene.
    Long, muscled arms hung loosely at her sides, and she stood with her legs hip-width apart to brace against the Glory’s gentle rocking.
    Edging forward he snugged a palm over the curve of her narrow waist, and giving her time to read his intent, he snaked the other hand into the same position and tugged her back to his chest. She flinched, but before her tension accelerated, he crooned, “Nothing"s going to happen until you"re ready. We have all night and then some.”
    She dipped her chin. “I would prefer we just do it, Harrison. Very quickly. It is only fornic—”
    He cupped a hand over her mouth. “Never say that word again. Not in my presence. And for your information we are going to make love, not, not that . Got it?”
    Shee-it. Amazing how the freaking word slammed St. Pete limp.
    It took every gram of training to refocus.
    “How"s about we sit and have a bite to eat?” He spun her around to face him.
    The top of her head met his forehead.
    Unable to resist he touched his mouth to her forehead, his teeth clamped together to prevent his wayward tongue from escaping.
    Moving with slow-mo deliberate precision, she rested her palms on his cotton sweater, that sculpted