Carnal in Cannes Read Online Free PDF Page B

to subdue a girl of thirteen. That first time they had shaved her hair off, she had screamed until no sounds came from her lips.
    “Cat got your tongue, darling?” Delora placed a scarlet-painted square nail at the center of his collarbone.
    “Merchandise"s not for sale, mi madre.” Harry snatched her wrist, his walnut knuckles paling to cream as he tightened his grip. “We do this to the letter of the law. Your part"s done until tomorrow morning. According to Daddy"s will you get to wait somewhere else until I say differently. Now, get out.”
    He shoved her hand away, and she stumbled back three steps, hitting her back against the door. Delora spat out a series of expletives in a Spanglish combination untranslatable to Martine"s ears.
    “You shit, Harry. I"m going to make you pay for this. Mark my words.” She slammed the door on the way out.
    Martine crimped the back of the hospital gown together and waited for Harry to explode. Her toes scraped over the thin paper covering the metal gurney.

    Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

    19

    Plowing his hands through already mussed brown hair, he grimaced and turned to face her. “You"ll only have to see her one more time.”
    She wondered whether Harry would cringe when trying to touch her and gulped when she thought about the secrets he might discover. “What happens now, Monsieur Harrison?”
    “Have you eaten for the day?”
    Eat? From under lidded eyes she glanced at the fruit bowl on the coffee table and swallowed hard when she noticed the fruit"s asymmetrical arrangement. She shook her head.
    Cupping her elbow, Harrison urged her to her feet, then held out a bathrobe and set her purse on the gurney. Martine took the robe from him, careful to shield her back from his view, shrugged into the plush terrycloth, and belted the waist all the while staring at the Berber carpet. She had vacuumed similar rugs during her adolescence. She looped her purse straps around her wrist.
    “Monsieur Ford, may we finish it now?” Martine couldn"t get her tongue around the word; the thought of this man, any man, touching her skin made her want to gag. If they did it now, fast, if she could close her eyes and block out his invading flesh, maybe she would survive.
    “Sugar.” The way he said the word, drawing out the r$, making it warm and sweet so it shrouded her soul with comfort, had her mesmerized. “I can tell you’re scared out of your mind. Your voice shakes, your fingers tremble, and the pulse at your throat”—he touched a forefinger to the throbbing vein—“is beating faster than a rabbit cornered by a pack of coyotes.”
    “If you did it quickly, right now—”
    He clamped a hand over her mouth and shook his head. “No, not like that.
    Come,” he said. “Let’s go back to the main suite. Okay, so coconut ice cream’s your favorite food, and you love chocolat.” He pronounced the word in the French way.
    “What kind of entrée do you like?”
    “$Pardon moi ?” Her mind spun, and she couldn"t collect her wayward thoughts.
    “What do you want to eat?”
    “We eat before?” The food would taste so much better if she didn"t have to worry.
    “Yes.” He didn"t elaborate.
    Did she have a choice? She willed her mind to function while allowing Harrison to lead her through the penthouse suite into the main bedroom. The king-size bed made her lungs stammer. Harrison caught the direction of her gaze, and he frowned and stated, “Fresh air. Let"s step onto the balcony for a while. It looks like it"s going to be a spectacular sunset.”
    Her disjointed thoughts came up with only inane words. “Father Baptiste said the Japanese applaud each sunrise and each sunset because one will never resemble another. Each is unique.”

    20
    Jianne Carlo

    Harrison pried open the sliding glass doors and pulled the leading string for the peach drapes. Clean, cool air flowed across Martine"s shoulders, and she inhaled, relishing the tang of Mediterranean brine, the purity of