Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

“Miss Voight, I’m doing the best thing for you.”

I thump the dash and scream in frustration. “How about you do what I want seeing as it’s my rescue?”

I consider grabbing the steering wheel and ploughing us into a building, but he’s driving fast up the winding streets to the villa. There’s a cliff on one side and a sheer drop on the other. I’d rather not go home in a body bag.

At the gates to the villa, Boris opens his window and presses the intercom. He announces who he is and who he works for. There’s a crackle, and the line goes dead.

“Oh, good,” I say with satisfaction. “They’re not going to let us in. You can just—”

There’s a whirring sound, and then the gates open inwardly.

Two security guards walk down the driveway and eye us coldly as Boris accelerates slowly up to the house. The lights are on in the villa.

From one dangerous man to another. How did my life end up like this? How? That’s what I’d like to know. Fuming, I say nothing as the guards open my door and impel me out with a strong grip.

“Fucking Ravnikars. Fucking Damir. Fucking fuck fuck,” I mutter as I’m dragged up the stairs, along a hallway and into a living room. “Curse them all to hell.”

“Curse who, my dear?”

Lucan Navarro is waiting on a sofa, one leg crossed over the other. He’s dressed more casually than I’ve seem him before, in pants and an open-necked shirt. He’s also looking very pleased with himself, and his covetous eyes take in my disheveled appearance. It’s not a sexual look. It’s more like he’s appraising a useful bargaining chip that’s dropped unexpectedly into his lap.

Boris is wrong. Navarro isn’t going to protect me. He’s going to use me to get back at his enemy. His enemy who murdered his son.

I’m so screwed.

I wrench my arm out of the guard’s grip. “Damir Ravnikar and his idiot of a brother, that’s who! None of this has got anything to do with me. Just because you all have axes to grind against each other’s faces doesn’t mean you need to grind me down in the process.”

Navarro gives me what I suppose he thinks is an indulgent smile, but he looks more like the Cheshire Cat right before a meal. “There’s nothing to be upset about, my dear. Be a good girl, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Behind me, Boris clears his throat. “I can tell you a great deal about Damir Ravnikar’s operations. I’ll hand you everything you need in order to kill him.”

My stomach is suddenly vacuumed out of my abdomen. Et tu, Boris?

“In return for my protection and a job here?” Navarro asks.

Boris nods curtly.

“Filthy turncoat,” I hiss, and Boris looks away. So this is what he’s really after. A better master. He never wanted to help me. Just use me.

I’m about to spit more insults on him when a bag is dragged over my head. Someone puts something around my neck and wrists. Not manacles or rope, but something lighter.

I’m breathing fast beneath the bag, not feeling like I’m getting enough air. People are talking around me, but I can’t follow the conversations as they’re mostly in French. Someone is gripping my upper arm so tightly that my hand is tingling.

I wait for something to happen, to be dragged off to a locked room, but we seem to be waiting for something. Then I realize what.

Damir.

But it’s night and he’s asleep, unless they’ve radioed the yacht or something. I can imagine Boris doing that, maybe pretending that he’s seen something at Navarro’s mansion and Damir has to come quick. Maybe he’ll even pretend I escaped and came here myself, the filthy bastard. My blood boils at the thought, and my own stupidity.

Maybe Damir will realize it’s a trap, and won’t—

Gunshots, down in the courtyard. A volley of them from different guns. I start to breathe faster, my throat closing up with despair. Navarro is going to kill Damir as soon as he steps foot in this room, and it’s all my fault. My head darts around, trying to see something, anything, through the dark mesh of the bag. There are a few blobs that might be lightbulbs which wink in and out as people walk past them. There’s more gunfire and shouting, coming closer now.

Suddenly, the bag is ripped from my head. I blink in the bright light, trying to see what’s happening. Two guards are holding a large, struggling figure. Another draws his fist back and sinks it into the man’s face. His head snaps to one side, and he spits blood. The attacker draws his fist back again, and my eyes finally clear and see that the captive is my lover.

“No!” I lunge toward Damir, but I’m held back by the man with a grip on my arm. It’s Boris. I scream into his face. “You bastard. You betraying fucking bastard! How could you let this happen?”

I struggle like a wild thing, biting and scratching at him while he holds onto me.