Hostage of Passion

He was holding her hostage, she had known that even before he had bundled her into this suite of rooms and locked her in, but this was the first time she’d felt afraid. Really, gut-wrenchingly afraid.

There was something elemental in those sensually raking black Spanish eyes, something that threw her body and mind into terrified confusion. Every minute hair on her body seemed to be standing on end, her skin burning, and to her horrified shame she felt her breasts harden, engorged with something new and nameless beneath the open caress of his eyes. Her body couldn’t have responded more if he’d been physically touching her.

The tiny rattle of china and glass as he put the tray she’d scarcely registered he’d been holding down on a heavily carved table at the side of the door gave her the break she’d been looking for, and she twisted round, scooped up the towel and wrapped it around her trembling body, only to have the breath knocked out of her lungs, as if she’d been punched, at the mortifying sound of his slow, insolent hand-clap.

‘Bravo!’ One dark brow drifted slowly upwards and his sexy mouth curled sideways. ‘I congratulate you on your act of startled modesty, but there is no need to stage it for my benefit. How long have you been wandering around naked, wondering when I’d return, as I said I would?’

He rocked back on his heels, his hands pushed negligently into the pockets of his beautifully tailored trousers, and the expression in the midnight eyes between the thick tangle of black lashes was derisive as he told her, his husky voice mocking, ‘I would never have guessed it, but you have obviously inherited your father’s over-active libido. But let me make it perfectly plain—you won’t buy your freedom or my forgiveness for what he has done that easily, Miss Bouverie-Scott. However, you are welcome to continue to try.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘It wouldn’t work, but it could amuse me, help to break the tedium of waiting.’

He turned then, opening the door. ‘I will leave you to grapple with your frustration alone. And eat your supper; we don’t want you losing weight, do we?’

And his insolently amused parting shot echoed in her head long after he’d locked the door behind him, boiling her brain with impotent fury, with the gross unfairness of his calculated insults.

‘Who could have guessed that under the prim, unfeminine clothes you choose to wear an exquisite body exists, aching to be touched? Please feel free to display it for my enjoyment whenever you feel the urge.’

CHAPTER FIVE

SOMETHING dragged her up from the blissful oblivion of sleep. Sarah slowly opened her heavy eyes to the thick soft darkness and listened.

Still and utter silence.

She had probably been dreaming; that was why she had wakened, she rationalised drowsily.

She didn’t want to be awake; she didn’t want to find herself going over and over her unenviable situation again, her mind whirling round in circles. Neither did she want to remember her embarrassment, or the disgusting insults he’d thrown at her in that silky soft voice of his. No, she most definitely did not want to dredge all that up again. Not now, not until the morning, when, after a restful sleep, she would be able to think more clearly.

The fight for sleep had been a desperate one, her mind trawling through the facts as she knew them until she’d felt as if the inside of her head would burst into flames. That he’d made a complete fool of her had been hard enough to swallow, but his keeping her hostage was much, much worse, and as for the embarrassment, the insults, the way he believed she was trying to buy her freedom with her body… Words failed her…

And the new edginess, the fear, had kept slicing right through every other troubled thought, making her go cold with dread.

Even though she was as sure as she could be that she had no reason to be afraid, that he meant her no personal harm because she was merely the bait to pull Piers into this magnificent stone web, the irrational, unnameable fear kept coming, stalking her. It was as if Francisco Casals had pressed an invisible button and made it happen.

With an effort, she calmed her breathing right down and closed her eyes. She couldn’t endure another battle for sleep and if she didn’t rest both her body and mind she would be in no fit state to reason with the dreadful man in the morning.

The mattress dipped. The light bedcovers tweaked.

For an endless moment Sarah lay in icy shock. Something had woken her. Something had got into this bed with her! She could hear it breathing!

With a choking gasp of terror, she clawed her way to the edge of the bed. Her heart was going to burst. The back of her practical cotton nightie was grabbed by a lazy fist and the high-pitched squeal that vented from her lungs was overlaid by a relaxed, ‘What do you think you’re doing? Go back to sleep.’

It took her a few breathless seconds to banish all those nameless, night-time horrors and then she made another determined effort to leave the bed, hearing the rending of cotton as he refused to release her.

With a huff of outrage she scrabbled for the heavily carved bedside table, found t

he lamp and switched it on. At least this horror had a name. That smoky, sexy voice was unmistakable. And she could deal with him, of course she could. She would never allow herself to doubt that, not for a single moment.

As the soft light gilded the room, she twisted round, bouncing into a sitting position, giving him the benefit of her iciest stare. Then she looked away again. Quickly. All that smooth olive skin covering those hard, rangy shoulders, the power of that shatteringly masculine chest, the flat, lean stomach, the arrowing of crisp black body hair that disappeared beneath the fine white sheet… He appeared to be wearing nothing at all!

Her mouth went dry.

Had he no shame? No decency? Or was he confidently expecting her to try to buy her freedom? She remembered what he’d said about her inheriting her father’s over-active libido and felt herself blush, right down to the soles of her feet. But although her voice was unsteady she managed to demand, ‘Get out of this bed. Now!’

From the corner of her eye she saw him hoist himself up on one elbow but kept her gaze unwaveringly on the far side of the room, ready to leap to the floor if he so much as moved a single inch towards her.

But he didn’t. He merely remarked with derisory patience, ‘This is my suite of rooms, my bed. Why should I vacate it?’

‘Because you put me here,’ she answered thinly. She would have thought that was perfectly obvious.

‘Naturally.’ He twisted on to his back, his arms crossed behind his head, perfectly, obnoxiously at ease. ‘You could be here for quite some time—it all depends on how quickly your father responds to my demands, how much he cares for you. So in order to explain your presence to Rosalia and Marcos I let them believe you were my woman. Where else would I put my woman but in my bed?’