Aware Mrs. Nolan watched, she slowly curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, sucking in a breath at the contact. His skin was warm, the muscle beneath her fingertips hard as steel. Her heart raced; her cheeks flamed. But she lifted her chin and allowed him to lead her to the Bentley parked so absurdly in her driveway.
During the ride to the estate, their seats faced each other, knees nearly touching. Her back was to the driver, who was separated from them by a thick panel of glass to ensure their privacy. The smell of rich leather and masculine cologne reinforced how foreign this felt. How out of her element she was with this man.
She wanted to ask him again, why her? She didn’t buy the quick answer he’d given her the day before. Boone didn’t act impulsively. He couldn’t while running a successful multinational corporation. He’d planned this. So why her? Because she was Celeste’s cousin? Was he using her presence at the estate to thumb the noses of the workers, who’d carry word of her every move straight back to Bayou Vert? She hated to think that was the only reason. But she couldn’t imagine what else could be motivating him.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“We’ll be in a helicopter in a few minutes,” she snapped, then widened her eyes because she’d just been rude to her new employer.
“Right, you might have to pee,” he said, his expression neutral. “There are no accommodations in a helicopter.”
She glared at his crudeness. And predictably, her cheeks flamed. She cleared her throat. “Where are we goin’?”
“To Monterrey.”
“California?” she asked, her mouth dropping.
“Mexico.”
Her thoughts whirled. “But I don’t have a passport.”
“You won’t need one. We’ll be flying from one private airstrip to another. Authorities will be satisfied with your driver’s license.”
“Will we be gone long?” What about her brother?
“For as long as the negotiations take.” He drew his hands together in his lap. “Are we going to play twenty questions?”
“Am I bein’ tedious?” she asked, her lips tightening.
“No, you’re delightfully stubborn.” He sighed. “Let me surprise you. Soon enough, I’ll put you to work. For now, relax. Consider this a minivacation.”
“A vacation,” she said faintly.
“We’ll be sharing a villa while I’m working.” At her startled stare he tilted his head. “You’ll have your own room. Please don’t be concerned. I hired your professional services.”
Her heart had stopped when he’d said they’d be sharing accommodations, but tripped with the gentle emphasis of “professional.” Was she disappointed? “You’ve hired me to work. Why not start me with this trip? I don’t need a vacation. It seems…”
“How does it seem?”
“Like you’re playin’ with me,” she whispered, barely able to speak through a tight throat.
“Do you think I intend to seduce you?” A dark eyebrow rose. “I could have called any number of women to accompany me if all I’d wanted was a playmate.”
And now she felt foolish. Why on earth would he be interested in her that way? “I guess I’m confused. You rushed me—I’m trying to catch my breath.”
The corners of his eyes wrinkled. “You’ll get used to the pace.”
The car slowed, and Tilly glanced out the window, realizing they had arrived at the parking lot outside the estate and the iron gate was open. A large man dressed the same as Boone held open the gate. They continued until the vehicle stopped beside another gate that opened onto a grassy field. The car door opened, and the large man extended his hand to help her out.
Startled, she stared. He was as handsome as Boone but more rugged. His face all angles and hard planes. His dark eyes studied her, but not unkindly. His mouth curved in a slow smile. “I’m Sergei Gun. Vice president in charge of security services. Call me Serge.”
Standing between both tall, beefy men, Tilly felt slight and feminine—and completely out of her element.
“Duck when we near the blades, but don’t worry,” Serge said easily. “We’ll get you safely to our destination.”
He held her arm as he escorted her through the gate and to the open door of the helicopter. She’d never flown on one and hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself by getting airsick. The sound of the whirring blades was deafening.
Climbing the steps, she was acutely aware of the men climbing in behind her. Two more appeared behind Boone and Serge to join them in the enclosed cabin. A hand pressed to the small of her back guided her to the small row of seats to the left. She didn’t bother to look back to see who touched her. The imprints of Boone’s fingers burned through the thin material of her dress.
She settled into a seat, placing her purse on her lap. But Boone grabbed the purse and gave it to Serge, who stowed it away in a metal bin. Then Boone knelt in front of her and reached around her body, pulling out shoulder straps and clicking the fasteners together. When he leaned closer and slipped his hand behind her, she drew in a shocked breath because he skimmed her bottom.
But he was only searching for the waist belt, which he clicked into the harness. Then he took a seat across from her, a hint of a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. The two men who had joined them at the helicopter’s stairs slid in on either side of her.
Headphones appeared in front of her, but unlike the ones Boone and his men donned, hers didn’t have a wire connecting them to anything. Still, she was grateful for the protection they provided her ears, even if she was cut off from the nearby conversations.
When the helicopter lifted, she held her harness, her gaze going to the windows and her stomach dropping to her toes as they rose quickly into the air.
A tap landed on her knee, and she glanced up to find Boone’s steady gaze on her.
You okay? he mouthed.
Fine time to ask whether her stomach would stand the journey. But apparently, it could. She nodded.
His eyes blinked slowly, and he smiled. He pointed at his watch. Four hours.
So long? Having never traveled any farther than Houston, she hadn’t really thought about the distance. Now she had four hours with only her own thoughts to keep her occupied.
Four hours to think about how he’d bulldozed his way into her apartment and into this trip. Four hours to contemplate their destination and the fact she’d be living with him in close quarters. And thank God she hadn’t accepted the coffee!
Both Boone and Serge spoke into microphones beside their mouths.
She didn’t have to read lips to know they were talking about her. Their gazes touched her…everywhere. Rather than drive herself crazy trying to figure out what they said, Tilly frowned and stared out the window.
Both men wore self-satisfied expressions, lips curved in faint smiles, eyes narrowing as they studied her.
Four hours, he’d said. At this moment, she wished she’d worn something frumpy and thick. Wished she’d ignored the knock at her door. Only now did she wonder to what had she really agreed.
* * *
By the time they’d touched down on a concrete airstrip at their destination, her nerves were raw. The door opened and white-hot air took her breath away. Once she’d moved from the helicopter, she opened her jaws, trying to pop her ears. The roar of the helicopter’s engine was still inside her head.
Serge handed Tilly her purse.
Boone touched her elbow and led her to a waiting car, a black Esplanade with tinted windows.
Another two vehicles flanked the car, armed guards standing near the doors.
When she noticed the military-style weapons, her heart skipped a beat. But they were in Mexico now. Trusting Boone to know what was necessary, she allowed him to seat her inside the car between himself and Serge. They sat so close, both men’s thighs touched hers. Her skin rose in goose bumps.
Tilly frowned and tugged at her skirt, which was trapped beneath Serge’s leg.
“Sorry,” he said, li
fting so she could free her garment. “You only had to ask, Ms. Floret.”
Boone patted her thigh, drawing her attention to where his hand rested on her leg, then up to meet his gaze. Feeling rather like a butterfly beneath a magnifying glass, she kept silent, sure she’d only manage to say something that would make him laugh. She was tired and irritated—and afraid.
Not for her physical safety, but by the fact she was dependent on him here for everything. Other than what she wore, she had no clothing, no toiletries. She didn’t speak the language, didn’t know what to expect when they arrived at the villa. He’d said he’d hired her for her professional services, but the way he’d spoken those words made her want to shout those services couldn’t be purchased.
But they could be wooed. From the moment he’d arrived on her doorstep, she’d been hyperaware of every aspect of his appearance and actions. Although he was dressed in a dress shirt and trousers, a typical businessman’s attire, his posture and expression were wary, alert to their surroundings, to her every reaction. The breadth of his shoulders, the solid build of his body should have been reassuring, because she had no doubts he could handle any danger that might befall them. But his undeniable masculinity also disconcerted her.
She imagined being at his mercy, bending to his will. The thought didn’t frighten her. The possibility thrilled her to her toes. Boone Benoit was a dangerous man in more ways than she’d ever imagined.
The entire trip, while she’d ignored him and his VP of security, she’d imagined him shirtless at poolside, catching him naked coming from his shower. Any number of possible scenarios where she might be caught blushing like a virgin or wiping drool from her chin. She’d never dated a man like him—so powerful or damnably intuitive. Damn, she was going to make a fool of herself. She just knew it.
They drove through mountains sparsely peppered with crooked trees and limestone rock outcroppings. Their caravan followed a narrow road that hugged the side of a mountain, winding downward toward a green valley with a small village nestled at the bottom. They passed crowded streets with rough shanties, and then rose to the opposite side of the valley where large estates dotted the hilltops.
When they turned into an estate enclosed by a tall, stuccoed concrete wall, she couldn’t resist gawking as the gates opened quietly by remote, and they drove into a compound with a large cobblestone courtyard. Deep red Hibiscus flowers grew in pots lining an alcove entrance. Purple bougainvillea bloomed in profusion, draping from a red-tiled roof.
Once more, with her hand tucked into the corner of his arm, she allowed Boone to escort her inside. Cool, pine-scented air greeted her. Saltillo tiles clicked beneath her sandals. The walls were creamy beige, the furnishings heavy and dark.
A brunette woman dressed in a crisp sleeveless white blouse and pencil-thin, charcoal-gray skirt approached. Her gray eyes swept Tilly’s frame, then she gave Boone a cool nod. “You should find everything ready, Mr. Benoit.”
“Thanks, Beatrice. Have Alejandro and the Peterson Group reps arrived?”
“Yes, sir. They’re in the conference room.”
He drew in a deep breath and dropped his arm, turning to Tilly, his expression, disappointingly, all business. “Beatrice will show you to your room. If our meeting lasts past dinner, help yourself to anything in the kitchen, or pick up any phone. Someone will be there straightaway to see to your needs. If you want to swim, don’t worry if you don’t see anyone around. Security is discreet. You’ll be safe.”
He left without a backward glance, Serge following, a finger touching a Bluetooth hooked over his ear. “The Tex-Oil point man’s arrived as well, Boone. They’re reviewing the kidnappers’ demands now.”
Kidnappers? That’s what this was about? From her online research of his company, she knew this was one aspect of his business, but knowing and really knowing were two completely different things. The thought that Boone was the man companies and families turned to in such a horrible crisis left her feeling unsettled, and even a little proud. Boone wasn’t what everyone back in Bayou Vert thought. He was a man who’d made saving people his life’s work.
When the door shut behind both men, Tilly breathed freely for the first time since Boone had stepped through her doorway. Tension drained slowly away. Oddly, his absence left a hollow feeling.
“Mr. Benoit’s staff phoned in your particulars,” Beatrice said, her words more clipped than before. “I’ll show you to your room. Let me know if anything in the closet doesn’t fit.”
Her particulars? What did she mean? Tilly turned her head to find Beatrice’s hard gaze staring back.
The woman turned on her neat gray heels and led the way through a spacious living room to a long hallway with several closed doors. At the end, she opened a door and stood to the side, allowing Tilly to enter.
Tilly wasn’t given to frills and floral, but the pale violet wallpaper with its sprigs of white flowers and green leaves appealed, as quintessentially feminine as the rest of the house was starkly masculine. The furnishings were a dark mahogany—a raised rice bed covered by a sumptuous sage-green duvet; a tall highboy; a vanity bedecked with exotic bottles she couldn’t wait to unstopper and sniff. Beneath her feet was a lush, looped wool area rug in a dark sage. Tilly walked to French doors overlooking another, smaller courtyard with a bronze table-and-chair set and wicker chaise. More bougainvillea draped the exterior wall.
Beatrice’s heels tapped behind her. “The gate in the far wall leads to the pool.” She stepped beside her elbow and pointed to the wall of closets. “There are several bathing suits inside to choose from. Towels are in the bathroom. A pitcher of lemonade is on the table outside. You can take a glass to the pool. Enjoy the sun. But be sure to use plenty of sunscreen. Boone wouldn’t like you getting burned.”
The quick thrill she’d felt at the thought that Boone might care whether she burned was quickly doused by the other woman’s demeanor. Her tone was crisply professional, but she stood so close, Tilly knew she was deliberately trying to intimidate her. The woman’s clothing was a much higher quality than the plain sundress she wore. Her skin, hair, and nails were perfectly groomed. The hard stare she gave Tilly spoke volumes of her opinion of the reason for Tilly’s presence.
Tilly straightened her shoulders. “Thank you. That will be all,” she said quietly, holding herself still until Beatrice’s dark eyes snapped with anger.
But the other woman gave her a blunt nod and backed away.
Tilly didn’t bother watching her leave, grateful to at last be alone. Good Lord, the woman’s antipathy toward her had been palpable. She was clearly jealous. Was she an ex-lover? Would Tilly be tripping over ex-lovers during her stay? Anger at Boone for putting her in this situation flared. For a while, she’d actually felt a little special when he’d turned his attention on her. She walked to the closet and slid back the white doors, surprised to find the closet deeper than she’d expected. Most of the rungs were empty. So no one used this closet on a regular basis. At least, no one now.
But several outfits hung before her—dresses, slacks, blouses, a sari, and all the accessories, shoes, bags, scarves she might need—in colors that would complement her tanned skin and pale hair. When her gaze lit on the bathing suits, she fingered the scantier ones, but passed them up for a tankini with matching bikini bottoms in a dark navy. She stripped where she stood, donning the suit and stepping into a pair of dark flip-flops. Everything fit perfectly—not something she wanted to contemplate right that moment.
He’d said she could treat this little jaunt like a minivacation. So while he worked, she’d explore. Grabbing the sari, she wrapped it around her hips and tied it in a knot. He’d also said she needn’t worry about her safety. However, she did wonder about her privacy.
Boone didn’t leave anything to chance. He’d had her clothing checked for size, then new items ordered while they were still in the air. During the flight, he’d arranged for her things to be moved to the foreman’s house and her lease terminated. A fact
that made backing out of their agreement now extremely awkward, almost impossible.
What had seemed like a boast, that he could make anything possible, now appeared to be true. If he decided he wanted her for more than her “professional services,” how would she ever say yes and not wonder whether her surrender was something he considered his due? The thought appalled, because a scenario where she said yes was too easy to envision.
Chapter Six
By midafternoon, a payment had been negotiated with the Los Omegas cartel for the release of two Tex-Oil middle-management employees snatched en route to their Mexico City offices the previous morning. The suits overseeing Tex-Oil interests in the negotiations weren’t happy with the amount. The Peterson Group reps, the insurance company that supplied kidnapping and ransom coverage to Tex-Oil, indicated their willingness to wire funds to a Cayman Island account to pay for the men’s release.
Boone wasn’t convinced the deal was solid. The cartel had agreed too readily. Dread settled in his gut. He didn’t like feeling this way, didn’t like imagining what the families of the missing men must be going through. But he wasn’t being paid to worry. His mission was keeping laser focus on the recovery effort. Boone firmed his jaw and glanced at his point man, Alejandro Mata, who sat slumped in his chair, his fingers steepled and his expression hard as granite.
“What more do you want?” one of the insurance company reps asked. “They’ve given us proof of life.”
“Doesn’t feel right,” Alejandro said, echoing Boone’s thoughts. “When they call tonight with the account information, we’ll agree to two payments. The first, a quarter of the funds, paid to them now in goodwill. The second payment comes upon the handoff of the men.” Although he didn’t need Boone’s approval, he glanced his way.
Boone nodded, uneasy with the never-ending waiting game. He didn’t like the fact the only option they had so far was to play the kidnappers’ game and give in to their demands. “They hold all the cards. We haven’t been able to find their trail, and have no idea which faction of the cartel is even holding them. The operation was well organized. After the grab, they left so many trails we wasted time following every single lead. Their transmissions are scrambled. If anything happened to the phone they left at the scene, we wouldn’t have had a hope of communicating.”
Her Only Desire Page 6
