A Bride for the Taking

by Sandra Marton

  The phone shrilled, and she snatched at it.

  ‘New York’s burning up with rumours, Blondie,’ Walt said without preamble. She knew he was trying to talk fast enough to elude whoever might be monitoring the call. ‘You should hear the stories going around about you and Alexander.’

  Dorian closed her eyes. ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Nope.’ Walt chuckled. ‘You can’t. Some of them are pretty creative.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not doing anything to stop them?’

  He laughed. ‘Hey, it’s all free publicity, right? We’re gonna outsell Time and Newsweek combined.’

  ‘Walt?’ She took a breath. ‘I was thinking. Why don’t I head back to New York tomorrow?’

  ‘Now, Blondie, we’ve been through this. You hang in there until we see if the abdhan kicks the bucket.’

  ‘But why? It won’t change anything.’

  ‘Of course it will. If your travelling companion becomes abdhan, your story will have even more kick.’

  ‘I really don’t see—’

  ‘What’s going on there, Oliver?’ Walt’s voice grew suspicious. ‘You thinking of doing a deal with somebody else?’

  ‘No. No, it’s nothing like that. I just—’

  ‘Good. Because you work for WorldWeek. You just remember that.’

  ‘Walt.’ Dorian stared at the receiver. ‘Walt?’

  The phone was dead. She sighed as she hung it up and then she rose slowly and walked to the balcony again.

  All right. She could survive another few days. Maybe she’d start getting her notes together. Actually, there was nothing to stop her from starting the article now, while she cooled her heels in Kadar.

  Her mouth hardened. Just wait until the world read the truth about Jaacov Alexandrei, who treated women like property, who took what he wanted and to hell with anyone else…

  Who’d held her in his arms when she needed comforting, who’d made her cry out his name over and over during their long night together…

  Dorian began to tremble. And all along, all along, the son of a bitch had been engaged to be married; he’d had a bride waiting for him in Kadar—one of his choosing, not simply one for the taking.

  If only she hadn’t seen Jake slip away from that charter flight! If only she hadn’t followed him! She would have missed this story and what it was going to do for her career, but that would have been better than this, better than the pain that kept knifing through her heart…

  A sob burst from her throat. Who was she kidding? She’d cried that first night and every night since, and, no matter how she concentrated on hating Jake, she couldn’t stop wanting him.

  She spun away from the balcony, hurried into the bedroom, and threw open the wardrobe door. Her career was important, but not as important as her sanity. She had to get control of her life again, and she could not do that here, in a place where Jake Prince was Emperor of the World. She was going back to New York, where she belonged, and if Walt Hemple didn’t like it he could just go to hell.

  * * *

  It turned out to be easy to slip out of the hotel unnoticed. Her fellow journalists had turned the café into a clubhouse, which meant that the lobby was deserted when Dorian stepped from the lift. The taxi she’d called was waiting just outside.

  ‘The airport, please.’

  ‘Airport, da,’ the driver said, and with the careless disregard for speed limits of taxi drivers everywhere he wove through the quiet streets of the city, on to the one main highway, and delivered her with more than an hour to spare before the late-night flight to New York.

  She began to feel better as soon as she entered the terminal. She would be home soon, among all the things that were familiar, and what had happened to her in this country would be nothing but a memory.

  Her steps faltered as she approached the ticket counter. Jake would be a memory, too. How long would it take to purge her thoughts of him? A month? A year?

  A lifetime…

  ‘Bobska?’

  She looked up, startled. The ticket clerk was smiling pleasantly. Dorian smiled in return.

  ‘Sorry. One-way to New York.’ Dorian pushed her credit card across the counter. ‘Charge it, please.’

  ‘You have luggage, miss?’

  ‘No. Just a bag.’

  ‘Passport?’

  Dorian nodded. ‘Yes. Here it is.’

  The woman took the little blue booklet and opened it. Her face creased in a frown. After a moment Dorian cleared her throat.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  The clerk looked up. ‘Is no entry stamp, miss.’

  ‘No entry…’ Dorian blew out her breath. How could there be an entry stamp, when she had not entered the country through Customs? ‘No,’ she said, ‘no, there isn’t. But I came in legally, I assure you.’

  The clerk frowned again. ‘Must be stamp, miss.’

  ‘I didn’t come in the usual way. I—I…’ She bit down on her lip. How could she explain? Someone had done a rough translation of the local Press’s coverage of Jake’s unorthodox entry into Barovnia; she had not been mentioned. The clerk’s English was limited and Dorian’s Barovnian non-existent. Explaining would take half the night, by which time the plane would have left.

  ‘Look, is there a supervisor around? A supervisor. Someone in charge.’ Dorian leaned forward. ‘Don’t you have a boss?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘A boss!’ The clerk smiled. ‘You wait, please.’

  She waited five minutes, then ten, and when she was almost ready to stamp her feet with frustration a man came strolling out from an office down the hall.

  ‘How do you do?’ Dorian said with a fixed smile. ‘My name is Dorian Oliver, and—’

  ‘The reporter?’

  Her smiled wavered a little. Had the rumours spread outside the circle of reporters? Had she become a household name among the Barovnians, too?

  ‘Yes,’ she said briskly, ‘that’s right. There’s a slight problem with my passport, but I thought, if you’d just phone my Embassy. I know it’s late, but I’m sure there’s an emergency number, and—’

  ‘There is no problem, miss.’

  Dorian let out her breath. ‘Well, that’s good news.’

  ‘Please.’ He smiled and inclined his head. ‘If you’ll just come into my office and make yourself comfortable—’

  ‘But my plane…’ Her gaze flew to the wall clock as he took her arm and led her down the hall. ‘It leaves in three quarters of an hour.’

  ‘Make yourself at home, please, Miss Oliver. I’ll take care of the problem immediately.’

  ‘But…’

  The door swung shut after him. Dorian stared at it, and then she stalked across the room and sank down on an institutional plastic sofa.

  Now what? She’d heard endless stories from foreign correspondents about how many hours, if not days, it could take to get through red tape, especially in out-of-the-way little countries.

  She pushed back her sleeve and looked at her watch. Ten more minutes had slipped by.

  ‘Come on,’ she said through her teeth, ‘come on!’

  Five minutes passed, and then five more, and finally Dorian slapped her hands on her knees and stood up.

  ‘OK,’ she said grimly, ‘enough is enough!’ She stalked to the door and grabbed the handle—but it wouldn’t turn. Her brow creased; she twisted it again and again. ‘Hey!’ Her voice rose. ‘Hey! Open this door, will you?’ She waited, but there was only silence. ‘Do you hear me?’ Furiously, she pounded both fists on the door. ‘You open this door right now,’ she yelled, ‘or I’ll—I’ll…’

  She fell back as the door swung open. ‘Or you’ll what?’ Jake said coldly.

  For a moment she was too stunned to speak. Then, gradually, she felt her brain begin to function again.

  ‘Jake,’ she whispered. ‘What—what are you doing here?’

  He stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him. ‘I’m not the one answering questions, Dori
an. You are.’

  ‘Did—did that foolish man call you? I didn’t ask him to do that; I asked him to call—’

  ‘The Embassy. Yes. I know.’

  ‘Then why did he call you?’ Her chin lifted. ‘Was my name on a list? Are you trying to stop reporters from leaving the country?’

  He strode past her, leaned back against the desk, and folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘Why are you sneaking out of Barovnia in the middle of the night?’

  Colour striped her cheeks. ‘I am not sneaking out in the middle of the night.’

  Jake crossed his feet at the ankles. ‘It’s almost one a.m. If that’s not the middle of the night, what is it?’

  Her chin lifted in defiance. ‘Early morning.’

  A quick, cool smile flashed across his face. ‘I’d almost forgotten how clever you are with words, Dorian. Now that we’ve done with the pleasantries, perhaps you’ll answer my question. Why are you leaving Barovnia?’

  She stared at him. ‘I don’t have to answer that.’

  ‘No,’ he said, nodding his head, ‘no, you don’t. You can just sit here until the sun comes up, and—’

  ‘I’ll have missed my plane by then.’

  He shrugged lazily. ‘There’ll be another.’

  But not until midday, she thought in sudden desperation. And I can’t stay here any longer, Jake, I can’t…

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘My—my boss wants me in New York immediately.’

  Jake’s teeth flashed in a quick smile. ‘Your boss told you to stay here until your job was finished. I may not have the phrasing exactly right, but—’

  ‘You have been tapping my phone!’

  ‘Why are you running away, Dorian?’

  Their eyes met. ‘I’m not.’

  Jake reached into his pocket and held out her passport. ‘And why,’ he asked softly, ‘are you trying to use this when you know it’s illegal?’

  Dorian glared at him. ‘My passport isn’t illegal.’

  ‘Really? That’s not what Mr Sojac tells me. He says you have no entry stamp.’

  ‘Of course I haven’t. How could I, when I never entered the country through Customs?’

  ‘No.’ His eyes grew cold and hard. ‘You never entered to the applause of your colleagues, either, but then, it was just your hard luck that I managed to spoil your plans.’

  She stared at him, her breasts rising and falling with the rapidity of her breathing. She could feel her anger slipping away; it was being replaced by bleak despair, but she mustn’t let that happen.

  So what if he thought she’d betrayed him? The truth was that he had betrayed her, and in the cruellest sort of way. She had to keep remembering that, remembering how she despised him…

  ‘Jake.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Please. Don’t do this.’

  ‘Don’t do what?’ He opened the little blue book and peered into it, leafing idly through the pages as if he might come across something interesting. ‘What a pity,’ he said. ‘You don’t seem to have done very much travelling.’ He looked at her. ‘Don’t you like to travel?’

  ‘Dammit, Jake—’

  ‘But then, of course, travel is expensive.’ He frowned as he flicked the passport shut. ‘Well, not to worry. Now that you’re about to become a hotshot columnist, your boss will send you anywhere you want to go. The Far East. South America. Paris, London.’ His face darkened. ‘Of course, you want to be sure he doesn’t try to send you where you’re not welcome.’

  ‘What is it, Jake? Do you want me to beg?’ Her voice was steady, but her hand shook as she held it out to him. ‘If you’ve any decency at all, you’ll give me my—’

  ‘Decency.’ His voice caressed the word. ‘And what would you know of decency, Dorian?’

  ‘Give me my passport!’

  He smiled coolly. ‘If you want it that badly, come and get it.’

  ‘Jake, dammit!’ Dorian slammed her hand against the desk. ‘This isn’t a game!’

  ‘Sure it is. And you play games so well. Don’t you want to play another?’

  ‘You—you—’ A word burst from her lips as she flew across the room. ‘Give me that!’ she demanded.

  Jake laughed as he raised the passport over his head. ‘Give you what? This?’

  Tears rose in her eyes. ‘I hate you, Jake Prince,’ she panted as she stretched for the little blue booklet. ‘Damn you to hell!’

  ‘No,’ he said, and suddenly he wasn’t laughing any more, ‘no, Dorian, you can’t damn me to hell.’ He caught her wrists in his hands, spun her around, and backed her against the desk. ‘You already did that once, you see; you don’t get a second chance.’

  Her breath sobbed in and out of her lungs as she struggled against him. ‘Let go of me, Jake! I swear, if you don’t, I’ll—I’ll—’

  ‘You’ll what? Call the cops? The militia? The king?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t waste your time, Dorian. I am the cops. And the militia. And the king, in effect, remember? I’m all those things—and I’m also the man you betrayed.’

  ‘I betrayed you? That’s a laugh.’

  ‘You’re damned right you betrayed me.’ He let go of her wrists and clasped her shoulders in his hands. ‘You set me up. You fed me little titbits of sex and sweet compassion, so you could lead me like a lamb to the slaughter.’

  ‘No. That’s not true.’

  ‘Are you trying to pretend you didn’t send a telegram to WorldWeek?’

  ‘I was only doing my job. But you—’

  ‘And what a job you did,’ he said coldly. ‘Setting me up for the cameras—’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ Angry tears rose in her eyes and she swiped them away with her hand. ‘I tried to warn you—’

  ‘When, Dorian? Just tell me that!’

  ‘I did try! I tried to tell you during the night, when you awakened me. And—’

  ‘Yes.’ Jake shifted his weight, so that his body brushed lightly against hers. ‘I remember waking you. I remember it very clearly.’

  She remembered too, oh, yes, she remembered. His kisses. His whispers. The feel of his hands and his mouth…

  ‘And—and then the next morning,’ she said quickly. ‘I kept saying I said I had to talk to you. I was going to tell you about the telegram I’d sent.’

  ‘So what? Maybe you’d decided you’d made a mistake, calling for the reserves. Hell, you’d drawn stuff out of me that would make for quite a story. Keeping it an exclusive would have made it more valuable.’

  Dorian stared at him. ‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ she whispered. ‘You—you used me, Jake. I was just—I was a toy, something to play with…’

  Her throat constricted. What was the point in this? Jake hated her, and she—she hated him. Nothing they could say would change that, and if it was hard to stand this close to him without reaching out and trying to smooth away the tiny lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes it was only because—because…

  Her heart fell. It was because she loved him, and she always would, despite what he’d done to her. If there was a special place in hell for a man who’d treated a woman as Jake had treated her, then there had to be a place there, too, for a woman foolish enough to go on loving such a man.

  Tears rose in her eyes, and she turned her head away.

  ‘Please,’ she said in a choked whisper, ‘let me go home.’

  ‘Why? So you can get back to New York and write your story? What are you going to call it, The Lady and The Barbarian?’

  ‘No. I—I won’t write anything like that. I’ll just—I’ll write about—about a man who—who…’

  She fell silent. She would not write this story at all, she thought, and the realisation came as no great surprise. Perhaps she’d known it all along. She would never write about Jake. How could she, when no matter what she said or how she said it she would violate not just his privacy, but the precious time they’d shared?

  Jake clasped her chin and forced her to look at him. ‘About a man who what
? What’s your story for WorldWeek going to be about?’

  Dorian took a deep breath. ‘Nothing. There’ll be nothing in the magazine.’

  ‘I see.’ He glared at her. ‘So you sold out to the highest bidder. Who was it, Dorian? American TV? The British penny papers? I hear Stern pays damned well.’ He jerked her head up. ‘Who’d you sell your soul to?’

  ‘No one.’ She met his eyes. ‘I’m not going to write anything at all. I know you don’t believe me—’

  ‘You’re right, I don’t.’

  ‘So I’ll sign a release, or whatever it is you call it. Just have your lawyers send it to me—’

  She cried out as his hands slipped to her shoulders and he half lifted her to her toes.

  ‘What kind of fool do you take me for? You go off to New York, and it’s too late for me to do anything. No, Dorian, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.’

  ‘What, then?’ The tears she’d tried so hard to stop began to trickle down her cheeks. ‘What do you want from me, Jake? What can I do to prove that—that I’d sooner die than hurt you?’

  The admission hung between them, drifting in the air like smoke from a dying fire. Dorian wanted to call the words back, but it was too late. Jake’s hands slid from her shoulders to curve lightly around her face.

  ‘I’ll tell you what you can do,’ he said, his voice suddenly soft and gentle. ‘You can kiss me.’

  ‘No. Jake, no. Don’t. I don’t—I can’t…’

  He bent his head and brushed his mouth lightly over hers. It was a soft, gentle kiss, and she tried to turn away from it, but he held her fast, his lips moving over hers tenderly, sweetly, and, despite her determination not to reveal herself to him more than she already had, she gave a little sob and swayed towards him. Her arms linked around his neck as he gathered her to him, and she returned his kiss with the same tenderness and passion.

  They stayed that way for a long, long time, lost in each other’s arms, and then, finally, Jake drew back.

  ‘Did you really think I’d let you leave Barovnia so easily?’ he asked softly.

  Dorian leaned her forehead against his chest. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked in a broken whisper.

  ‘Because I want to hear you admit the truth.’ He held her from him and looked into her eyes. ‘You’re in love with me.’