Ransom for a Prince

by Lisa Childs

  “He was abusive.” That explained the reason she’d flinched whenever Sebastian had reached out to touch her.

  “Yes.” Color rushed to her face. “But I—I didn’t know that about him…until after we were married. And then it was too late.”

  “Had you tried to leave him before?”

  “Yes,” she said, “when he was in prison.”

  He wanted to ask her what the man had done that had sent him away. But her story was difficult for her to share; he didn’t want to make it any more traumatic for her.

  “He was serving seven years on an assault charge,” she offered, surprising him.

  When he gasped, she added, “Not me. He’d lost his temper with someone who worked with him—put the man in a coma. Of course he told me it was self-defense, that the man had assaulted him first.”

  “You believed him?”

  “No, but no one calls Evgeny Surinka a liar. I was relieved when he went to prison. But he had people watching me,” she continued, “making sure I didn’t leave.”

  “You had no one to help you escape him?” Had she been all alone?

  “My brother died before I married Evgeny. He was all I had.”

  Until now. Now she had him—if she would accept his offer of protection. “So you stayed?”

  “I tried to leave,” she said. “I filed for divorce while he was in prison.”

  “What happened?”

  A soft cry escaped her lips. “He got out.”

  “Jessica…”

  “That was almost five years ago.”

  “He hurt you.”

  She flinched as if reliving the pain. “That first night he got out, he put me in the hospital.”

  “Oh, my God…”

  Her breath shuddered out, as if with relief. “But that’s how I got away. A nurse realized what had happened and who he was. She gave me some money and a bus ticket. She helped me leave.”

  “Where did you leave?”

  “New York.”

  Not only had she changed her appearance but also her speech. He detected no trace of city in her soft voice. “You put a lot of distance between the two of you. No wonder he hasn’t found you.”

  “Until now,” she said, the color draining from her face again to leave her eyes so dark and haunted.

  “He was one of those men in the van?” If so, Sebastian wished to hell that he’d taken the damn shot now.

  “No.” She shuddered. “But they are his men.”

  “He has men? Who is he?”

  “Evgeny Surinka,” she repeated the man’s name. But it meant nothing to Sebastian. She added, “He emigrated to the United States with his father when he was just a twelve-year-old kid. His father is an infamous Russian mobster. Or he was, until Evgeny took over.”

  No wonder she had been hiding for so many years. To protect herself and her child.

  “And do you have a child?” he asked.

  “A daughter.” A smile lit up her face so that it glowed with love. Her beauty stole away his breath for a moment. “She’s four.”

  “Where is she? Is someone holding her?”

  “She’s safe at the ranch with my friend Helen Jeffries. Helen owns the Double J. She would never let anyone take Samantha. She treats her like she’s her granddaughter. Hell, Samantha might be safer with Helen than she is with me. Evgeny doesn’t know about her,” she said. Her voice cracking with emotion and old pain, she added, “I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left.”

  During his years as a military sniper, Sebastian had had to kill marks he’d never met—because it had been ordered. This was the first time he wanted to give the order for the kill, the first time that he wanted to pull the trigger out of vengeance rather than duty. No matter, though, killing Evgeny Surinka would definitely be for the greater good.

  “He can never find out about Samantha,” Jessica said, her voice breaking with fear and sobs. “He would hurt her to hurt me.”

  Sebastian pulled her into his arms, clasping her trembling body close. “He won’t hurt either of you. I won’t let him.”

  “You won’t be able to stop him. No one can stop him,” she said, her voice rising with hysteria. “I just need to get away. I need to go back to the ranch, get Samantha and run as far as I can, like I did last time.”

  “You don’t know that he has found you,” he said. “Some of the hit men hired to kill us have connections to the Russian mob.” He drew in a breath and admitted what he’d just shared with Antoine. “I was shot at earlier today. I was alone. It had nothing to do with you.”

  He believed that now. There was no way this woman would have asked someone to shoot at him—even just to scare him off. She’d already had more than enough violence in her life. So had he, really.

  “You were shot at earlier? Are you okay?” she asked, her dark eyes brimming with concern.

  He nodded. “They missed.”

  “Who shot at you? The men from the van?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see who it was.” That was all he’d been able to tell his brother, too, much to his disgruntlement. But Antoine was going to have Jane take the bullet from the Hummer and run ballistics on it. He’d wanted Sebastian to show Jane where the shooting had happened as well, but he could not leave Jessica alone.

  “Then it could have been someone else who shot at you, whoever blew up that limo. But I know who’s after me. Evgeny.”

  “A hit was put out on you, too,” he warned her. “Because of what you witnessed. That has nothing to do with your ex.”

  She stared up at him hopefully, as if wanting to believe him, but tears of fear and horror filled her dark eyes. She would rather a hired assassin be after her than her husband. “I can’t take that chance,” she said. “I have to leave Wind River. Now.”

  “Not now,” he said, tightening his arms around her. He couldn’t let her go and not just because he was worried about her safety.

  He just couldn’t let her go. He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Jessica’s lips parted on a gasp of surprise. A prince was kissing her?

  Was she dreaming? Perhaps it was all a dream, and she was standing at the sink, her hands in soapy water while she watched his press conference and fantasized about him. But she was no Cinderella.

  And this was no dream.

  His lips were warm and real and surprisingly silky given the hard look of his mouth and the firmness of his jaw. He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue through her open lips.

  He tasted as he smelled—rich and regal. While she was no Cinderella, he was definitely a prince—from the inside out. But his arrogance was earned and maybe, as he’d claimed, necessary even to lead.

  She’d bristled at following his earlier orders, but now she willingly followed where he led her. She kissed him back, sliding her tongue over his. Pushing her fingers into his thick, soft hair, she pulled him closer as she stretched up his hard body, her arms wrapped around his neck.

  He kissed her passionately but gently. His mouth was greedy but not cruel. His hands moved over her, sliding up and down her back, grasping her hips, but his touch was a sensual caress.

  She had never known such tenderness and couldn’t believe that a man who’d fought as hard as he had to protect her was capable of such tenderness. Maybe it was gratitude over his saving her that drew her to him. Maybe it was the adrenaline from that dangerous experience that had her blood pumping so fast and hot in her veins that had her trembling with desire.

  He must have mistaken her reaction for fear because he pulled back and soothed her. “Jessica, it’s all right. I would never hurt you.”

  She wanted to believe him. But mostly she just wanted him. So she tugged his head back down to hers, initiating the kiss this time as she moved her mouth over his.

  He groaned against her lips. Then his arms wound around her again, lifting her from the floor so that her breasts pressed into his hard chest and her hips thrust against his.
He was hard and ready for her, his erection straining the fly of his dress pants. She arched and rubbed, aching for his possession, as pressure built inside her.

  He walked backward through an open door in the suite. Passing through it, they entered the bedroom. The sheets had already been turned down, inviting him to lay her upon the cool satin. Then he followed her down, pressing her into the downy soft mattress.

  Jessica had occasionally made these beds, when she’d filled in for housekeeping, but she had never lain in one. And she shouldn’t be doing so now. She tensed beneath him, but he kept kissing her, his hands reaching between them, skimming over her breasts to the mismatched buttons of her blouse.

  Would he stop if she asked? Or was he so used to getting what he wanted that he would just take her?

  But why would Sebastian want her? She was the battered wife of a Russian mobster, and he was a prince. They had no future together even if Evgeny wasn’t determined to kill her.

  WHEN SEBASTIAN REALIZED that she had gone still beneath him, he struggled for control. Gasping for breath, he rolled away from her and sat up on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, horrified at his own behavior. He never lost control as he just had with her. “I had no right to take such liberties.”

  She’d already thought him arrogant. What must she think now? That he was as ruthless and violent as her husband?

  “I apologize for taking advantage of you,” he continued.

  “You didn’t take advantage,” she said.

  “You have been through too much today to think clearly.”

  “You’re not thinking clearly, either,” she said, absolving him of complicity. “Or you would want nothing to do with me, Prince Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian,” he automatically corrected her. He did not want her using anything but his first name. Not Prince. Not Your Highness or Your Majesty—nothing that reminded him that he was royalty, and according to his grandfather, had an obligation to marry only royalty.

  “Sebastian…” she repeated his name quietly as her face flushed with embarrassment.

  “You filed for divorce years ago,” he said, assuring her that they had not done anything immoral. Not even close. It had been just a kiss, or that was what he desperately wanted to believe. But he had never reacted so strongly to just a kiss—not even from those beautiful princesses and heiresses he’d dated in the past.

  Perhaps that was why he’d never married one, no matter that he and his brother needed heirs to protect the future of Barajas nearly as much as they needed the trade agreement with the United States.

  “I’m sure Evgeny contested the divorce, though, and it didn’t go through,” she said.

  “But you’ve been separated for years.” Because she had run away and hidden from the monster.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jessica said, her voice bleak and her expressive eyes eerily blank. “Evgeny will never let me go.”

  “Because you won’t let him,” Sebastian replied, hoping to bring back her indomitable spirit.

  “What do you mean?” she asked defensively. “I’ve been hiding from him for years.”

  “Yes, but he’s still here.” He reached out and tapped her temple. “In your head. You’ve never escaped him. You carry him with you.”

  “I couldn’t forget him,” she admitted. “I couldn’t let my guard down, either, because I always knew that he would find me again. And now he has.”

  “You don’t know that,” Sebastian said. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I am convinced that those men are working for Evgeny.”

  “Why? Because they spoke Russian? As I told you, one of the hit men was Russian. It is a coincidence—a horrible coincidence—that is all.” Jessica wasn’t the only one with Russian mob connections. One of the island nations that neighbored Barajas that had refused to participate in COIN had mob connections.

  She shook her head again, swirling her hair around her shoulders. “No.”

  “It is a more likely coincidence than Evgeny finding you just after you’ve witnessed an explosion.”

  “I always knew he would find me someday.”

  “How could you be so certain that he would, given how well you’ve hidden from him?” She was not giving herself enough credit. Not only had she escaped her abusive husband but she’d also eluded him for years.

  “I knew he would find me because I knew that he would never stop looking until he did.”

  “But you don’t know that he has found you,” Sebastian insisted. “I think it is more likely that those men are working for whoever is behind the explosion that nearly claimed Amir’s life.”

  She reached out now and squeezed his hand. “The explosion did not kill him,” she assured him. “He was alive.”

  Was. He had no assurances that Amir still was, and she could offer him none. But he could offer her assurances—if only she would put aside her fear and listen to him. And trust him. But how could she trust him when he’d nearly forced himself on her?

  Especially after what she’d confided in him about Evgeny’s abuse.

  He entwined his fingers with hers, surprised again at the calluses and strength of her small hand. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she asked. “I should have come forward right after the explosion.”

  “You were afraid that the press might catch you on camera.” As they probably had at the sheriff’s office. “And Evgeny might see you on the news.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “But I also believed that your friend might be safer if no one knew he was alive.”

  “You didn’t know who to trust.”

  “Do you?” she asked.

  Sebastian sighed. “Some of our own men have betrayed us,” he admitted. “And there is corruption in the police department and sheriff’s office.”

  “So you understand why I was afraid to come forward?”

  “I understand.”

  “Then you must understand why I have to leave, too. I need to get back to the ranch, finish packing and leave Wind River County.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” he said. “I can help you.”

  Her chin snapped up with her pride. “I don’t want your money.”

  “Then take my protection,” he urged her.

  “I just told you that I don’t know who to trust.”

  “You can trust me. I will protect you.”

  She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  It was as if she knew, as if she, too, could hear that voice inside his head, the one that taunted him—convincing him that he was just like his father. That he, too, would fail to protect those who mattered most to him.

  Jessica didn’t matter most to him. But given that he’d just met her, she mattered more than she should.

  Too much for him to lose…

  WHILE SHE HAD REFUSED to accept his money and his protection, she had accepted Sebastian’s escort back to the ranch. But she couldn’t glance toward the driver’s seat without heat rushing to her face. Her whole body burned, her skin tingling everywhere he had touched her.

  Why had she let him touch her? He was practically a stranger to her. She knew nothing about him except what she’d learned from the media. But the reporters hadn’t told her how rich and seductive he tasted, or how hard and muscular his long body was.

  She had learned that for herself. And now she wished she could unlearn it—that she could just forget they had ever kissed. She also wished she could pretend that they might not have done more if she hadn’t remembered who they were.

  He was a prince. But he didn’t look particularly regal now. He’d changed from his crumpled dark suit into jeans and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Behind the wheel of the rusted Suburban, he looked more ranch hand than royal. If he’d covered his golden brown hair with a Stetson or Resistol, he could have passed for a cowboy.

  But it was
just a disguise, like her red dye and straightened hair—something so that he could slip past the press surrounding the resort. After the police had been called to the scene of the near-abduction, the media had grown more frenzied—like sharks sensing blood in the water.

  “You didn’t need to drive me back to the ranch,” she said. Again.

  Just like the first few times she’d told him that, he ignored her and continued to drive, his hands grasping the wheel tightly. His jaw taut, he stared straight ahead.

  “I told you everything I know about the explosion.” She was only sorry it wasn’t more. “Shouldn’t you be using that information to find your friend?”

  “We have already been searching for him,” Sebastian said.

  “Even before you knew if he was still alive?”

  “He is our friend,” he replied, as if loyalty was a matter of fact. “We will not rest until we find out what happened to him and where he is.”

  Like Evgeny would not rest until he found her. Their motives were different but their eerily similar determination unsettled her. She shivered.

  “You are cold?” He rolled up the window, shutting out the warm breeze.

  A chill raised goose bumps on her skin, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with Evgeny. While the prince wanted her to trust him, he didn’t trust her. He didn’t believe her claim that Evgeny had found her.

  “I’m fine.” Or she would be once she had Samantha with her and they were as far from Wind River County as they could get. “You really don’t need to be concerned about me. I can take care of myself.” She had been doing so for years.

  “You tell me that you believe your abusive ex has found you and that he intends to kill you and you think I can just walk away?”

  “Other men would run,” she replied, knowing so many who hadn’t wanted to get involved with her because Evgeny had made it clear she was his and his alone. Even when he’d been in prison, she’d had no life because his or his father’s men had watched her and scared off her friends and anyone who might have wanted to become more than friends.

  “I am not other men,” he said with the arrogance that made her smile now. “I am a prince.”