Hostage of Passion

by Diana Hamilton

  No! Her brain said no, but her mouth wouldn’t function. How, for pity’s sake, could she expect it to when his fingers were edging beneath the oyster silk, finding the full undercurve of her breasts, lingering there, her lacy bra no barrier at all?

  He moved closer and she stopped breathing as tiny flickers of sexual tension quivered all over her body and exploded in a million shattering shards of wild sensation as the pads of his fingers found the taut nipples and began to tease them.

  There was fever in her blood, wicked and wild and wanton. It was burning her up and she felt sweat break out from every pore, slicking her body, and with a groan of utter helplessness she slithered towards him, writhing, winding her arms around his neck; his head came up, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel the heat of it, the passionate heat, taste and savour the kiss that surely had to come, and someone knocked on the door and she went into shock, her eyes wide with the wildness of knowing how deplorably she’d behaved.

  He straightened up slowly, his smile conspiratorial and lazy as he removed one hand to rest it gently against her knee, replacing the other along the back of the sofa as he instructed, ‘Entre.’

  She had never, ever been so pleased to see anyone in the whole of her life as she was to see Rosalia and, presumably, her son Marcos. She could actually breathe again, albeit shakily, as the two of them set the covered dishes they were carrying, on trays that looked as large as barn doors, neatly and efficiently on a table in front of one of the windows.

  Shifting along the sofa, as far away as she could get from that long, lean, scorchingly sexy body, she slapped his hand away from her knee and hoped she didn’t look as hectic as she felt. But very much feared that she did when, as Francisco got fluidly to his feet and strolled over to the table to open the wine, saying something in a dusky undertone to Rosalia, Marcos gave her a long and strangely complicated look.

  He wasn’t much above eighteen, slightly built, very dark, with almost girlish features, but that look was nothing but pure male speculation. A mystifying mixture of approval and disapproval. And only when he turned back to what he’d been doing did the penny drop.

  Rosalia would have gossiped about their employer’s new mistress, closeted up in that princely suite of rooms. That quick, revealing assessment had said quite plainly that her status wasn’t approved of, but her fluttery feminine appearance was. Oh! It was all too much!

  And that was why the louse had touched her up! To get her all in a dither to reinforce the reason he’d given his staff for her presence here. If she’d been sniping and snapping at him, sitting on the opposite side of the room, his cover would have been blown!

  Next time he tried that on again she’d be good and ready for him. Ready to slap his head until it flew off his shoulders!

  ‘Come. Eat. Drink.’ The dark drawl was like a punch in the solar plexus, making her poor head spin. But when he added, investing his voice with sinful meaning, ‘We shall not be disturbed again tonight,’ she was able to hang on to herself and remind herself tartly of what happened to little girls who met up with the big bad wolf.

  And it most certainly wasn’t going to happen to her. She knew exactly what to say to cool his spurious ardour, make him forget his idle desire to have a little fun at the expense of silly Sarah Scott.

  Gratifyingly cool now, she set her face and joined him at the table, letting him help her to the various dishes, even though she had completely lost her appetite. Then, when he was seated, and before he could start saying things, things that would get her all hot and bothered again, she calmly began her defensive attack.

  ‘As you seemed unable to believe that Piers won’t come running to my rescue with your tearful, repentant sister on his arm, may I put it to you that she would probably refuse to set foot inside this place again?’

  Keeping her face stony, her eyes on the stem of her wine glass as she twisted it round and round in her fingers, she refused to let the sudden dark silence from the opposite side of the table affect her in the slightest. He had asked for it.

  ‘After all,’ she went on, ‘there can be little doubt now that she and Piers are an item. She is probably revelling in the freedom to be a woman instead of a cardboard princess, the owner of more frilly clothes than she could ever wear, shut away from the wicked, contaminated world in lovely, lonely isolation. Why should she come back when there is nothing here for her? When someone is actually teaching her how to live?’

  ‘You condone what that old man has done to her?’ He slammed his cutlery down on his plate with a violence that had her jumping out of her skin. She glanced up at him quickly. His anger was so cold, it froze her bones. But at least it had stopped his sexual overtures, and that, for her peace of mind and self-respect, was the only thing that mattered.

  ‘No,’ she returned levelly. ‘I can’t. His affairs— as you said once yourself—are legendary. But up until now, and as far as I know, always with older, mature women. Widows, mostly.’

  ‘Widows?’ he scorned bitingly. ‘Are you forgetting Liberty Torrence? Her third husband—or was it her fourth?—threw her out when her affair with your father hit the headlines.’

  Forget? How could she ever forget that public humiliation?

  It had been around twelve months after her mother’s death when the pictures of her father and the famous film actress in a more than compromising situation had been splashed all over the front pages of the tabloids. She’d just been elevated to dormitory prefect, her good behaviour, politeness and application to her work impressing her teachers. And she could still hear the giggles, the lewd comments whispered behind her fellow students’ hands, see the embarrassing newsprint pictures pinned up over her bed. That, as much as the shambolic life she and Patience had led as they’d pandered to Piers’ genius, had made up her mind never to allow her emotions to play any part in the way she ran her life.

  And she was not about to alter that rule now.

  Staring him straight in the eye, she continued, as if his input had no meaning, ‘You’re worried about her, I understand that. And I agree, it’s unfortunate that she ever met up with Piers. But you and your parents must take some of the blame. If she hadn’t been—and you admitted this yourself—so protected, it wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘You presume too much, señorita!’ He thumped his fist on the table, making the glasses leap. ‘Encarnación and I have no parents. For the past five years since our mother’s death I alone have been responsible for her. I have brought her up as our mother would have wished. I inherited my father’s genes—and I am proud of them. But for Encarnación—they must not touch—that was our mother’s wish. It would not have been fitting for her to be fired by our father’s gypsy blood. We had to be careful that she didn’t catch the infection. Yet you sit there in judgement, presuming to tell me she was wrong. I was wrong!’

  Anger turned his dark velvet voice into a menacing growl, turned his eyes into weapons. But Sarah kept her head. He didn’t frighten her. She tipped her head consideringly to one side, careless of the way it made his black frown deepen. So his father had been a gypsy. That was interesting. It explained his volatile temperament, surely? She would ask him about it, but some other time, when he wasn’t so likely to snap her head off.

  Telling herself that her deep interest in everything about him was merely academic, she felt a quiver of something quite terrifying scatter the blood in her veins as he leapt up from the table, his mouth grim, telling her, ‘I have had more than enough of this day! I am going to my bed.’ He reached for her arm, dragging her off her feet. ‘You too. I order it. And do not so much as say one word. Not one! The consequences, I promise, would not enthral you!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  HE’D had more than enough of this day! Did he think she hadn’t? Did he think he had the monopoly on fierce emotions? If anyone should be throwing a temper tantrum, it should be her!

  Sarah had a mind to do just that. It might even be fun, she thought belligerently as he hustled h
er through to the adjoining bedroom. And he didn’t really think that he could force her to keep her mouth shut, like a little grey mouse in a corner, just because he hurled threats at her in his temper, did he?

  Her eyes sparking defiance, she picked his imprisoning fingers off her arm, one by one, and opened her mouth to tell him he needn’t think she was going to share that bed with him again, because she wasn’t, but the steel in his hooded black eyes, the thunderous warning of his frown pushed the words right back where they’d come from.

  All that barely contained black anger, just because she’d had the temerity to point out that his over-protective, chauvinistic attitude towards his sister’s upbringing was probably the underlying cause of her defection!

  And his fierce inner rage wasn’t frightening her. She met his gaze and held it, glittering aquamarine squaring up to savage black. On the contrary, she decided as her breath snagged in her throat, he had never seemed more vulnerable to her than he did at this moment. And, taking her by complete surprise, her heart did a little leap then melted inside her. She wanted to wind her arms around him, assure him that everything would be all right. Kiss him better.

  She deeply amazed herself.

  She picked one of the pillows off the bed and told him gently, ‘I’ll sleep on one of the sofas. I’ll be perfectly comfortable. Shall I use the bathroom first, or will you?’

  His snort of disgust told her he wasn’t amused and he plucked the pillow from her fingers and tossed it back where it belonged, his mouth tight as he uttered, ‘I warned you: no arguments. Nothing.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Not a word!’

  Kiss him better? That was a laugh! How could she have been such a wimp? She wanted to hit him until he begged for mercy! Planting her hands on her hips, her chin at a haughty angle, she returned his glare with interest and clipped out coolly and clearly, ‘You are bigger than I am and much stronger, but that does not—and I repeat, not— give you the right to bully me.’

  She watched his hard mouth tighten, the aristocratic nostrils pinch with irritation, and somehow knew she could push her luck. He wouldn’t harm a single hair of her head, despite all the fire and fury.

  ‘I understand why you insisted I—er—sleep with you last night. But your concern was based on a misunderstanding. I went to the roof to get a breath of air. I couldn’t sleep. I had no intention of leaping off the battlements—I’m not that feeble.’

  She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, wondering whether it would be wise, considering his present mood, to point out that she’d successfully made a fool of him. Then, seeing his face go totally impassive, a black brow arching upwards in what seemed like contempt, she decided to go for broke.

  ‘You misunderstood and I played along with that in the hope that you might have a conscience and let me go. Obviously I was wrong about that. However, you can rest assured that I won’t do anything foolish. Therefore there is no need to have me sleeping alongside you.’

  ‘You talk like a piece of business correspondence,’ he said impatiently, crossing his arms high over his impressive chest. ‘How do I know you are not lying again? You bleated about locked doors, so I—’ he made an expansive gesture with one hand ‘—unlocked all. I humoured you. In return you will humour me.’ It was not a request, it was a command armoured with plate steel. ‘I can’t take the risk of trusting you to behave yourself.’

  ‘You left me alone for most of the day,’ she returned, deploring the tinge of a whine in her voice, wondering where it had come from.

  He answered with evident boredom, ‘I asked Rosalia to keep an eye on you—letting her know I was afraid you’d get bored without my constant attentions. She was to tell me immediately if you showed signs of restlessness, and then I would cease my work at once and rush to entertain you. She reported, later, that you’d eaten a good lunch and were sleeping peacefully in our room.’

  ‘Devil!’ she spluttered. What must that make her in Rosalia’s eyes? A mindless dolly-bird who got in a huff if she didn’t have a man around, dancing attendance! Her reaction earned herself a grim smile.

  ‘Exactly. And now you know what you are dealing with, perhaps you will stop annoying me and do as you’re told for once. I have been too kind to you, allowed you to get above yourself. So try to remember your position here.’ He made an impatient gesture with one hand. ‘Use the bathroom and get into that bed. I do not want to put myself to the trouble of manhandling you there, and tying you to the posts. But be assured that I will, if necessary.’

  The snap of black temper in his eyes told her he meant exactly what he said. It didn’t bear thinking about. Her stomach churning as if she’d just taken a roller-coaster ride to Hades, she stamped to the bathroom, muttering darkly under her breath.

  But he wouldn’t stay awake all night, she told herself as she savagely brushed her teeth. He might make her get in that bed, but he couldn’t stop her creeping out again as soon as he was asleep.

  Getting into her torn nightie was hardly a joy, and as he’d been the one to tear it he might have had the decency to supply her with something of Encarnación’s. Sighing crossly, she held the ripped edges together and sidled out into the bedroom, her heart pattering around, only relaxing a little when he stalked past her and closed the bathroom door without so much as a word or even a look.

  Scurrying to the sitting-room, she grabbed an armful of cushions and scampered back to place them in a straight line right down the centre of the bed then leapt beneath the light covers. As a barrier it wouldn’t take much dismantling, but she would instantly know if he tried to remove them, and take immediate evasive action.

  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she turned her face into the pillow, her ears straining to pick up the sounds that would tell her he’d returned to the bedroom. She would kill Piers with her own bare hands—save Francisco the bother—for getting her into such an intolerable situation! She then spent a long time wondering where all her prized control had gone, pondering on how easily a given set of circumstances could present her with a bucketful of raw emotions she was beginning to find increasingly difficult to control.

  Given set of circumstances! she scoffed at herself, punching the pillow. Who did she think she was kidding? She had never come within a whisker of losing a scrap of her careful control through all sorts of difficulties, be they with her impossible father, over-demanding clients or ultra-pedantic bank managers, until she had come up against this Spanish devil! And the fact that he was holding her hostage had nothing whatever to do with it, she recognised, hating him all the more for that uncomfortable truth.

  It was the way he made her feel, just by looking at her. And when he actually touched her she went completely haywire, she acknowledged under direct and painful self-examination. A chemical reaction which had never come near to occurring with any other man, and one she could do precious little about.

  All she could do was to work hard at hiding it, and as she had never been afraid of hard work she supposed it shouldn’t present a problem she would be incapable of handling. What had happened earlier this evening would not be repeated. She had been taken unawares that time. In future she would be rigidly on guard. And whether Piers responded to that message or not Francisco couldn’t keep her here indefinitely. Nothing lasted forever.

  On that hopeful thought she settled more comfortably but the unmistakable click of the bathroom door closing, the small sounds he made as he moved around the bedroom had her as tense as piano wire, every cell in her body on red alert as she waited for the inevitable.

  She heard his soft-footed approach to the other side of the bed, and then the humphing sound he made in his throat as he pulled back the cover. Presumably because he’d noticed the barrier—and was showing his contempt for its flimsy nature?

  Doing her best to pretend that she was already deeply asleep, she felt the mattress dip as he slipped in beside her. Leaving the cushions where they were, he turned on his side and clicked off the light and the mome
nt she heard his breathing relax she fell asleep as if someone had pressed a switch inside her head.

  Sarah flopped over on to her tummy as she began to come awake, an outstretched hand pushing against the barrier of cushions. And just for a moment, before she opened her eyes to the golden morning light, she experienced a deeply slicing pang of regret for the distance Francisco had been quite happy to leave between them.

  The assimilation of that piece of self-knowledge brought her fully awake immediately and she twisted round and sat up in a hurry, anguished eyes scanning his side of the bed, the room. No sign of him. Drawing in a shaky breath, she pulled the covers up to her chin and forced herself to look the unpalatable facts squarely in the face.

  That regret, the nature of it, had presented itself before she’d been properly awake. So it had been uncensored. It had been the unvarnished truth.

  Subconsciously she had wanted him to hold her, cuddle her close, as he had on the previous night. And had she actually wanted more than that? Very much more?

  Frowning, she pushed that conjecture aside. It was unproven. And she had enough to cope with without adding idle speculation to the burden of knowing she had wanted him to toss the cushions out of the bed and tug her into the curve of his body.

  You are, she warned herself sternly, in serious trouble, lady.

  She felt herself flush with the shameful embarrassment of her knowledge when Francisco walked through the door. Her heart leapt at the mere sight of him, though there was nothing ‘mere’ about him, she acknowledged as she tried unsuccessfully to will the tide of fiery colour to recede.

  Dressed all in black this morning, he was unfairly spectacular and the smile he gave her wasn’t lacking in that department either, because it made her toes curl, sent a shiver of sensation that was decidedly delicious all the way down her back. Unfortunate physical manifestations of a malaise she didn’t quite know how to treat, she decided uneasily.