'But .. .'
'Just relax and take it nice and easy,' he said softly. 'It won't help to get upset.'
Her head fell back against the seat. That was it, then.
She'd not only fooled a flight crew and a Customs official and a crowd of reporters, she'd fooled a criminal into thinking she was Meryl Desmond. The famous Meryl Desmond. The rich Meryl Desmond. The ...
The Mercedes began to slow. What was the matter with her? Had the game of switched identities muddled her brain? Blair almost laughed aloud with relief. All she had to do was tell this man the truth. She was Blair Nolan from Iowa, and the closest she ever came to the Desmond millions was when she cashed her pay cheque.
'You .. .' The word came out as a croak. She swallowed and began again. 'You're making a terrible mistake.' Hunter glanced into the mirror. 'No mistake.'
'But you are, Mr Hunter. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not Meryl Desmond.'
He laughed. It was a short, harsh sound, and it made her heart shrink icily.
'Right. And I'm Mother Goose.'
'But I'm not. Really. I swear, I'm not Meryl Desmond ...
His eyes sought hers again. She could see the sudden narrowing of his mouth, the tensing of a muscle in his jaw.
'Aren't you?' he asked in a soft whisper.
She shook her head. 'No, I'm not. Of course I'm not.
I .. .'
But, if she wasn't the Desmond heiress, what would he want with her? She'd be useless to him. She'd be a liability, a living, breathing witness to his criminal act ...
And he'd have to dispose of her. The air seemed to rush from her lungs. God, he'd kill her! She had no doubts about it. Just look at what he'd already done. He'd clobbered those poor paparazzi, he'd carried her off-she didn't even want to think about what he must have done to the real Desmond chauffeur to get this uniform and car;
The air seemed suddenly unbreathable. Blair took a shallow breath and then another. He was watching her; she could sense it. She looked up slowly through her lashes, trying to prepare herself for the second their eyes would meet. Finally, his silver gaze caught hers.
'So,' he asked softly, 'are you Meryl Desmond?' Blair nodded. This time, she knew what her answer had to be. 'Yes,' she said quickly, 'of course I am.' Hunter bared his teeth in a quick smile. 'Of course you are,' he said, his tone of voice almost conversational. 'Who else would you be?'
They had slowed now, almost to a crawl. The car was travelling along a ridge on a stretch of dirt that seemed more a cart track then a road. Straggly pines and cypresses dotted the hillside; she could see a scattering of houses and the spire of a church in the valley far below. Blair had no idea where they were. It could have been ten miles outside Rome or a hundred. For all she knew, they might have spent the last hour driving in circles. The only certainty was that she was far from home and very much alone.
The Mercedes swung sharply to the right, the engine labouring softly as they climbed towards a stand of cypresses at the top of a gentle rise. She caught a glimpse of a small, white villa, and then the trees seemed to swallow them up. An outbuilding stood at the end of the little grove and, as they approached, Hunter pressed something on the dashboard. There was an electronic whine and the door ahead slid slowly upwards. The car slipped into the narrow interior and the door whispered shut behind them. The muted sound of the engine died and silence surrounded them.
He turned in his seat and looked at her. 'We're here,' he said.
Where? she wanted to ask, but she knew it was useless to do so. He'd no more answer that question than any of the others she'd asked. She nodded and ran her tongue over her lips.
'What. .. what now?'
'Now we get out of the car,' he said, sounding as if she were a five-year-old, 'and we go into the house.'
The thought of being locked inside the stone walls of the villa with him terrified her. At least, on the road, there had been some chance of escape, no matter how slim. She shook her head and curled her fingers around the edge of the seat. Suddenly, the car seemed a safe haven.
'No,' she whispered.
'Yes. You'll find the door is unlocked now, Miss Desmond.'
Dimly, her brain registered that she'd been right about the door lock. But that didn't matter. What mattered was what was going to happen next.
'Listen,' she said quickly. 'I don't think .. .'
In one impatient motion, he stepped out of the car and wrenched the rear door open.
'That's a good idea,' he growled. 'Don't think. Just do as you're told.' She gasped as he reached towards her. His arm brushed against her breast, the heat of it searing her flesh through her thin cotton dress.
'Don't!' she gasped. 'Please .. .'
But he was already touching her, his fingers flying impatiently across the seat-belt as he unbuckled it. His hand brushed her belly, and she drew in her breath, as if to minimize the contact.
'You're making a mistake .. .'
'When I want your advice, I'll ask for it,' he said. 'Get out.' Blair shook her head. Hunter cursed under his breath and his hand curled around her wrist. In one quick move, he pulled her from the car, then reached past her and snatched up the Vuitton carry-on. 'All right,' he muttered, 'let's go.'
'Mr Hunter, won't you listen to me? This isn't necessary. I ...',
'I'll be the judge of what's necessary, Miss Desmond.
Now, get moving.'
'You're making a mistake. You .. .'
Blair cried out as Hunter's arms closed around her.
For the second time that day, he lifted her against him as easily as if she were weightless.
'Don't you ever keep quiet, woman?' he demanded as he stalked towards the rear garage door.
He grunted as he set her down on her feet, his left arm tightening around her as he reached for the doorknob with his right hand. Blair's face pressed into his shoulder, her nostrils filled with the combined scents of sun and fresh air and the man himself, and then he swung her into his arms again and stepped out into the hot sunlight. The villa she'd glimpsed through the trees loomed ahead and Blair's heart began to race.
'Please,' she whispered, 'take me back to Rome.' Hunter laughed, and his arms tightened around her. 'Not on your life!'
Blair closed her eyes. The whole world seemed to be waiting for her next move. There was total silence, except for the thud of Hunter's heart beneath her ear and the buzz of the cicadas. And then, suddenly, she heard the drone of a labouring engine. A car was coming! Her pulse began to race. If she could just get the driver's attention ...
'Help!' she yelled. 'Hel--'
'You damned little .. .' Hunter's mouth cut off her desperate cry. Blair gasped as his lips took hers, as his hand caught the nape of her neck and held her head immobile beneath the bruising onslaught of his mouth. She felt the fluttering wings of terror beat in her veins and then, to her horror, something else stirred deep within her, some dark, primeval thing without form or dimension. Hunter made a sound deep in his throat; his arms clasped her so tightly she was sure her bones would snap. For the space of a heartbeat, her mouth trembled beneath his. And then sanity returned and Blair's hands became fists that beat against her captor's chest.
She gasped for breath as the door to the villa opened and then closed behind them.
'Damn you,' she whispered, 'damn you .. .'
He laughed as he deposited Blair on the floor. 'Undoubtedly,' he said.
'You can't do this,' she said. 'This is the twentieth century.'
Her eyes widened. Hunter was still laughing, his silvery eyes locked with hers. His fingers reached for the top button of his uniform jacket.
'Not in these hills, it isn't,' he said softly.
She watched in disbelief as he unbuttoned the form fitting jacket and shrugged it from his- shoulders. Beneath it, his chest was naked. Blair's eyes skimmed across the well muscled shoulders and biceps, along the covering of dark, fine hair that tapered to a narrow line as it disappeared beneath his waistband.
'No,' she begged, backing away from him, 'please don't.'
But he was already unbuttoning· his trousers, unzipping them, kicking off his shoes, until finally he stood before her, wearing only a pair of dark blue briefs that left little to the imagination as they clung to his hips. Unwillingly, Blair looked at him and then dropped her gaze lower, down the length of his thighs and muscled legs, then swept it back to his face.
'Mr Hunter,' she said, 'I ... I .. .'
His teeth drew back from his lips in a quick, cold smile. 'Now it's your turn, Miss Desmond,' he said softly.
'My .. .' It was impossible to speak. Terror had made her mute...
Hunter nodded. When he spoke, his voice was like silk. 'Take off your clothes, Meryl,' he whispered. 'Strip.'
CHAPTER THREE
COURAGE came to her from somewhere, perhaps from desperation. If Hunter was going to rape her, she'd be damned if she'd make it easy! Blair took a breath and lifted her chin.
'No,' she said, the word faint, papery, but firm.
His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. 'You have a short memory, Meryl. I said you were to do as you were told.'
'I'm not taking my clothes off,' she said.
He tilted his head to the side and looked at her. 'Don't argue with me. I'm not a patient man under the best of circumstances. '
'I am not getting undressed,' she repeated, amazed at how steady her voice sounded, when her heart was beating so rapidly she knew it would surely leap from her breast any second. .
Hunter looked at her speculatively and then he shrugged his shoulders. 'Have it your own way,' he said, almost casually. 'I though we'd do this the easy way, but it's up to you.'
He took a step towards her, his face expressionless.
Blair's hands knotted at her sides. 'I'll kill you if you touch me,' she whispered.
He stared at her, and then he threw back his head and laughed. 'With what? Those hands that have never done an honest day's work? Come on!' The laughter died as quickly as it had begun, and his head dropped forwards. 'Now stop stalling and do it.'
She stumbled backwards, her eyes unflinchingly locked with his. This was it, then, she thought, and in the last minutes before her life changed for ever, she was suddenly desperate to at least recover her own name.
'Not Meryl,' she blurted. 'Blair.'
It stopped Hunter's relentless stalk and his eyes narrowed. 'What the hell does that mean?' he growled.
How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten that rape, as terrible as it was, wasn't all she had to fear from this man? .
'I ... I meant that no one calls me Meryl.'.
'Don't give me that, he said, his face dark with suspicion. 'Your father calls you Meryl. The papers call you Meryl. That's your name, isn't it?'
She felt the cold trickle of sweat down her back. 'I .. My friends call me Blair. Blair's my middle name-a family name. I ... I took it when I was twenty-one ...' She held her breath while Hunter stared at her, and then he nodded. 'Yeah, it figures. Meryl's too solid a name for a girl like you, isn't it?'
Blair thought of the great-grandfather for whom she'd been named, the stodgy progenitor of the Iowa Nolans. 'I guess,' she said softly.
'OK, Blair, have it your way. Frankly, I don't care what you call yourself, just as long as you get your clothes off.'
'No,' she said again.
His eyes swept over her slowly and he sighed. 'We do it the hard way, then.'
Her shoulders hit the wall as she took a final step backwards. 'Don't,' she said, slapping at Hunter's hands as he reached for the top button on her dress.
His fingers closed around her wrists and he drew her hands down. 'Behave yourself, dammit!' he growled. 'I don't have time for this nonsense.'
She twisted her head to the side,trying to pull away from him, but her strength was no match for his. His breath fanned her face as the tiny buttons on her cotton dress came open, one after another. She felt his fingers graze her flesh, their calloused tips heated against her skin. Fear knotted inside her and she began to struggle in earnest. Hunter cursed softly and dragged her wrists above her head; his free hand encircled her throat and held her still against the wall.
'I'm warning you,' he said softly, 'don't fight me.
Don't .. .'
She twisted her body to the side and brought her knee up between them, aiming for his vulnerable centre, but he was too quick. His body slammed against hers, driving the breath from her as he pinned her to the wall.
'You little fool!' he snarled. 'You're asking for trouble-and I'm the one to give it to you. I .. .'
Blair whimpered softly as she suddenly realized how foolish she'd been. One second he was restraining her, pinioning her beneath him and the next-the next his eyes were darkening to quicksilver and his body was hardening against hers. She felt her strength draining away and she slumped against the wall, eyes closed, willing it to at least be quick-but suddenly Hunter's hands dropped to his sides and he stepped away from her. Her eyes snapped open in stunned surprise.
'We're losing time,' he rasped, turning away and running his hands through his dark hair. 'Get out of that damned dress and into something else.'
The only sound in the room was the rasp of his breath.
She clutched the open neckline of her dress together as she stared at him and tried to make sense out of what had happened, and then he spun towards her and kicked the carry-on across the floor.
'Let's go,' he barked. 'Hurry!'
'You mean ... you mean you want me to change my clothing?' she breathed.
'Put on something easier to move around in,' he said over his shoulder as he stalked across the room. 'Or have you only got rich-girl outfits in that bag of yours?' She watched, bewildered, while he yanked open a wardrobe and pulled men's clothing from it.
'I ... I'm not sure,' she said finally. 'I mean, I don't remember .. .'
What had Meryl tucked into the Vuitton bag? Toiletries. A nightgown. What else?
'We'll put my usual into the carry-on in case somebody looks,' Meryl had said. 'I never carry much-just a change of clothing in case the plane's delayed. As for the rest, it's easier to just keep a wardrobe at each house, you know?'
'I ... I think I have a pair of trousers and a sweater,' Blair said hesitantly, watching as Hunter slipped into khaki trousers. 'Is that all right?'
'That's fine,' he said in clipped tones. He pulled a black cotton sweater over his head. 'And do something with your hair.'
She put her hand to her head. 'My hair?'
'Jesus, don't you understand English? Yes, your hair.
Pull the bangs back, tie it at the nape of your neck, I don't care. Just so long as you look different. And be quick about it.' He sank down on the edge of a chair and began to pull on a pair of sneakers.
He wanted them to change their appearance, she thought, unzipping the carry-on. The police would have been alerted by now; they'd be watching for a man in a chauffeur's uniform and a girl dressed as she was. Did that mean they weren't staying here, then? Hope .filled her.
'Are ... are we going somewhere else?'
Hunter looked up. 'Give the lady ten points,' he said unpleasantly. 'Come on, get a move on.'
The color rose in her cheeks. 'Not with you here,' she said quietly.
She'd made the remark without thought and, as soon as the words were out, she held her breath, waiting for his reaction, wondering if she'd pushed him too far. She thought at first she had. His eyes narrowed, his mouth hardened, and then, to her surprise, he laughed again.
'You're full of surprises, aren't you, Meryl Blair Desmond? All right, I'll turn my back.'
'I want you to leave the room.'
'I can always go back to the first plan,' he said softly. 'I can undress you myself and ...'
She pulled Meryl's clothing from the carry-on. 'Turn around,' she said stiffly.
He stared at her for a long moment and then he turned away slowly, standing with his hands on his hips. 'Make it fast,'
he said gruffly.
Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned the dress and opened her belt. The dress slipped from her body, puddling in a soft heap around her feet.
'Are you ready?'
Her head sprang up at the impatient sound of his voice. 'No,' she said, zipping up the white trousers. 'Just give me a minute .. .'
'Ready or not,' he said softly, that hint of repressed violence in his voice again.
Blair tugged the sweater down just as he swung around to face her. His silver-grey eyes were flat as pewter as they swept over her with disinterested appraisal, lingering on the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin sweater. When he walked towards her, she drew in her breath.
A Flood of Sweet Fire Page 3
