A Flood of Sweet Fire

by Sandra Marton

  'Your hair,' he said. 'I told you to do something with it.'

  She flinched as he "reached his hand out towards her, but he only tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears. 'Better,' he said, and then he combed his fingers through the wispy bangs, drawing them back from her forehead. His hands cupped her face and finally he nodded. 'OK, that should do it. Let's go.'

  They were leaving, then. Blair felt weak with relief.

  He could change the way they looked, she thought as he grasped her arm and hurried her through the villa, but he couldn't change the looks of the car. The Mercedes was big and distinctive. He might change its licence plates-she'd seen that in the movies often enough---but the luxurious car would still stand out on these narrow country roads. It ...

  She stumbled to a halt as the rear door of the villa slammed shut behind them.

  'No,' she said, staring at the sleek silver Lamborghini drawn up snugly against the rear wall.

  Hunter barely glanced at her as he unlocked the passenger door, 'What's the matter, Miss Desmond? Don't you like it?'

  She swallowed drily. 'What about the Mercedes?' 'Get in.'

  She did as he ordered, watching as he walked to the driver's side and slipped into the car.

  'I... I thought we'd use the limousine .. .'

  The car roared to life. 'Sorry, Blair,' Hunter said, gunning the powerful engine, 'you'll have to ride up front with the hired help.'

  Her hopes of rescue faded as the Lamborghini skidded on to the road. An Italian car on an Italian road.-no one would ever notice them now.

  It was as if he'd read her thoughts. 'Sit back and relax, sweetheart,' he said in mocking tones. 'From here on in, we're just two people out for a Saturday drive.'

  At first she sat stiffly erect, watching for a chance to get away or to signal for help. But Hunter had, once again, insisted she wear her seat-belt.

  'Your father wouldn't want his little girl to get hurt,' he'd taunted when she'd chosen to ignore his command, and she'd had to suffer the indignity of sitting still beneath his quick-moving hands while he buckled her in.

  And the doors on the Lamborghini locked automatically, too. He'd made a special point of showing her that. After a while, she felt herself sag back into the bucket seat. There was no point in sitting straight as a ramrod, looking for an escape route that didn't exist. The miles and the hours passed in a blur and Blair felt herself falling into a kind of stupor. The car fairly flew over the dusty Italian roads; under other circumstances, she would have been delighted by the handsome countryside. The road they were on was narrow. It curved along low, umber-coloured hills and between fields lush with early summer harvest. They passed farmhouses standing stolidly beside the road, looking as if the centuries had left them untouched.

  When they approached a village, Hunter changed into a lower gear, slowing the car as it entered the narrow, cobbled streets. An old woman, dressed all in black, stared at them suspiciously. Outside a small osteria, men in shiny black suits looked up from glasses of dark red wine, their faces blank. It was impossible for Blair to imagine any of them coming to her assistance, even if she could make them understand that she needed help. Ail she could do was sit back in her seat, try to ignore Hunter's close proximity, and wait for the right moment. It was the one hope she had.

  She glanced at him as the car began to speed away from the village. His face, seen in profile, was impassive. His hands lay loosely on the steering wheel. They were strong hands, encased in leather driving gloves, the fingers long and lean. He gave the impression of a man ready for almost anything, she thought, watching the flex of muscle beneath his dark cotton sweater. Suddenly, she remembered the feel of his arms around her, the hard power of his body pressed against her. A dizzying wave of heat rose within her and she tore her eyes from him and stared out the window.

  What kind of man chose to be a criminal? Hunter was intelligent; at least he seemed to be. He wasn't conventionally handsome-he was too rugged-looking for that-but he was the sort she was sure most women would have found appealing. He had a strong, square jaw, high cheekbones, dark, thick lashes. Under other circumstances, even she ...

  Whose villa had they stopped at when they changed clothing and cars? she wondered. There had been little time to look around; all she'd had the chance to notice was that it was sparsely, if handsomely, furnished. There had been no touches to indicate what kind of person owned it, nothing but the clothing in the wardrobe. Was it Hunter's villa? It had to have been, she thought, glancing at his unyielding profile. But why would an American live in the middle of nowhere? Why would he live in Italy, for that matter? Unless the villa was rented, unless he was here for only this purpose-to kidnap her, to hold her for ransom.

  Correction, Blair reminded herself. He'd kidnapped Meryl, or at least he thought he had. And, if she wanted to stay healthy, he had to keep believing it until he made his ransom demands. He hadn't, yet, not unless he had an accomplice who'd contacted the Desmonds. And once that happened, things would begin to move more quickly. Meryl's father would, she was sure, go along with the pretence that the kidnappers had snatched the right woman. Oscar Desmond would realise, as she had, that her very life depended on it. How much would Hunter demand for her safe return? Thousands? Or millions? After all, there was no limit to what such a wealthy man would be willing to pay to get his daughter back ...

  'Oh, God .. .' The cry of anguish broke from her before she could stop it. Blair caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but it was too late. Hunter had heard the whispered words.

  'What is it?' he demanded.

  She shook her head. 'Noth-nothing.' He looked at her again. 'Are you ill?' 'No, no, I'm fine.'

  'Then what was that sound?'

  'I ... I have a headache,' she lied. 'That's all.' Hunter frowned, but finally he turned back to the road. Blair let out her breath and lay her head back against the seat. How could she have been so stupid? All these hours, she'd been careful to let her abductor think she was Meryl Desmond, telling herself that by doing so she was guaranteeing her safety. Now, suddenly, the truth had loomed before her. What would happen when Hunter or whomever he was working with finally made his ransom demand? Everything would fall apart, that's what would happen. Meryl's father would have paid whatever was asked to get his daughter returned safely. But she wasn't his daughter, she was Blair Nolan, for God's sake, his daughter's secretary, and she'd only been that for a few short months ...

  Don't think about it, Blair told herself. Don't look ahead. Just play along, do what you must do, get from moment to moment and hour to hour ...

  Her eyes flew open as the car swung sharply across the road. 'What's the matter?'

  'You weren't just pretending that you don't speak Italian?'

  She frowned at the cryptic question. 'No. Why do you ask?'

  He nodded, as if she'd said something that pleased him. 'Good. In that case, we're stopping for coffee.' Blair's mouth gaped open. 'We're doing what?'

  He pulled up in front of an old building and shut off the engine. 'You look like hell,' he said shortly.

  Her eyes narrowed. 'I'm sorry if I'm not the girl of your dreams, Mr Hunter.'

  'And you're even more charming than usual,' he added drily. 'Maybe you need a break.'

  'Are you serious?' she asked warily, staring at the weathered sign hanging from the building. Caffe, it read. Dolce. Pane. Glace.

  'It isn't the kind of place you're used to,' he said, getting out of the car, 'but it's the best I can do on such short notice.'

  Blair stepped from the Lamborghini hesitantly, half expecting some trick. Hunter took her by the wrist as she stood up.

  'I ... aren't you af. . .'

  She regretted the question immediately, but it was too late. Hunter smiled coldly.

  'Give me credit for some intelligence, Blair. I've been watching the road for hours. No one's following us. And I don't want to disappoint you, but I'll bet my life that no one in this little town's ever heard of you. Come on, let
's go. Just remember to behave yourself.'

  She nodded as he took her arm. His stride was long; she was almost running in her efforts to keep up with him. Her heart pounded in anticipation: Hunter could say what he liked; the news must have gone out by now. Someone might recognize them.

  He pushed open the door and they stepped inside a dark, smoky room, pungent with the scents of olive oil and wine. There was a short counter at one end, with a couple of stools before it. Two round stained tables stood near the door. At their entrance, the handful of men in the room became silent. Gnarled faces turned towards them.

  Buon giorno, Hunter said, sliding his arm around her waist. She stiffened as his fingers spread on her hip, their pressure a warning. Posso comprare due caffe, per piacere?'

  Blair understood nothing but the word for coffee. At first, she thought no one else had understood him, either, for no one moved. And then a small woman wearing a white apron bustled towards them.

  Si, si, signor. Due caffe. Sedersi,' she added, gesturing to one of the little tables.

  Hunter smiled. Grazie, signora. E anche un dolce per la signorina, si?'

  “Ah, si, si. Un momento.'

  'Sit down,' he muttered quietly as the woman scurried off. 'No, not opposite me-next to me, at this table.' Blair slid into a rickety chair. 'Did you say something to her about me? I heard you say signorina.'

  He shrugged. 'I asked her to bring you a sweet.' She stared at him. 'Why?'

  'What do you mean, why? Because you said you had a headache, and I thought maybe it was because you were hungry. Jesus, are you always so damned suspicious?'

  'Are you trying to be funny, Mr Hunter?'

  'There you go again,' he said. 'You question every damned thing I say, do you know that?'

  'And you find that surprising?' Blair looked at him in disbelief. 'I suppose you'd like me to ... to trust you.' His eyes flashed her a warning as the woman appeared beside them again, two espresso cups in her hands.

  Grazie,' he said. He waited until she moved away again and then he shrugged his shoulders. 'Why not?' he asked Blair. 'It would be different, anyhow.'

  'Let me get this straight,' Blair said. 'You're suggesting that I ... no, it's too incredible! Not even you--' She broke off in mid-sentence.

  'Come on, lady, don't stop now. Not even I ... ?'

  She hesitated, and then she shrugged. What did she" have to lose, after all? She was safe as long as he thought she was worth money to him, lots of money. And the little trattoria was too full of witnesses for him to do anything violent.

  'You seized me against my will,’ she said softly. 'Am I supposed to forget that?'

  'I took you for damned good reasons,' he said sharply, hunching over the table and leaning towards her. 'Didn't you ever think of that?'

  'I'll bet,' she said grimly. 'I .. .'

  She closed her mouth as the woman placed a plate of little cakes in front of her.

  Queste sono bene, signorina, she smiled.

  Blair nodded. 'Thank you.' The woman hurried away and Blair leaned towards Hunter. 'People like you always have good reasons for what they do,' she whispered. 'And people like you should try and understand them.'

  'My God,' she said, staring at him in disbelief, 'what are you, Hunter? An armchair psychiatrist? Do you really believe in the Stockholm Syndrome?'

  'What?'

  'The Stockholm Syndrome. Come on, you can't fool me. Someone who does what you do for a living must know all about it. That's the theory that says hostages, given time, begin to empathize with their captors.'

  Hunter laughed harshly. 'It's not the theory I was questioning, Miss Desmond-it's the thought of you ever feeling sympathy for anyone but yourself.'

  'Me, feel sympathy for you? You've got to be crazy!' He sighed wearily and sipped at his coffee. 'Yeah, I guess maybe I am. Well, it's not as if I didn't know what I was getting myself into. They told me what you were like. They .. .'

  'They?'

  Hunter smiled grimly. 'That's enough, Blair. You're not going to make me forget what I'm supposed to be doing. Come on, finish up. We've got a lot of driving ahead of us.'

  She watched as he drank the rest of his coffee, and then she sighed. He wasn't about to say anything more. And what did it matter who 'they' were? His accomplices weren't here; she had only this man to deal with. And so far, at least, he hadn't really hurt her.

  'Eat the cakes,' he said. 'We won't be stopping again for quite a while.'

  She started to say no and then changed her mind. It would be silly to let herself grow weak. She'd need her strength when the chance for escape came. Blair picked up one of the cakes and bit into it. It was delicious, and it reminded her of just how hungry she really was. She finished it and ate the next, then licked the crumbs from her fingers. When finally she looked up, Hunter was grinning at her.

  'I didn't think they taught you to do that in finishing school.'

  'You're an awful snob, Mr Hunter!'

  He laughed softly. 'Is that the worst thing you can call me, Blair? Hell, I guess I haven't been trying hard enough.' He shoved back his chair and rose. 'OK, time to move out.'

  She stood as he began to burrow in his pocket for change. His face was averted, his back towards her. Now, she thought suddenly, and she sprinted for the door. In one quick movement, she yanked it open and raced towards the Lamborghini.

  'Hey-dammit, Blair, what the hell .. .'

  Hunter's voice rang out behind her but she ignored, it. If she were lucky, the keys might still be in the car. And, even if they weren't, they were in a town, a place where someone would speak at least enough English to help her. Surely she could make someone understand what was happening to her?

  She reached the car and pulled open the door. No keys, dammit! She glanced up; there was a young man across the narrow street, watching her.

  'Signor, per favor ...’

  She gasped as strong hands clasped her shoulders and spun her around. Hunter's fingers dug into her flesh; in some distant part of her mind, she realized she'd have bruises on her skin the next day.

  'That's a cute stunt,' he growled, pulling her towards him. 'Remind me never to turn my back on you again.'

  Her eyes glared into his, and then she looked beyond his shoulder. The door to the trattoria hung open; a handful of its former occupants stood clustered in front of the building, watching the scene intently. Blair took a deep breath.

  'Do any of you speak English?' she called. 'I'll kill you, Blair .. .'

  Hunter's voice was a harsh whisper. His hands were biting into her now, and from the corner of her eye she saw the ugly expression on his face. But what was there to lose? One way or another, it would all end soon. He'd ask for ransom, and Oscar Desmond would refuse to pay it and it would all be over. Hunter would have a useless hostage on his hands. And he'd be frustrated and angry ...

  'Please, does anybody understand me?' she cried. 'This man-this man is .. .'

  'Damn you to hell, Blair!'

  He pulled her to him so roughly that she lost her balance and fell against the hard length of his body.

  Hunter's hands left her shoulders and cupped her face. Her heart thudded.

  'No, don't,' she begged, but it was too late.

  His head bent to hers as his hands held her captive, and she whimpered as his mouth covered hers. His lips were hard and punishing. She tried to speak, to call out against his mouth, and immediately she felt the thrust of his tongue. Speech was impossible. Even getting a breath was out of the question. She tried to twist away from him, but he held her fast, his hands steadying her head, his body taking the full weight of hers. Tears filled her eyes. She wanted to hit him, to scratch him, to bite him-but all she could do was let him kiss her, not that this was a real kiss, she thought wildly. He was forcing her to submit to the touch of his mouth, forcing her to submit to the hard caress of his body. And yet ... and yet. ..

  Oh, God, it was happening again! There was a slow, hot fire spreading in her loins, licking its w
ay along every nerve and muscle. No, thought Blair, no, please! But her lips were softening beneath his. And her legs were trembling. She was ... she was melting, melting ...

  Hunter pushed her from him. Her eyes opened slowly, the thick lashes damp with tears.

  'Jesus!' he said softly.

  Her face lifted to his, and humiliation flooded through her as she looked at him. He was looking at her as if they were alone. The pewter flatness in his eyes had been replaced by a luminous silver flame. Blair shuddered as Hunter's glance travelled over her slowly, moving from her wide eyes to her slightly swollen mouth.