A Flood of Sweet Fire

by Sandra Marton

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE Lamborghini bounced and skidded down the mountain path with almost reckless speed, slowing only when it reached an intersection with a hard-packed ribbon of dirt that stretched dustily between green fields. Hunter glanced into the mirror and then pushed the accelerator hard. The car roared in response and charged up the road, leaving plumes of red dust swirling in the air behind it. After they'd sped around a blind curve, Blair cleared her throat.

  'Aren't you going awfully fast?'

  Hunter's lips drew back from his teeth in something that was not quite a smile. 'Yes.'

  Yes. Not 'maybe', not 'perhaps', not even 'am I?', Blair thought, stealing a glance at him. Just that one arrogant word tossed down like a gauntlet. Well, it was better than the silence in which they'd spent the last half-hour.

  Hunter had been in a silent rage ever since he'd kissed her. No, she thought, not since he'd kissed her. Get it right, Blair. He kissed you and you melted in his arms, you let him think anything was possible, and then you told him never to touch you again ...

  'Never play with me,' he'd said, and she knew what that meant. He thought Meryl Desmond was toying with him. And, as bad as that was, it wasn't as bad as the truth, and God knew, she couldn't tell him that. She couldn't tell him she was Blair Nolan, not Meryl Desmond. Even if she could, there was no way to explain what she felt when he kissed her, when he looked into her eyes, when he whispered her name.

  It was better not to try and analyze anything until she was safely out of this mess. Then she could try and make some sense out of it. Had other captives felt what she was feeling?

  He's had you for two days, Blair. Not even that. Not even thirty-six hours ...

  'Get out your dark glasses and put them on.'

  She blinked and turned towards him. 'I ... what did you say?'

  He looked at her and then back at the road. 'Put on your sunglasses,' he said. 'And keep them on until I tell you you can take them off.'

  Blair dug into her purse and pulled out her glasses.

  Meryl's glasses, she thought, slipping the oversized frames on her nose.

  'The town we're going to ... what did you say it was called?'

  'I didn't.'

  'Hunter, look, I ... I'm sorry for what happened.' 'You don't owe me any apologies, Miss Desmond.' Blair swallowed. 'I'm not apologizing,' she said carefully. 'I just ... We're both ... I mean, this is a stressful situation, and ...'

  He looked at her coldly. 'Is that right?'

  'Look, all I'm trying to do is clear the air, Hunter. I ... I'd hate to let that ... that little episode between us .. .'

  'Forget about it. I already have.'

  'Have you?' Her voice sounded unnaturally sharp, and she cleared her throat. 'Have you?' she repeated. 'Well, I'm glad to hear it, because ...'

  'It's not worth all this discussion,' he said, easing the car through a tight curve.

  'I agree,' she said quickly. 'I just wouldn't want you to get any wrong ideas. I .. .'

  He shrugged his shoulders. 'The little rich girl was out slumming,' he said calmly. 'How could I possibly get the wrong idea about something like that?'

  'That's ridiculous, Hunter!

  'Just don't use me in your fantasies any more, OK?' 'Dammit, Hunter, what's that supposed to mean? I don't .. .'

  'Yes, you do,' he said bluntly. 'I don't know exactly what's going on in that beautiful head of yours, but I don't want to be involved in it, do you understand?' Colour flooded her cheeks. 'I don't want to disappoint you but, once this is over, the only fantasies I'll have about you will be nightmares.'

  Hunter grinned mirthlessly. 'That makes two of us.

  Believe me, Miss Desmond, I've never been so damned eager to get done with a job in my life. I just hope to hell your father tells me what I want to hear.'

  Blair took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. 'Yes,' she murmured, 'so do I.'

  Suddenly, a road-a real road, she thought, peering through the windscreen-appeared in the distance. Hunter slowed the car as they approached it, although there was no sign of any other traffic. She watched as he checked his mirrors carefully. Finally, he swung on to the macadam surface.

  'OK,' he muttered, 'we'll be in Fiorello soon.' 'Fiorello? Is that where we're going?'

  'Yes. Fiorello dell a Montagna-Little Flower of the Mountain, it's called. It's small and well off the major roads.'

  'Which makes it safe to take me there.'

  Hunter nodded. 'Exactly. But it has a public telephone and a market. You can get a change of clothing, if you need it.' He glanced at her and smiled coolly.

  'Nothing you'd find on the Via Veneto, of course, but I'm afraid it's the best 1 can do.'

  'You've been to Fiorello before, then?' Blair asked, ignoring his sarcasm.

  'It's the closest town to the farmhouse,' he said.

  She was torn between the curious desire to know more about him, and the fear that he'd already told her more than it was healthy for her to know. Finally, curiosity won out.

  'Does the farmhouse belong to you?' 'Do you care?' His voice was curt. 'No,' she said stiffly, 'not in the least.'

  They rode in silence for another few minutes, and then he turned towards her again. 'Fiorello della Montagna's just down this road a couple of miles,' he said. 'Once we're there, let me do the talking. I don't expect anybody to be looking for us, but it'll be best if no one knows you're American.'

  She nodded. There was a field of sunflowers to the left, the stalks so high they rose over the car. On the other side of the narrow road, a herd of goats munched complacently on green grass and summer wildflowers. The road spiralled upwards, dipping and turning as it followed the crest of the mountain, finally curving below a group of tiled-roof buildings clustered around a cobblestoned piazza. Colourful stalls ranged around the sides and, even at a distance, Blair could hear the musical babble of voices and laughter.

  'This is it,' Hunter said, pulling the Lamborghini beneath the branches of a chestnut tree and pointing up the hill.

  'You're kidding,' Blair said softly.

  He laughed. I told you it was small, didn't I? There's a post office, and a market every week. It's the town's only claim to fame-well, that and the telephone. It counts, too, I suppose.' He swung Blair's door open and reached for her hand. 'Let's go,' he said. 'The sooner we get this over with, the better.'

  'My feeling exactly.'

  Hunter's eyes met hers and she forced herself not to look away. Finally, he nodded.

  'Yes,' he said softly, 'I'm sure it is.'

  He slammed the car door and started rapidly up the hill. 'Slow down, will you?' she said as she hurried along beside him. 'Either that, or let go of me.'

  'Nice try, Blair.'

  'Nice try?' she gasped.

  His fingers laced through hers and he drew to a halt. 'Catch your breath. I'll wait. But I'm not going to let go of you.'

  She drew a deep gulp of air. 'Don't be paranoid, Hunter. I'm not trying to get away.'

  'I'm delighted to hear it,' he said mildly.

  'Where would I go? You've got the car keys.' 'Right,' he said smugly, dropping the keys into his pocket. 'Besides,' he added, pulling out a handful of silver coins, 'with a little luck, we'll ... damn!'

  'What's wrong?'

  'I forgot the damned gettoni.' 'The what?'

  Hunter sighed. 'The gettoni. The tokens you need to use a pay phone. Haven't you ever made a call from a Public phone in Italy?'

  'No,' Blair said with complete honesty, 'I never have.' He nodded. 'I keep forgetting how the other half lives.

  You probably never stick that pretty nose out of the Desmond villa, do you?'

  'Not often,' she said carefully, praying he wouldn't ask her any questions about Rome.

  'And I'll bet you still don't know anything about the real Italy?'

  'You could say that, I guess.'

  'Yeah,' he said, 'that's what I figured. Well, the tokens aren't a problem. We can buy some at the tobacconist's
next to the post office.' Hunter looked at her doubtfully. 'Are you ready for the rest of the climb?'

  Blair drew a deep breath. 'I'd climb Mount Everest to make this phone call,' she said.

  His face darkened. 'My feelings exactly,' he snapped, and set off at an even more rapid pace.

  She fell in beside him. It took two of her steps to match one of his, but there was no sense in asking him to slow down again. Well, of course, he was eager to get the ransom call made so he could trade her for money. And that was fine. The sooner she was safely back in Rome, the better, she thought, crossing the fingers of her free hand. If only the call went well. If only Hunter's demands were reasonable. If only Oscar Desmond agreed to pay. If only ...

  'Buon giorno.'

  Blair looked down in surprise. A small boy was blocking their path, grinning at them both.

  'Buon giorno,' Hunter said. 'Come sta?'

  'Va bene,' the boy answered, and from then on Blair was lost. She looked from the child to the man, listening to the swift exchange, watching the animated expressions on both faces, knowing only by the sudden twist of Hunter's mouth and the single, unmistakably English word he uttered that he'd just learned something unpleasant.

  'What's the matter?' she whispered. Hunter shook his head and squatted beside the boy. Police? Had the child said 'police'? Her heart began to pound in her ears. He had said it, she was certain. The word sounded almost the same in English as in Italian. Rescue, she thought, but there was no joy in it, only a sudden image of Hunter and blood and pain and ...

  She bent towards him, her fingers clasping his more tightly. 'Hunter,' she whispered. 'Hunter, please listen to me'

  He looked up and frowned. 'I told you to keep still,' he said softly.

  'Yes, but ...'

  The warning glint in his eyes silenced her. She nodded and watched as he turned back to the child. There was another round of rapid Italian, and then Hunter laughed.

  'OK,' he said, and the boy stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of jingling coins. 'Highway robbery,' Hunter said, handing the child several bills and taking the coins in exchange, but he was smiling while he said it. Finally he stood and ruffled the boy's dark hair. 'Mille Grazie, mio amico,' he said. 'Ciao.'

  'Prego, the child grinned. 'Ciao, signor, signorina.'

  'Ciao, Blair said automatically, staring after him as he skipped down the hill. She looked at Hunter as they began walking again, waiting for him to say something, and finally she cleared her throat. 'Er-Hunter... didn't the boy-I thought he said something about the police.'

  'He said the tobacconist's shop was at the top of this hill, but the man who owns it was ill and the shop was closed for the day.'

  'And? What does that have to do with the police?' 'I asked the boy if someone else in town sold telephone tokens. At first he said no, but there was a police station nearby and, if we had an urgent call to make, surely they would let me use their telephone.'

  'There's a police station here?'

  Hunter shrugged. 'Not here, exactly. Just up the road.

  What's wrong with you, Blair? You're pale as a ghost.' 'I ... I just thought .. .'

  'Yeah,' he said gruffly, 'I know what you thought.

  Well, stop worrying. We'll make that call. The kid is a budding little businessman. It turned out he just happened to have a pocket full of tokens he was willing to sell for twice what they're worth.'

  Blair nodded. 'And you bought them.'

  'It's a lucky thing we met the little thief,' Hunter laughed. 'I don't know of another phone for miles, and I sure as hell don't want to involve the police. I don't trust them.' He stopped suddenly, and his eyes swept over her face. 'Damn it, Blair, you look terrible. Something is the matter. Are you ill? Is it the heat? Here, lean on me.'

  She shook her head as his arm slid around her waist. 'I'm ... I'm all right,' she murmured. 'I just ... You're an amazing man, Hunter. Isn't there anything that would stop you from making this call?'

  His eyes were expressionless. 'Is that an offer, Miss Desmond?'

  She felt a rush of heat suffuse her face. 'Of course it isn't. I just meant .. .'

  'I know what you meant,' he said in a flat, hard voice. 'And you can stop worrying. I told you I'd make the damned call and I will. With any luck at all, we can say goodbye to each other in a couple of hours.'

  Blair looked away from him. 'I certainly hope you're right,' she said stiffly.

  Minutes later, they were standing in front of an oversized telephone booth that stood in splendid isolation outside a post office that was closed for the midday meal. 'OK,' Hunter said, 'I'll place the call and talk with your old man first. Then I'll hand it over to you.' Blair nodded nervously. 'Is there ... am I supposed to say anything special?'

  He shrugged. 'It doesn't matter to me, Blair. Say whatever you feel like saying. Just don't take all day about it.'

  She nodded again. 'I understand. You're afraid they'll trace the call, right?'

  'That's not even a possibility. Your father's not a fool. . His lines are checked for taps twice a week. I just don't like the idea of being in one place too long. It makes for problems.'

  'I see,' she murmured, although she didn't. But, after all, everything she knew about ransom demands came from the movies or television. Didn't the kidnappers always warn the victim not to try and trace their calls? Oscar Desmond would know that; he wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize her safety.

  Her heart thudded as Hunter stepped into the booth and pulled her after him. During the past hours, she had come to believe that Hunter would not hurt her deliberately, but the moment of truth was at hand. Suppose all her assumptions had been wrong? Suppose Desmond refused to pay what Hunter asked? Suppose he told him his captive's true identity? Suppose ...

  The booth was larger than the ones in the States, but it was still too small to hold the two of them comfortably. No matter how she tried, it was impossible not to lean against him.

  'Why don't you let me wait outside? You can leave the door open and hold on to my hand if you don't trust me.'

  'I don't trust you at all,' he said curtly. 'Desmond told me you'd try and get away if it ever came to this, and he was right.'

  She stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. 'You mean, you talked about this with him?'

  Hunter nodded. 'Believe me, Blair, everything he said about you was true. You're harder to handle than your old man ever dreamed.'

  She shook her head as Hunter lifted the receiver. 'But…but if he knows you, he'll recognize your voice. He'll ...'

  Her words tumbled to a halt as he stepped behind her .

  His arms slid around her, one hand splaying across her hip as he drew her back firmly against him. 'Just keep quiet while I ... good. Now stand still.'

  As if she would do anything else, Blair thought, watching while he dropped the tokens into the telephone box. To move would be to court disaster. As it was, she could feel the hard length of Hunter's body pressing against hers, and the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She stole a quick glance at his face. He looked so intent, so determined. What would have happened if they'd met some other way? she wondered suddenly. At a party or a dance or ... Would he even have noticed her in a roomful of other women? Probably not, although she'd have noticed him. Hunter would stand out anywhere. Not that it mattered. He wasn't the kind of man she was ever likely to meet again. You didn't stumble across men like Hunter all that often, and to go looking for a man like him was insane ...

  She turned her face up to his. 'Hunter,' she whispered urgently, 'listen, maybe-maybe you should make this call later. Tomorrow,' she said, ignoring the pounding of her pulse, knowing that what she was saying to him represented surrender. 'Wait until tomorrow .. .'

  But he wasn't listening. The phone was pressed tightly to his ear and he was frowning. 'Quiet!' he barked. 'I can't hear a damned thing.'

  Blair touched her fingers lightly to his face. 'Hunter, listen to me, dammit,' she said. 'I won't tell anyone about y
ou. I swear I won't. You don't have to worry. I ...' 'Hello,' he said in a clear voice, and then he smiled. 'Yes, Mr Desmond, it's Rhys Hunter. Your daughter is fine. Yes, your daughter.' He laughed politely. 'I don't know why you sound so surprised, Mr Desmond. I told you she'd be safe with me. I will, I'll let you talk to her in a second. I just want to know if it's safe for me to bring her back to Rome yet.' Hunter laughed softly. 'Yeah, you were right, I've had one hell of a time keeping her in sight. She thinks this whole bodyguard thing is some kind of game.'

  The floor was tilting beneath Blair's feet. Rhys? Was her kidnapper introducing himself? The booth was hot and airless, but that was no reason to hallucinate. And she wasn't hallucinating; she was listening to one end of what seemed to be a perfectly friendly conversation. Hunter was still talking, although she was beyond being able to understand a word he said. Her mind was bouncing like a rubber ball, careening from one unlikely possibility to the next as she tried to come to grips with what had suddenly become reality. Hunter wasn't a kidnapper, he was a bodyguard! She hadn't been abducted, she'd been saved! Oscar Desmond wasn't worried about her, he was relieved she was out of danger. He was telling that to Hunter now, she could tell it from bits and pieces of what Hunter was saying. And Hunter was laughing, damn the man, saying he thought she'd had quite an experience and, yes, Blair was a handful and a half and, by the way, Desmond should have told him his daughter preferred to use her middle name and not her first and ... His daughter?