Hostage Heart

by Renee Roszel

  With great good humor, they accepted, drinking thirstily. Then, making certain that she was well enough to be left alone, they set off again for Oberammergau with eight friendly waves and a lusty song.

  DREW sat down on the edge of her bed after assuring herself one final time that all of the doors and windows were securely locked.

  At this point, she wouldn’t put anything past Jim, but she hoped that his painful defeat that afternoon might have ended or at least dampened his desire for revenge.

  Sliding the white lace of her nightgown above her knee, she checked the scraped area. It was a bit stiff, but not serious. Neither was the bruise on her calf or the small cut along her cheek.

  All in all, she had come away from the near-disaster relatively unscathed. And for her rescue, she thanked providence and the German people’s love for hiking.

  Reaching for the bedside lamp, she scanned the room once more before she lay down.

  Two of her bags lay opened, clothes neatly folded in them. Departure time was scheduled for 2:00 P.M. in Munich. The trip there would require over an hour by autobahn. So she decided it would be best to get her things in order now. Besides, there was nothing else to do locked in her self-styled prison.

  She could have joined her father and the other delegates at an authentic Bavarian beer festival in town. It was a special festival given by the people of Oberammergau honoring their new friends of the world’s scientific community. But she felt far from festive, and declined the invitation, fabricating the tale that Rolf would be calling, and that she didn’t want to be away.

  Her father accepted the story as delightedly as a child accepts the idea of Santa Claus, leaving her to herself.

  In truth, she didn’t dare go anywhere that Jim might be able to get his hands on her again. No, it was much safer to remain locked in the chalet until time to fly back to the United States.

  Flipping off the lamp, she slipped beneath the cool sheets, and was surprised to realize the degree of tension she was still feeling, even in the security of the locked house.

  Unable to close her eyes, she lay there on her side, staring at the glass door of the balcony, back-lit by the bright moon.

  Distant music of the oom-pa-pa band wafted up from the festival. She tried to concentrate on a mental picture of the friendly native folk in brightly colored Bavarian dress, the women in fluffy peasant blouses, full petticoated skirts and ruffled aprons; and the men in traditional short leather pants, knee-socks, and small-brimmed hats decorated with a tall feather.

  Eventually concentration became less necessary and drowsiness set in. Heavy lids succumbed at last.

  INSTANTLY awake, panic flooded Drew’s senses as she realized there was a hand over her mouth, stifling her scream.

  Grasping a muscled wrist with both hands, she tried to pull the hand away. It wouldn’t budge. Attempts to kick out proved fruitless, for a heavy leg, as unmovable as a tree trunk, was thrown across her, pinning her solidly to the bed.

  Her mind reeled with hopeless certainty: Jim!

  He had got in and was making good his promise of rape!

  Just then, a harsh whisper penetrated her fright-numbed mind. “Be still, Kindchen. It’s Rolf.”

  Rolf? She remained tensed, but stopped struggling, shifting her gaze as best she could with her face held immobile over toward the dark head resting near hers on the pillow.

  His eyes were narrowly opened, his expression intent, expectant. But had she been standing at his back, observing him, rather than lying practically beneath him as she was, he would have appeared relaxed in sleep. Only his alert eyes, watching her, and the hand over her mouth gave his wakefulness away.

  “There is someone on the balcony. Be still.” He breathed the words so softly that she was not absolutely sure he had said anything at all.

  But without moving her head, she squinted past him toward the balcony door, and was stunned at what she saw.

  A deep shadow moved beyond the paned glass, and the knob rattled softly as the intruder tested its lock.

  She swallowed, but her dry throat ached with the effort.

  The knob turned again, and this time there was a faint scratching sound, as if someone were tampering with the lock to make a soundless entry.

  Drew went cold with dread. What were they to do?

  Without warning, Rolf sprang to his feet, and in a loud, deep bark he shouted in German, “Zum Teufel!”

  Moving toward the door he called in a loud, angry voice, “Scheren sie sich weg!”

  Drew sat up, clutching the sheet in clenched fists to lips pinched between her teeth.

  “Rolf,” she squeaked, “please, be careful!”

  The shadow at the door bolted at the sound of Rolf’s angry shouts, and from the clattering and crashing that followed, it was obvious that the would-be intruder had made a rather uncomfortable exit over the balcony railing.

  The immediate danger past, Drew felt herself relax slightly, and she moved her eyes from where she had last seen the shadow back to Rolf. For the first time, she really looked at him.

  He stood at the door, the moonlight silvering the boundaries of his massive, silhouetted shoulders.

  Her eyes moved down, over the narrow waist, and then on to the sleekly muscled hips and thighs.

  Her sharp intake of breath at the realization that he was naked caused him to turn to face her with a quizzical frown. “Are you all right, Kindchen?’

  She abruptly jerked her eyes away, staring instead into the darkness, suddenly feeling that it was tremendously important that she locate her feet in the rumpled bed covers.

  “I. . .yes. . .but Rolf. . .”

  She didn’t face him, but held a fist toward where she knew him to be, the sheet still clutched tightly in her hand. “Maybe you’d better cover up.”

  There was a snort of humor and then the sound of his feet padding to the bedside.

  “Is that an invitation to join you, love?”

  She turned wide eyes up to him, not keeping in mind the problems involved with that soon enough. Then, eyes even wider, she whirled away. “No! No. . .” Licking dry lips, she tried to calm her voice, “No, of course not. . .I—”

  He interrupted calmly, “All right, then I’ll be going.”

  The panic rose again, “No!”

  Totally forgetting her shyness, she spun around. Rising to her knees, she flung her arms about his wide chest. “No, please, Rolf. Please don’t leave me alone.”

  For a moment she was the only one clinging, holding him, keeping them together. But only for a moment. It was not long before his arms moved to encircle her waist.

  He whispered, “You’re shaking.”

  “Don’t leave me, Rolf.” It was a soft plea that went far deeper than fear. It was a plea from her bursting heart. “Please, please stay.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry. He won’t be back. My security force has him in custody by now. That little tumble off the balcony probably saved him a bulet in his brain.”

  His voice was as soothing as his hands as they gently caressed her thinly clad back.

  “Could it have been Jim?” he asked.

  The question was not one she wanted to answer. She hedged. “He went to Munich with you, didn’t he?”

  His arms tightened about her and his lips moved softly in her hair.

  “Yes. But when I noticed he was gone late this afternoon, I came back here immediately.”

  Drew turned her face up to his and asked in whispered surprise, “You came back here because you thought Jim had left? Why?”

  His expression became a curious frown. “Why?” Dark eyes narrowing, he inclined his head, eyeing her closely. “Have you forgotten our bargain? My job is to protect you from him.”

  She mirrored his frown. “But when you left me and went to Munich, I assumed—” She paused. He was shaking his head sadly.

  Loosening his hold on her, he let out an exasperated sigh. “You assumed I was leaving you to him?”

&nbs
p; She could only nod.

  Motioning toward the edge of the bed, he asked, “May I?”

  “Uh. . .well. . .” She hadn’t said much in the way of permission. But he sat down and was pulling the sheet up to his lap. “Is this better?”

  There was an unexpected flash of white teeth. Drew was thankful for the darkness that masked the rosy color that heated her face at the reminder that Rolf was wearing no clothes.

  He leaned back against the smooth oak headboard of her small bed, casually bending his outside leg and draping an arm over it to turn more toward her. The sheet now barely covered what it was intended to cover.

  Sitting there, he looked all too much like a life-size, silver replica of a languishing Greek god. She found herself staring, fascinated, unable to draw her eyes away from his masculine beauty.

  “I’ll explain.” The words brought her head up with a jerk, and he stopped. A crooked grin momentarily flickered across his lips telling her that he knew where her eyes had been resting.

  After a painful moment of embarrassed silence, he began quietly, “I bribed Jim to go to Munich with me by telling him that I would give him an exclusive interview about my marriage and escape. Of course, I knew he couldn’t resist following me with that tempting bait.”

  Realization struck, and she finished for him, “And that way he would have to leave me alone.”

  He reached out and fingered a curl that had fallen over her moon-lit shoulder. “It was the only way I could think of, Kindchen.”

  The small smile was apologetic. “I imagine he got tired of being put off. And as I said, when I realized he was gone, I was positive he’d come back here.” He dropped the hand to rest on the bed beside her. “I’m surprised he didn’t.”

  She moved her eyes to watch his hand, fingers spread, dark against the white sheet.

  A feeling of shame engulfed her for not having told him the truth about Jim’s attack. After all, it was only fair to let him know that he had been right in his suspicions.

  But she sat silently. She wanted to forget the entire incident.

  “Drew?” He broke the lengthy silence.

  “Yes?”

  “You know, if that was Jim, he is a very sick man.” She nodded. “I know.”

  Suddenly the urge to touch him was too strong to ignore. Reaching out, she grazed his hand with her own. “Whoever it was, Rolf, thank you.”

  Her fingers came to rest lightly on his.

  “Bittesehr. You’re welcome, Kindchen.”

  The light contact her hand made with his fingers sent a surge of excitement through her body setting loose wild feelings that she did not care to ignore. Not now. Not tonight.

  “Kindchen? Are you still frightened?”

  Moving her eyes to his face, she was struck by the fineness of the bones highlighted in the vague moon’s glow.

  She ventured huskily, “Frightened? No. . .I guess. . . I’m fine.”

  For a moment he just sat, his eyes softly gleaming, moved lazily over her.

  “Good.” Somehow the word sounded regretful. “I’ll leave you to your rest then.”

  Sliding his legs to the floor, he turned away from her.

  “Wait!” She grasped his wrist.

  He paused, turning his face toward hers. Now his expression was not sympathetic as she expected it to be. Neither was it as quizzical as it could have been. The look his face held was totally unexpected. His features were grave, his eyes bleak.

  “What is it, Kindchen?” He spoke in a hoarse whisper, as though his throat had gone suddenly as parched as her own.

  “I—I don’t want you to go.”

  “Do you want me to sleep here?” He sounded doubtful.

  She chewed hard on her lower lip. “Is the thought that distasteful?”

  Her hand at his wrist was now covered by his distinctly unsteady hand. “No, of course not. But”—he paused and a shudder seemed to pass across his broad shoulders—“I can’t spend the night beside you just sleeping. I’m no saint, Drew.”

  Her heart was pounding deafeningly in her ears. She had never asked a man to make love to her before. In fact she had spent her first marriage avoiding the prospect with all her energies. And now she was at a loss at what to do.

  “Rolf?”

  He regarded her with disquieting eyes. But she kept her courage and slid closer, allowing a hip to rest lightly against his exposed thigh.

  She shyly touched his shoulder. At the contact, she realized her hand was ice cold and trembling.

  Sensing a tensing in him at her touch, she pulled away, mortified that now that she needed him so, he would be the one to resist.

  There was no help for it, though. She could not stop the words that were straining at her heart.

  They came out in a long breath. “I don’t want you to be a saint, Rolf.”

  The words, whispered through the shadows, were barely spoken when, in one fluid movement, she found herself drawn into his arms.

  His sigh held her name as tenderly as his arms took her into his embrace, and he slowly lowered her to the softness of the bed.

  Her lips parted, pliantly accepting moist kisses, kisses that were right, natural. . .made for only them to share.

  For her, this was what love should be—two contrasting elements of nature coming together, making each better, more valuable because of the other.

  She had believed, wrongly, that all men were like Jim. And she knew now that without Rolf, she had been drying up, becoming a barren, wasted shell of a woman.

  Yet, with his love he had made her new, replenished her, given life to the desert that had been in her heart, and she delighted in his touch.

  Rolf had changed, too. No longer harsh, he was often gentle, caring, and she knew, hoped, that he might finally understand, that he, too, needed her, to be complete.

  His lips were taking everything she had to give and giving it all back with generous dividends.

  Nipping softly at the corners of her mouth, parted in an unconscious smile, he murmured, “At last you come to me, a woman. . . my woman.”

  His hand moved down, fingers spread, enlivening the skin along her hip.

  “My beautiful stürmisches Fräulein,” he whispered. “You will never be sorry.”

  His hand slid beneath the lace of her gown and touched bare thigh as his lips trailed across her cheek, down, stopping to taste the quickening pulse at her throat.

  She sighed with contentment as his fingers came to know the woman’s body that he brought to life.

  A whimper of pleasure escaped her throat as he guided her with knowing gentleness to arouse her desire beyond languishing pleasure toward pulsating need.

  The gown she had been wearing disappeared somewhere in the midst of their lovemaking, and Drew became aware of the harnessed strength of his body over hers.

  His breath was warm and his breathing rapid as he rested his face between her breasts. Sliding her fingers through his hair, she pressed his face into the soft valley, loving the shudder of heightened intimacy that passed through him.

  She knew that Rolf would not satisfy himself until she was ready, until her own desire cried out for release.

  He was patient, slow. His hands and lips alone were like many lovers unselfishly giving, giving until she felt she would explode with the fiery hunger they kindled.

  Her moan of helpless need, her fingers raking along his back, told him all that he needed to know. His face was above hers, a smile glistened in his fertile eyes.

  “A woman with eyes of lightning and hair of flame can only be ice in the hands of a fool.”

  His reassurance gave her heart wings. Encircling his broad back with her arms, she arched upward to meet him, and joined. . .one. . .whole, they escaped the clutching claws of earth together.

  Chapter Twelve

  Even in her drowsy state, she knew she was being kissed, and being kissed well.

  Opening her eyes she let out a throaty laugh as teeth nipped at her shoulder.

 
; “Oh, Rolf. That tickles!”

  He lifted his head, smiling. His arms were braced on either side of her on the bed.

  “Good morning, wife.” The grin widened. “Didn’t want to leave without something sweet for breakfast.”

  She pulled up on her elbows, wide awake now, a feeling of apprehension taking hold. It overflowed into her voice. “Leave?”

  He smoothed back a strand of hair from her face. “Believe me, Drew. This is important, or I wouldn’t go.” He paused, sweeping her with a long, lazy look. “Not with the morning turning your hair to spun sunlight.”

  She relaxed, smiling shyly. “Don’t be long.”

  Bending down, he placed a light kiss on the tip of her upturned nose, saying huskily, “Don’t get up.”

  His crooked smile was so seductive that it warmed her blood with a rush of urgent desire.

  She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. “Do you have to go. . .now?”

  He took her hand in his, squeezing it. “Oh, no you don’t, you little temptress. This is really important.” Kissing her palm, he straightened. “When I get back, we’ll talk.”

  “Talk?” She teased.

  His wink was playful. “Well. . .eventually.”

  She laughed, glowing from the warmth of his eyes. Lovingly, she watched the way he moved across the room.

  Then he was gone.

  She smiled at the memory of him, of his voice, his kiss. . .then, contentedly, she turned over to wait for his return.

  THE phone ringing startled her awake. As she fumbled for it, she squinted at her watch, laying on the bedside table.

  Ten o’clock! Rolf had been gone over an hour.

  “Hello.” She fought a yawn.

  “Hi, baby. It’s Dad.”

  “Oh, Daddy. Good morning.” She turned to her back, cradling her head in one hand. Speaking more to herself than to her father she sighed, “Very good.”

  “What, dear?”

  She giggled. “Oh, nothing. Did you need anything special, or is this a wake-up call?”

  There was a pause.

  “Dad? You there?”

  “Yes.” His voice was subdued. “Listen, honey. Rolf asked me to call.”

  She had the distinct feeling that somewhere a shoe had just dropped, and she tensed for the second one to fall.