Blush

by Suzanne Forster

  Blush by Suzanne Forster

  She was raised in a world of wealth and privilege. But that wasn't enough for Augusta Featherstone. It would take more than her family's trust fund to earn the freedom and respect she longed for so passionately. Her beauty could turn a man's head. Her bank account could raise a man's temperature. But how much would she pay for the one thing money couldn't buy?

  She would risk anything. Her plan was outrageous, but she was desperate-desperate enough to arrange her own abduction. How could she have known the wrong man would appear, a man with his own dangerous agenda? A man who held her fate in his hands. He had the powder to destroy her, set her free — or teach her the meaning of love.

  What he needed now, what he craved from Gus Feather-stone was her inner warmth, her female essence. He wanted to know her baby soft skin, her mysterious heat, the curve of her body, the crazy grace of her heart. He hungered for the taste of lips that stumbled over words and sometimes couldn't get them out right.... But if he let himself have all of that, or any of it, he might never be able to go back to what he had now, which was nothing. If he had a taste, he would remember what he was missing.

  He would die from starvation.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him, clearly curious about his intentions. He was down to two choices. He could walk out now and pay the price of denying himself. Or he could stay and get to know the real Gus Featherstone.... Either way he would pay.

  The pipes rattled above them, and water danced on her shuddering body... her beautiful, naked, shuddering body. Just looking at her made him want to tear the place apart.

  Hell, she was making up the rules as she went.

  He would, too.

  BLUSH

  A Berkley Book

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley edition / February 1996

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1996 by Suzanne Forster.

  The Berkley Publishing Group

  200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

  ISBN: 0-425-15188-3

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Chapter 1

  An enormous. 357 Magnum, aimed point-blank between her eyes—that was Gus Featherstone's first clue that something had gone awry with her plans. The second was the black ski mask the gunman wore and the terrifying glint in his dark eyes. Apparently she should have been more specific when she arranged to have herself kidnapped.

  As it happened she'd been curled up on the chaise lounge by the pool, painting her toenails a rather rude shade of pink, when he'd crept up behind her. He must have crept because she hadn't heard a thing, not a hush and squeak of his shoe soles, not even the granular scrape of loose bricks as he crossed the terrace floor. And now the damn sun was so bright, she couldn't even make out the outline of his features. He was nothing more than a gigantic black amoeba against a sizzling white summer sky.

  "I can't possibly do this today, " she told him, wishing her hands weren't occupied so that she could shade her eyes. It really was exasperating trying to talk to someone you couldn't see. "I'm signing a spokesmodel contract with American Naturals Cosmetics. You have heard of American Naturals, haven't you?"

  His silence baffled her. If this was Tuesday, then she most assuredly had a luncheon meeting with the company chairman, the CEO, and the legal flacks to finalize her contract. They were having lunch at Citrus on Melrose. She couldn't have confused something that important, which meant the gunman must have his days turned around. The abduction was scheduled for Friday.

  She started to tell him that, and then it dawned on her what the problem was. No, dawned didn't begin to do the insight justice. Reality reached out, plucked her up like a child's toy and shook her silly. The kidnapper—this ominous creature in black, from his ski mask to his jumpsuit to his crepe-soled commando boots—had no idea that all of this was a ploy. He hadn't been told anything except where to take her once he'd kidnapped her and how much he'd be paid. He'd either confused the days or intentionally changed the plans, thinking to gain some advantage, and she couldn't inform him of his error without blowing months of preparation and perhaps her entire future.

  "Get up, " he told her.

  The rasped command startled Gus with a strange little thrill. Heavens, the man sounded as if he could grind glass with his teeth.

  "Could you hold on just a minute?" She held up the bottle of nail polish and waggled it at him. "I need to screw the top back on. " The obscene black thing he was holding to her face made her a little giddy, honestly. It reminded her of a microphone, and she wondered what he would do if she broke out in song. Clearly she'd inhaled too much toluene. Over the years the ritual acts of manicuring and pedicuring had turned her into the equivalent of a nail polish junkie. She'd actually come to love the smell of the stuff, but who knew what it was doing to her gray cells.

  "Move!" he ordered. "Now."

  "Well, okay, but my toes aren't dry yet. " She pretended to be having trouble with the polish top, which in fact, she was, although the man's surliness was beginning to unsettle her. Rob Emory, her fiancé, had made all the arrangements for the kidnapping through some clandestine underground network. He was also her manager, and since he handled other talent besides Gus, she'd wanted him to hire an actor for the job. He'd insisted the kidnapping had to look real, that the media, the law, even her family, would never believe it otherwise, and a publicity-mad actor couldn't be trusted to keep quiet about something like that. All the contracts had been made anonymously, apparently for the protection of everyone involved, much like contract killings were arranged, she imagined.

  But she couldn't tell this man any of that.

  The sun's brightness brought tears to her eyes. She looked away, heedless of the gun, and saw his reflection in the swimming pool. A blaze of darkness, he flared across the surface of the water like the hooded executioner of a medieval inquisition. A bright corona surrounded him, and the effect was one of a solar eclipse, but the pool's slow ripples distorted his seemingly huge frame, lending movement and fluidity to its sinister strength.

  He was more than she'd expected, more than she could ever have imagined. More primitive, more terrifying, more everything. She told herself it was his macabre appearance. She could even see details, and his clothing mystified her. The ski mask was bad enough. She simply couldn't get over the fact that he was dressed in the zipper-front jumpsuit of an auto mechanic, or a fighter pilot... or a Mafia hitman.

  A blotch of shocking pink splashed her golden brown skin.

  Rob had hired a real killer.

  Her fiancé had inadvertently employed a hired gun!

  "Get rid of that stuff. " The Magnum twitched menacingly, indicating the polish.

  Gus's pulse beat went liquid and swerved to a steeper pitch. Very carefully she settled the nail polish brush back into its shocking-pink well and screwed the cap on tight, giving it an extra twist. She should have stayed on top of this and insisted on certain precautionary measures instead of yielding to Rob, who openly admitted to having seen every Rambo movie twice. If she'd been seeking the services of a kidnapper, she would very specifically have said no assassins, no wet work. She would have made that clear. Why hadn't Rob?

  When she looked up next, her vision had adjusted to the light. She could see him now, but it might have been better if she couldn't. Because of his camouflage, the only visible feature was his eyes, which gleamed like those of a dead animal in a lightning storm.

  "The gun isn't necessary, " she tried to assure him. "Really, it isn't. "

  "Get up, " he snarled. "Get the fuck up!"

  She jumped like a startled cat, then rose warily. He was taking this job very seriously. She was still clutching the bottle of nail polish, but she'd also surreptitiously snatched up a tiny pair of ma
nicure scissors that had been hidden under her leg.

  She dropped the polish to distract him, and as it clattered across the bricks, she closed her hand over the scissors, concealing them. She had no other choice. The thong bikini she was wearing didn't have enough material to conceal anything, including most of her.

  "Turn around. " He issued the command as if he were pulverizing something under his shoe.

  His hostility made Gus wonder if he knew of her reputation. The media loved to make her out as difficult, citing the Featherstone family wealth as if it were all the proof required. In the early stages of her career, they'd stuck her with labels like "beautiful brat" and "trust fund baby. " Ironically the only trust money she ever saw was a meager monthly allowance, which was the primary reason she'd gone into modeling. And if she had been a smidge detail-oriented where her career was concerned, she was at a loss to understand why that should be held against her. She'd always considered herself to be among the most reasonable of women, even in a crisis.

  "Couldn't we talk about this?" she asked him.

  He kicked the bottle of polish into the pool, whipped her around so suddenly she lost her balance, and pressed the gun barrel between her naked shoulder blades. Fortunately her closed fist escaped his attention as he drew her hands behind her back and looped her wrists with black electrician's tape.

  "Apparently not, " she observed.

  "One more word, " he warned through clenched teeth, "and you'll be sucking cement off the bottom of the pool. " The gun barrel dug into her back, forcing her forward. "Ouch!" she cried.

  Two sharp clicks told her a bullet had been chambered.

  "That wasn't a word, " she explained frantically. "It was a cry of pain!"

  Another push caught her off-guard. She fought to keep her balance on the uneven bricks, but with her hands tied behind her it was impossible. She lurched helplessly, stumbled and fell to the rough surface, landing hard on her knees. He might as well have shot her for her reaction. Pain popped and streaked like burning bullets, unleashing both her legendary temper and her tongue.

  "Look what you've done!" She reared back and gasped at the oozing lacerations. "Now I've skinned my knees, and I've got a photo shoot tomorrow. For depilatory cream!"

  Gus was only getting started, but the tirade died in her throat as she twisted around to glare at him. One of the security team who guarded the Featherstone estate had entered the pool area and he was coming up behind the kidnapper. He must have been hired recently by her stepbrother, Lake, because Gus had never seen the man before. A huge, hulking brute, armed with an automatic weapon, he looked positively lethal.

  "I've got an M-16, " the guard snarled. "Drop the gun, turn slowly, and kick it to me. Move, you sick bastard!"

  There was a crackle of light in the kidnapper's eyes that terrified Gus. The dead animal had come to life. All of the malevolence in him seemed to come through his eyes as he lifted his ominous black head and silenced her with a savage glare. She couldn't imagine what he was going to do, but her adrenaline was geysering like shaken champagne, and she was riveted.

  "Go inside, ma'am, " the guard warned. "Do it now. "

  But Gus didn't move from the terrace or from her knees. She watched with the same horrified fascination a child would who watches two dogs suddenly turn vicious and attack each other. The kidnapper didn't respond for several seconds, and then, to Gus's complete surprise, he did just as the guard ordered.

  He dropped his gun to the bricks, turned, and kicked it hard. As the weapon skipped across the terrace, Gus wondered why it didn't go off. The kidnapper's shoulders had slumped in an attitude of defeat, and she was caught somewhere between relief, disappointment, and disbelief. He hadn't struck her as a man who would give up so easily. He hadn't struck her as a man who could ever give up.

  The guard scooped up the gun, all the while watching the kidnapper. A grin wreathed his fleshy face as he rose, the M-16 still trained on his target. He moved to tuck the Magnum in the waistband of his uniform, but something made him hesitate. The gun gleamed in his grip. He scrutinized it and froze. Horror replaced his grin as the weapon exploded with a blinding flash.

  Both weapons clattered to the ground as he reared backward, gripping his fist. A guttural howl ripped from his throat. The kidnapper flew at him, a blinding flash of movement as he aimed a kick at the guard's midsection. The bulky man was lifted several feet off the ground. The next kick caught him under the chin and sent him careening backward into a potted palm.

  He hit with an impact that cracked the massive pot in two, and then he sprawled to the ground, unconscious.

  The sudden eruption of violence had locked Gus in place and left her shaking, but she hadn't moved from her knees through the whole thing. She thought about screaming as the kidnapper scooped up the M-16 and whirled on her, but that's all it was, a thought. No sound could make it through the vise grip of her throat. He slung the weapon's strap over his shoulder and strode to where she was crouched. With one hand he lifted her to her feet and spun her around. His strength was frightening.

  "I have an ap-appointment, " she whispered hopelessly.

  His arm roped her midriff and she was hauled up against a wall of solid muscle. A hot jet of air burned the back of her neck. "You don't get it, do you, " he grated. "Your appointment's been canceled. I'm taking you on a little trip. "

  Gus could feel the act of violence still humming through the man's body, and the raw, animalistic power of it startled her into silence. He was hot and vibrant, breathing with brute force. She'd never experienced anything quite like it, but she had no doubt that he could snap her in two with a flex of his arm if he wanted to. To her profound dismay, she began to tremble. Her own body's natural reaction to the threat of violence was to go limp and shivery. It made her think of the dominance rituals in animals, beta yielding to alpha's superior show of strength. But this wasn't the jungle, and she had to keep her wits about her, or the months of planning that had gone into this kidnapping scheme would be lost. Everything would be lost.

  She'd always believed that people were too quick to confuse destiny with bad management, and as far as she was concerned, this mess was just one more example of the latter. Clearly there were certain contingencies she and Rob hadn't planned for, like the brute behind her, but what choice did she have other than to cooperate and get the ordeal over with? Once the kidnapper had taken her to the prearranged destination, it would only require a day or so to accomplish what she wanted and then she'd be free. It was the only sensible option.

  "How little's this trip?" she wanted to know. "If we're going to be gone overnight, I'd like to pack a bag. "

  "Don't make me kill you, " he warned in an evil whisper. "I'd like that. "

  "Of course you would, " she said under her breath. "Killing women is probably your favorite hobby, after molesting small boys. "

  He pressed closer, crowding her backside with the heat of his groin. "Killing women is my favorite hobby. The only thing I like better is having sex with them once they're dead. "

  Gus quelled a sound of disgust. He was trying to frighten her! He wasn't going to kill her. He couldn't, not if he wanted to be paid for his trouble. But even so, he was dangerously caught up in this kidnapping thing. Dangerously. If only she could tell him that this was a ploy rather than an actual operation, simply a means to an end.

  A flash of light from behind brought her head up. It was a moment before she realized what was happening, and then she saw the guard's reflection in the glass of the terrace doors. The man had reared to his feet, a glinting object in his hand.

  "He's got a knife!" she cried, stumbling forward. Her wrists strained against the electrician's tape as she fought to keep her balance. The kidnapper had released her, but by the time she got herself turned around, she saw that it was already too late. There was no way to stop the nightmare that was unfolding before her eyes.

  The guard lurched toward the kidnapper, brandishing a pair of pruning sheers. "You're dead
!" he snarled.

  "I don't think so," the other man said softly.

  Gus held her breath, expecting the kidnapper to spring into action. Instead, with the icy deliberation of an assassin, he drew a gun from the cargo pocket of his jumpsuit, released what looked like a safety and took deadly aim.

  "Not today, anyway, " he breathed. His hand kicked slightly up as the gun fired.

  "No!" Gus sank to the ground in a huddle. "Oh, God, no!"

  The guard reeled backward in shock, caught his hand to his chest, and dropped. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, still clutching the shears.

  Gus closed her eyes and began to rock, unable to help herself. This couldn't 't be happening. It couldn't 't be. She had only meant to jolt the family trust officer out of his blind devotion to the status quo, to force Ward McHenry's hand, not that anyone would be hurt. Never that.

  She heard the kidnapper telling her to get up, but she couldn't. The horror that gripped her had robbed her of all control. Her disbelief was so great she forced herself to open her eyes and look at what she'd seen, certain she must have hallucinated it. But she hadn't. The guard was sprawled on his side not twenty feet from her. The shears lay next to his hand.

  "You k-killed him, " she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from the fallen man. "He's dead!"

  The kidnapper stowed the gun in the pocket of his jumpsuit and came for her. "He'll get over it. "

  "Get over being d-dead?" She stared up at him, horrified, and saw something change in his expression. For a second, unless she was so desperate she imagined it, she saw a flicker of humanity in his eyes, a whisper of something alive. Hope surged in her throat and a terrible weakness enveloped her.

  "Please, " she implored him, "don't do this. Please—"

  "Come on. "

  He reached for her, but she shrank away. "No!"

  "Come on, " he repeated, something husky breathing into his tone, perhaps even a trace of concern. He lifted her to her feet, but with far less force then he'd used before. Gus wondered if he might actually be trying to reassure her, and her heart squeezed painfully. But the wild hope that had risen within her died as he turned her away from him.