God, if she'd thought her hands were shaking before!
She could identify him now, and with or without his mask, he was the phantom assailant of every woman's nightmares, the brutal street tough you'd least want to meet in a dark alley. He looked frighteningly jaded, yet wildly attractive. His hair was black, his features harsh, but his face was so beautifully shaded with secrets, it was all she could do not to ask him how many people he had actually murdered.
His blue-black eyes had tiny, glinting diamonds at their center. But it was his voice that had awakened her to his inner state of mind. He spoke in a monotone that was low and burnt out, as dead to life as the hostile terrain that stretched before them. It had made her think of the desert, a wilderness with everything of value scorched out of it, with nothing left but the ashes.
Her theory about two kinds of men had been shortsighted where he was concerned. She saw that immediately. This one was in another category altogether, the quiet-but-deadly type that exists on the outlaw fringes of civilization. She'd come across the term in a magazine article about movie villains, and it fit her kidnapper to perfection. He looked capable of killing, of sex with the dead... of anything.
Her heart was racing as fast as her thoughts, but she refused to let it rattle her this time. When she was anxious or just needed to think, she often found herself clicking her fingernails against her teeth. It was an irritating, nervous habit at best, and she resisted the impulse now, although it was a powerful one. Instead, she calmed herself with a couple of deep breaths and some mental tough talk.
She was forgetting what was at stake. Deadly or not, his looks weren't relevant. He'd released her from her bonds, and he must want the money or he wouldn't have taken the job. Therefore, he wasn't going to kill her and feed her to the vultures. And she was going to get through this, because everything she'd ever wanted was hanging in the balance—her independence from the Featherstones, a chance at the respect she'd long been denied.
There were only a very few people in Gus's life who had penetrated her formidable emotional barriers. One of them was her deceased stepsister, Jillian, and another was Bridget, Jillian's child, the five-year-old to whom Gus had become reluctantly and hopelessly attached. What Gus wanted as much as her own independence was the chance to pay tribute to Jillian, and more important, create a legacy for Bridget.
Yes, she thought, almost sadly. It was important, this pipedream of hers. It might be the most important thing she had ever done in her life.
The kidnapper hit the brakes and wheeled the van onto a road that headed straight into the hills. Gus propped her hand against the door, jolted out of her thoughts and acutely aware of the pain just below her breast. Once he'd straightened the car out, she delved under the coat and discovered that one of the bones of her bikini bra top was digging into her rib cage.
A quick adjustment brought some relief, along with the realization that if she could get the raincoat on her body instead of over it, she would feel much more protected. With a glance at him, she began to try to work her way into the huge thing without uncovering herself.
She was still engaged in rearranging herself moments later when she realized that he was watching her. If her heart fluttered and froze for a moment, it was a completely wasted response. She'd thought he might be getting ideas. Foolish of her. She'd even thought she might be arousing his prurient interest. After all, she had aroused lots of that in her time. Even more foolish of her. His reaction was another one of those not-if-you-were-the-last-woman-on-earth looks. And that was the most that could be said for it.
Insulted, she jerked the coat off and wrestled her way into it, not giving a damn what he saw. Once she had the voluminous thing on, she belted it loosely and sat back with a sniff. The damn bra top stabbed her again, but she was too annoyed to care. Apparently Mr. Quiet-but-Deadly reacted to nothing but death threats. She could have stripped down to the buff and finished painting her toenails right in front of him and he wouldn't have blinked an eye.
Something told her she ought to be grateful for that.
Something else told her she wasn't going to be.
"Our Gus, kidnapped?" Lily Featherstone clutched the neckline of her white satin kimono together and clapped a hand over her mouth in astonishment. Her stepsister had been kidnapped? Before she could stop herself, she was gasping with laughter, which was very unlike her.
"Frances—" She addressed the housekeeper with the same incredulity as she would have had Ed McMahon been standing on her doorstep, handing her a sweepstakes check. "You can't be serious! Who would ever be crazy enough to kidnap Gus? Give the poor, deluded soul a day or two, and he'll be giving us money to take her back. "
"She's been kidnapped, all right, " Frances Brightly snapped, clearly displeased at having her news so rudely received.
The Featherstones's housekeeper was a thick, dour woman who could not have looked more out of place in the delicate white environs of Lily's spacious bedroom suite, especially this morning. Sunlight poured through the terrace doors, flooding the alcove that housed Lily's writing desk, a walnut secretary, and drenching the pansies that adorned the desktop. Shimmering in jeweled tones of blue and purple and potted in tiny silver timbales, the flowers were a passion of Lily's.
"Happened about an hour ago, " Frances was saying. "I found one of those idiot security guards out by the pool when I got here. Says he was hit by a tranquilizer dart and knocked unconscious. Says some masked guy took Gus right off the back terrace by the pool. "
"Does Lake know about this?" Lily glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was eleven-thirty and her twin brother always breakfasted at the club on Tuesdays.
"Mr. Featherstone's on his way home, and I don't think he's going to be pleased when he gets here. " Frances looked a little smug now, apparently taking some enjoyment in relaying the bad news. "The guard had already notified the police by the time I arrived. Nothing I could do to stop him. They're out there now, waiting to speak to you. "
Lily was no longer amused. "The police?" She knew her brother would not be pleased. The mansion's small security force had strict orders never to involve law enforcement without Lake's okay. There were many reasons, including the problem of leaks to the press, who fed on the misfortunes of others and particularly prominent families like the Featherstones.
"Surprised you didn't hear anything, " Frances said, taking careful measure of Lily's attire. "Doesn't look like you've been out. "
Lily had taken a potent sleeping pill the night before and hadn't heard anything until Frances's frantic knocking woke her. She'd quickly put on a robe, smoothed her hair, and pretended that she'd been catching up on her correspondence without having bothered to dress. It was no one's business but hers if she occasionally relied on pharmaceuticals to take the edge off. It certainly wasn't a habit, and she didn't want Frances fussing at her.
"Couldn't we put the police off until Lake arrives?" Lily wasn't at all comfortable having to ask for such a favor, mostly because she knew Frances would want to glory in her newfound power a bit before she took the moral low road. "You could make some excuse for me, couldn't you?"
"Lie to the police?" The housekeeper buried her hands in the pockets of her beige bouclé sweater and put her frown muscles to good use, clearly determined to prolong the agony. "I suppose I could tell them you were ill. "
"Yes, do that. " By now Lily was troubled enough to feel almost ill, but it wasn't out of any concern for Gus's welfare. She'd meant every word she'd said about her stepsister, and she wasn't at all certain that this wasn't another of Gus's stunts. If the Pope had been locked in a room with Augusta Featherstone for more than fifteen minutes, he would have come out of it requiring restraints and a bib for the drool. Gus could take care of herself. Frances was the object of Lily's concern at the moment.
Despite her last name, Frances did nothing brightly. The housekeeper was known for her efficiency, if not her placid temperament. A large, stoic woman with lank, graying hair that
she washed daily with hand soap and bludgeoned into a thin braid, Frances ran the household with a grim countenance and an iron hand. Lily suspected the family had kept the unpleasant woman on all these years because there was no one brave enough to fire her.
Even now her expression was so sour, Lily had to mentally discipline herself not to apologize. There was little Frances didn't disapprove of, including traipsing around in one's bathrobe at all hours of the morning. Lily had to subdue a smile as she imagined the housekeeper's reeling shock should she ever discover the truth about Lily Featherstone—not the world-class fundraiser and member of the Junior Philharmonic and Junior League—the "other" Lily.
"Thank you, Frances, " she said, pleased at how composed she sounded. "If you would just tell whoever wants to speak to me that I'm not well, I'd appreciate it. Explain that it will take me some time to get ready, and then let me know when Lake arrives. "
As if in need of further incentives, Frances walked to a laundry basket of Lily's underwear that the housekeeper had hand-washed and left on the dresser the day before. "I don't suppose you've decided about my vacation yet?" She opened a lavender-scented drawer and fussily loaded a pile of white silk panties into it. "I asked for the first two weeks in November, in case you'd forgotten... with pay. "
Interesting that the woman balked at white lies but not blackmail, Lily thought. "That's all right, Frances, " she said, her voice sharpening. "I'll finish the folding. Please do as I asked, would you? And then start lunch? Something light?"
"Lunch?" Frances harumphed. "For how many? This place is crawling with uniforms. Besides, who's going to have an appetite after this mess?"
"Very well then... I'm sure you're right. "
"My sister and I were going to take a cruise. " Another stack of silk panties floated from the basket to the drawer. "Never done that before. "
"Oh, all right, take the cruise!" Lily would have agreed to anything at this point. She was that anxious to have the housekeeper out of her room. "November just happens to be the opening of the fall art season in London, but Lake and I will plan around you. "
As Frances shut the door behind her, Lily let out a pressured sigh and released the satin material she'd been clutching together. There was a mark on her breast, just a faint thing, really, but the shape of it was telling. Frances, with her eagle eye, would undoubtedly have recognized the purplish circle as teeth marks.
Lily touched herself there now, caressingly, and felt her fingers begin to shake. Her whole body was instantly aroused, clutching and aching as if lightning had struck her. God, how could this be happening to her? How had she let herself be reduced to this state of wanton need? She almost didn't want to look in the mirror. It was too painful to see the naked hunger flaring in her gray-green eyes, making them bright with desperation.
She walked to the laundry basket and inhaled the heavy sweetness of lavender as if it could soothe her, but she barely had the control to pick out which panties she would wear. It was frightening that the police were waiting for her, that her stepsister had just been taken at gunpoint, yet all she could think about was him, what he did to her. Even now, as her thoughts returned to the possibility that Gus had been kidnapped, her concern was with how all the turmoil might affect her own situation more than anything else.
Gus was the droplet of rancid oil floating on the crystalline surface of the Featherstone family waters. She had been an embarrassing blight on their existence ever since her disgustingly trashy mother seduced Lake and Lily's father and bludgeoned her way into their lives.
Honestly, Lily thought, threading the lacy white border of a pair of silk panties through her fingers, they might be better off to refuse to deal with this kidnapper, whoever he was, and let him dispose of her in whatever way he chose.
Moments later, deep in thought and still caressing the panties, she heard someone enter the room and come up behind her.
"Oh, it's you, " she said, glancing over her shoulder. Her voice trailed off on the flutter of her indrawn breath. He never failed to throw her into chaos, this man. He never failed.
"Did you see the police?" she asked. "Did they tell you what happened to Gus?"
"I could hardly avoid them. They said she was kidnapped, and that you were here when it happened. "
With considerable reluctance Lily closed the lingerie drawer and turned to him. She was quaking inwardly, and it would be dangerous to let him know the devastating effect he had on her. He would take advantage, she had no doubt of that. He had done it before, and she had already learned to her horror that it was nearly impossible to maintain control with him.
At his urging she gave him a brief account of what she knew of the kidnapping, which was almost nothing, but even before she was done, it was obvious that he didn't believe her.
He walked to the sunny alcove where her writing desk was located and stared out at the hazy blue sky and the lion-brown foothills in the distance. From Lily's angle he looked breathtakingly masculine silhouetted by the brightness, but then she was clearly biased.
"You didn't have anything to do with this, did you, Lily?"
"No, of course not, " she said, stung that he should think she would be involved in something as sordid as kidnapping her own stepsister. Not that she hadn't wanted to run the woman over with a truck on occasion. "I was asleep, and no one else was here when it happened, just as I told you. "
The episode had thrown him into a strange mood, Lily realized, though she couldn't imagine that he was any more concerned about Gus than she was. Unfortunately, it seemed that she was going to bear the brunt of his temper. She was learning that he couldn't slough off his emotions. He had to share the misery, to inflict pain if he himself was feeling it.
"What is it?" she asked soothingly. "Surely you're not worried about this situation with Gus. Even if there really were a kidnapping, whoever took her isn't likely to harm her. He just wants money. "
"Money's not the problem. It's publicity. The media's sure to go crazy. "
"That's true, but you know how the press is. They'll be bored with it in a week and on to something else. " It wasn't going to work, she knew. She was only forestalling the inevitable.
"This place will be a three-ring circus, " he persisted.
"Can I fix you a drink?" She kept decanters of Scotch and cognac on the console table by the doors, along with her own favorite, Manzanilla, a pale, very dry Spanish sherry.
He was clearly offended. "I never drink at this time of day. You know that. "
Lily walked to the decanters anyway, thinking that she might have a glass of sherry, just enough to stop the shaking. She knew what was coming. He would not be mollified, and every attempt she made would only offend him more, until finally he felt justified in taking his anger out on her. What would the punishment be this time? she wondered.
"Why aren't you dressed?" he asked, a trace of disdain edging his voice as he looked her over. "What kind of woman walks around like that, her robe hanging open, still not dressed at eleven in the morning?"
A tramp, Lily thought, wanting to laugh hysterically. A tramp whose conscience won't let her sleep for the sickening guilt she feels and whose libido has gone stark raving mad. But if I am a tramp— Her breath shook with the need to turn and fling the words at him. If I am a tramp, it's because of you.
She could hear him coming up behind her, and she drew back her hand and pressed it to her stomach. He wouldn't approve of her drinking. It would only anger him more. Everything she did angered him and brought censure. But one day, she vowed silently, one day he would suffer and quake the way she did. She hardly dared believe it could ever happen, but however desperate the fantasy, it gave her something to cling to, a thread.
He was silent behind her, but the connection between them was so intense, she could hear him, smell him, feel him. He might as well have controlled the switches that fed stimulation to her nervous system, that was how tuned in she was to him, how helpless to stop what was happening.
"I have to get dressed, " she said. "The police want to speak to me. "
"The police can have their turn, Lily... when I'm through with you. " His voice broke slightly on her name, giving her the perverse pleasure of knowing that she had affected him, too. Something quivered and stung her jaw. The sensation brought tears to her eyes.
"Why do you do this?" he asked her. "You know how I hate it when you act this way. You know very well and still you do it. Why?"
"I haven't done anything, " she said.
"Don't be insolent. You'll force me to—"
She swung around, her voice going thready as she faced him. "Force you to what?" Her pulse had quickened to the point of dizzying confusion. She wasn't afraid that he would hit her. He'd never done anything like that before, but clearly they were on the brink of something new and frightening, something beyond the mutual provocation they'd indulged in up to now.
He touched the mark above her breast and his hand trembled so violently he had to draw it back. "God, but you're a slut, " he said. "Look at you. "
"Yes, I am... for you."
"Would you do anything I asked?"
"Yes, anything." She was on the brink of tears again, quaking. She had no control with him. None.
"Good... that's good." He stepped away from her, his voice flaring with dark excitement. "I want you to go down and talk to the police just the way you are, looking like that. "
"In my robe?" No!
"Yes, I want them to see you this way, to see what kind of woman you are, Lily, what a beautiful, beautiful tramp. "
Lily's hands fell to her sides as he drew her robe together and tied it for her, loosely, so that the neckline gapped a bit, drawing the eye to her pale flesh, to her weak, shuddering flesh. She couldn't have done it herself. She was barely able to control the wildness within her. She was barely able to stand.
Chapter 3
Blush Page 3
