The Hostage Bride

She thrust the bottle at him ungraciously, trying to avoid the mockery in his dark eyes as she did so.

But not looking into his eyes meant she had to look somewhere and she was horrified by the way that, in spite of her struggle against it, her downbent gaze would keep sliding to the long, tanned line of his throat above the immaculate white collar of his shirt. The movement of his muscles as he tipped back his head, swallowing deeply, held her transfixed and she couldn’t force herself to look away no matter how she tried.

A heat that had nothing to do with the sun outside dried her mouth and throat until they felt like parched sand, her whole body in the grip of a fire that would take so much more than some sips of water to extinguish.

Stop it! she told herself furiously, forcing her eyes shut and screwing them tight. She had to stop thinking this way.

‘Here.’

Rico held the bottle out to her again and she almost snatched it from him. But the realisation of the way that he was observing her, made her pause again and wipe the top of the bottle with over-elaborate care that brought a scowl to his dark face.

Without thinking she gulped down all that was left in the bottle, grateful for the way that it eased the painful dryness that was tormenting her. And as she drank Rico put the car back into gear and rejoined the motorway smoothly, glancing back at her briefly as she sighed her relief.

‘Better?’

‘Much better, thank you.’

It was amazing how much difference just a drink could make. She felt completely refreshed, much more relaxed. The few moments’ pause had given her time to collect herself, gather her thoughts. In fact if she could just work out where they were heading, maybe she could outsmart this man yet.

Buoyed up by the feeling of exhilaration, she lounged back in her seat, concentrating on looking relaxed in the hope of distracting him, making him think she had switched off. Certainly, the terrible feeling of gripping panic seemed to have ebbed just a bit.

‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’ she asked airily. ‘I guess you’ve never done it before.’

‘And you, I take it, are an expert,’ Rico returned dryly, indicating again and moving out into the overtaking lane.

‘Oh, you don’t have to be an expert to know you’ve made a couple of basic mistakes. For one…’

She held up her left hand, checking the points off on her fingers as she made them.

‘You’ve let me find out too much—your name, for example. If in fact that is your real name.’

‘Perhaps I wanted you to know exactly who I am.’

That was something that hadn’t even crossed Felicity’s mind but now that it had, she was forced to consider it, to wonder just why he might want her to know who he was. It didn’t seem at all logical.

‘And you’ve let me see your face,’ she ticked off another point, trying not to let him see how much he had confused her.

‘What did you expect? That I would wear a mask and sweep you off your feet and carry you away over my shoulder? I would think that your so efficient British police might just have noticed if that had happened.’

That, Felicity had to concede, was distinctly possible. What she was having trouble with was the disturbing images flooding into her mind at the thought of being swept off her feet and into Rico’s arms. A swift, shivering glance at the strong, tanned fingers steering the powerful car with skilful ease made her shudder in uncontrollable response. Her body seemed to be growing soft and unexpectedly pliant, lolling against the soft leather almost as if she was melting in the wanton heat of her thoughts.

‘So what else have you decided I’ve done wrong?’ Rico asked. ‘What other mistakes have I made?’

Apart from the most obvious one of finding the woman he had kidnapped—a woman who was promised to someone else—shockingly attractive? he asked himself. If he had known that she was the Felicity Hamilton he had to hold hostage, wouldn’t he have had severe second thoughts about this whole thing?

‘When I think of more, I’ll let you know.’

She had no intention of telling him the latest, major mistake he had made. That of letting her sit up, wide awake and clear-eyed, in the back of the car, watching every road sign that appeared, noting every indication of the route they were taking. They must stop sometime and then, some way, no matter how, she would find a way of getting in touch with her family and letting them know just where she was.

On their right a car sped past, a young woman in the back seat glancing into the Rolls as they did so, and something about the obvious double-take she made, the expression on her face, made Felicity giggle uncontrollably.

‘What is it now?’

‘I’ve just realised what people are seeing…’

The idea seemed crazily amusing, verging on the hilarious and she hastily put up her hands to hold back another fit of the giggles.

‘I mean—what must it look like?’

She shook her head in bemusement, still grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

‘There’s you—driving off down the motorway—not a church or a chapel anywhere in sight—and me—me—here in the back, all done up in my bridal finery…’

Something about his stillness, the swift glance of those dark eyes up to the mirror to study her closely, made her heart clench on a sudden wave of panic.

What was wrong with her? This man had kidnapped her—abducted her! There was nothing to laugh at, nothing even remotely amusing, about her situation. She should be scared. She was nervous—and yet…

Another attack of the giggles threatened.

‘Thass another mishtake you’ve made. Which is one, two…

Her eyes seemed to have blurred and the finger she tried to count with kept missing the other hand completely.

‘I mean…fancy kidnapping a bride!’

The laughter stopped suddenly, changing to a wide, jaw-cracking yawn. Her eyelids felt heavy and, try as she might, she really couldn’t focus at all. The world was sliding out of balance in the most peculiar way.

‘Lie down, Felicity!’ It was a sharp command from the man in the front of the car. ‘Lie down at once—believe me, you’ll feel much better like that.’

‘Lie…’

Her eyes slid closed; her head drooped like a wilting flower, then abruptly jerked up again. Wide, dazed eyes, their pupils heavy and vastly dark, were turned on him in bitter reproach.

‘What have you done to me?’

‘Go with it, gatita. Don’t try to fight it. It will be easier for you that way.’

Don’t fight it!

Her heart was fluttering frantically like a small, trapped bird beating its wings against a cage. She tried to force her eyes open, managed it just a little but her lids were too heavy.

‘Sleep, little one.’

The low, husky voice was all that she could concentrate on. Blending in with the purr of the car’s engine, it wove a soft smoky spell around her senses.

‘Duerme…’

But she couldn’t sleep. She had to stay awake. She had to…