Carlos eyed her steadily with a scornful little smile. "Yes, I admit that that possibility strikes me as completely absurd." He stood up, black eyes arrogantly fixed on her pale face. "As completely absurd, in fact, as any notion that you and I, for instance—well, you see what I mean." He turned and left the cabin, leaving her to struggle with even more pressing tears.
Oh, I hate him! Anne thought first, furiously grabbing up a tissue from her purse to wipe her eyes. Oh, but isn't he right? she thought next. Or… is he right? He was so handsome, so incredibly dynamic. He was also a wealthy man, heir to a title. He would one day be a duke, the woman he married a duchess. How much of the sharp hunger she felt for him now was based on what he was as a person—did she really have the least idea what he was like as a person?—and how much on what she knew about his family background and money? Had he turned out to be the son of a cab driver and a seamstress, as she'd speculated there in the bar, would she have the same intense, painful interest in him now?
Trying to be as honest with herself as she could, Anne admitted that quite possibly she wouldn't. But—if that was the case, how did a man like Carlos protect himself from being exploited, from being chased by greedy, scheming women? By sticking to those in his own special sphere, of course. By socializing with those who had the same wealthy background he had. Which was precisely the point he'd made.
Yes, he's right; unfortunately, he's right, Anne decided, wiping away the last of her tears. He and I don't belong together, and quite possibly Michael and Dorrie don't either. After all, American marriages, based as they so often were on little other than a strong physical attraction, did end in divorce a heartbreakingly high number of times. Therefore, Carlos had every right to do as he was doing, to try to persuade his sister to return home and avoid what could very likely prove to be an extremely costly mistake. Okay, Carlos, you win, Anne thought wearily, you win.
She had regained complete control of herself by the time Carlos reentered the cabin, carrying a tray with two plates of sandwiches.
"I decided I was hungry after all," he announced in a coolly distant voice, "so I went to have a look and found the makings for tuna fish sandwiches. I made one for you too, if you want it. If not, no matter." He placed their plates on the table and slid the tray to the floor. Reseating himself without looking at her, he picked up his sandwich.
After a moment, sighing, Anne decided that she too was hungry. With a murmured, "Thank you," she began to eat.
They munched away in an unfriendly silence, Anne doing her best to forget her companion's presence. She felt a sharp sadness well up in her, and suddenly found herself remembering times when, as a small child walking by her mother's side through large department stores, she had been told sternly that she could look but not touch. She smiled wryly to herself, realizing she felt that same hungry yearning now that she'd felt then, the need to touch and stroke and hold in her arms the marvelous things she saw. But… she couldn't then and she couldn't now. She'd been born into a poor family, and when they'd gone shopping, her mother had always been fearful that her children might damage expensive merchandise for which she'd be forced to pay. There had never been enough money to buy her the things she craved as a child, and now that she was grown, nothing had changed. She was still too poor and nameless to ever have for her own the man for whom her heart now ached. But for Pete's sake, Anne scolded herself, choking down the sandwich Carlos had fixed for her, I've only just met him, and if there's one thing that's certain it's that I'll most certainly get over him.
Over him? Anne's thoughts echoed, and she heard herself burst out laughing. How tired she must be to be taking herself so seriously! How could she possibly think that what she felt for Carlos was anything but the silliest kind of schoolgirlish infatuation? So he was handsome, rich, a Spanish nobleman—so what? The fact remained that she'd met him only a couple of hours before and knew next to nothing about him. To imagine herself falling in love with him… Still laughing, Anne raised her eyes and looked directly across the table, genuinely amused at herself.
"What's the joke?" Carlos asked curiously, black eyes lifting to meet her gaze.
"Oh, nothing." Anne sipped from her mug. Putting the mug down, she added casually, "I was just thinking about what you said, you know, about how you and I— Suddenly I could see what you meant, how utterly ridiculous such a pairing would be, and I found myself laughing about it, that's all. I didn't mean to offend you."
"Most certainly you haven't offended me," Carlos responded coldly, sounding offended nonetheless. "As you said—as I said earlier—it is of course a completely ridiculous notion. That is not to say that I don't find you attractive. You're an extremely pretty girl, as I acknowledged earlier. Naturally any healthy male, as I consider myself to be, is going to… well, physically respond to you. That's only normal, how could it be otherwise? And to find myself alone with you like this, late at night on a gently swaying boat… But tell me, do you not feel it, too? Do you sense this same attraction between us?" His voice was low and seductive as he leaned over to take her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to meet his ebony black ones.
"I… I… don't know," she stammered, lost in the velvet depths of his gaze. She did not understand what had come over her. Only a minute before she had been laughing at the impossibility of anything between them. Yet now—why was her heart hammering so? Why did she find herself longing for the touch of his lips? It was impossible, he'd said so himself. "If only you weren't who you are," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
"Yes, if I weren't who I am," Carlos echoed in a soft, faraway voice; then abruptly he took hold of Anne by both arms and drew her up. He pulled her against him, and his strong, sensuous mouth came down on hers. He kissed her very softly at first, then slowly his lips hardened and the kiss deepened. From the moment he'd touched her, all thought deserted Anne's mind. As he held her close she felt almost suffocated with excitement, with the need to press herself even closer to him, to melt against him and into him. But before she had lost control enough to do this, Carlos suddenly thrust her away again and released her arms.
"But I am who I am," he muttered. Without giving her a second glance, he turned and strode out.
Sinking down onto her chair, Anne stared after him, watching him disappear.
He was gone for what seemed a very long time. Anne sat at the table slowly sipping her coffee. At the sound of his steps returning at last, she rose and swung to face him. Carlos stopped just inside the door, frowning at her. His face looked even more grim, it seemed to Anne, and his eyes even blacker.
"I've been up on the pier," he explained, "swinging the lantern around as a welcoming signal to your brother, but there's no sign of him. What time did he say he'd meet us here?"
"Well, he—he didn't say," Anne stammered, startled by Carlos's question. She'd forgotten all about Michael, about the fact that Michael had said he'd come tonight to meet them, that that was their sole reason for being here. "But I—surely he'll get here anytime," she added weakly.
"Of course," Carlos snapped impatiently, "unless this entire trip was a—how do you put it?—wildgoose chase. Would this be your brother's idea of a joke, do you think, having me drive miles and miles out here for no reason at all? Or after agreeing to come, did he simply lose his nerve, too much of a coward to face me?" After contemptuously spitting out these words, Carlos spun on his heel and left again.
This time he was gone an even longer time, so long, in fact, that Anne considered following him out to see what he was doing. But—what would be the point of that? And where in the world was Michael? Oh, she was so tired, all but completely exhausted. At last, standing up, Anne gathered together the dirty dishes and left the cabin, finding her way to the small kitchen. She rinsed off the crockery, then set the dishes to dry. Yawning, half asleep on her feet, she returned to the cabin, used the washroom, then decided to lie down for a time on the lower bunk. This was the last thing she remembered. The moment she stretched out on the bun
k and put her head down on the pillow, she must have fallen asleep. Her last thought was of Carlos. Aside from that she remembered nothing until she woke the next morning.
Chapter Three
So—Michael hadn't shown up after all.
This was Anne's first thought as she woke in the morning. She swung up to a sitting position, feeling ashamed for her brother, and, by extension, ashamed of herself.
As she walked toward the washroom, yawning, she wondered where Carlos was, and whether he was terribly angry.
As she emerged from the washroom, Carlos came striding in carrying a mug of coffee. His stern face, framed by the thick, gleaming black hair, was every bit as handsome as she'd remembered it. His black eyes not meeting hers, he handed the coffee mug to her.
"This will have to do for breakfast, then we're on our way. After a stupidly wasted night!" He spun on his heel and left the cabin.
Within a few minutes they were off the boat, walking down the short wooden pier to where Carlos's car was parked. Carlos strode silently at Anne's side, barely controlled fury on his face. As they hurried along, Anne glanced briefly over her shoulder, her attention caught by the bright blue water that stretched away in one direction toward the horizon.
"Carlos, I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea where we are. I know Morocco borders both the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean, but which body of water is this?"
Momentarily Carlos ignored her, then he glanced contemptuously around, eyes spitting arrogant sparks. "You may not know your way around Morocco," he responded condescendingly, "but we're still on the planet earth, where the sun continues to rise every morning. It's about an hour after sunrise, so if you'd bother to look, you could figure out for yourself which body of water this is. I presume that you do know in which direction the sun rises."
As his ridiculing voice died away, Carlos's black eyes focused for a moment on Anne's face, then with a contemptuous smile he circled his eyes away again. Her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, Anne glanced into the sky for the sun. She located it low on the horizon to their left. They were walking south, she calculated, therefore it was not the Atlantic Ocean behind them but the Mediterranean Sea.
"Thank you, Carlos, for straightening me out," she murmured icily, "and for doing it so graciously."
"You're welcome," he snapped, and nothing more was said.
After they'd climbed into the car, however, Carlos swung to face her, black eyes blazing, and addressed her again.
"There's one message I wish you to give your brother for me," he remarked with cold fury. "Tell that fortune-hunting scoundrel that while Dorrie comes from a reasonably wealthy family, she herself is all but penniless—and if she goes through with her plans to marry him, she'll remain penniless, I can assure you. Father will immediately cut her out of his will and so shall I. The fortune our family has at the moment does not come from inherited wealth, but from the labors of my father and myself. Forty years ago, our father, who was educated as an engineer and happens to be a brilliant man, founded a company for marine engineering, which for the past few years I have run in his stead, and it is from this company—which has full control over various patents that my father and I have filed—that our present wealth comes. If it weren't for this, we'd be part of the impoverished nobility scattered all over Europe, people who can barely scrape together the wherewithal upon which to live. But if your brother is under the impression that he has won a girl who is wealthy in her own right, I—"
"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't think that," Anne interrupted furiously, "and wouldn't care in any case!"
Carlos's black eyes fastened on her, flashing righteous contempt. "And I'm just as sure he does care," he ground out, and lapsed into angry silence.
The same heavy silence lay between them all during the hour's drive back to Tangier. Anne tried to lift her depressed spirits by eyeing the unfamiliar countryside, but the effort didn't succeed. In time Carlos drew the little car up in front of the Grand Hotel Villa de France, as Anne had requested. He remained silent, staring straight ahead, as Anne reluctantly climbed out.
She stood by the open door a moment, undecided as to what to say. "Well—Carlos, I'm sorry about last night, sorry about everything," she murmured at last. When he still didn't speak, simply nodded imperiously to indicate he had heard, she felt she had no choice but to close the car door and let him leave.
Though Anne had been at the Grand Hotel briefly the afternoon before, just long enough to check in and leave her baggage in her room, she hadn't paid much attention to her surroundings. This morning she forced herself to glance around. The hotel, set in a luxuriant garden, was really quite impressive. As she entered the lobby and walked across it, Anne was even more impressed by the interior, which was superbly appointed with Moroccan-style decor. But as hard as she tried to be pleased with her surroundings, they did little to lift her spirits. Why hadn't Michael come to the boat last night after agreeing that he would?
In her room Anne took a long, soothing bath, put on a fresh white linen dress, and managed to get an outside line on her telephone. She dialed her brother's number.
"Michael? Michael, what happened? Why didn't you come last night after you said you would?" Tears of anger—of fatigue—of depression, flooded into Anne's blue eyes.
"Now, hold on a minute, sis," Michael said in a low tense voice. "I did come—but I'll explain it when I see you. Are you alone now? Are you back at the hotel? Good. Go downstairs, catch a cab to the Solazur Hotel, Avenue des F.A.R., which is right on the beach, and I'll meet you in the lobby. See you there."
In twenty minutes Anne climbed out of her cab at the Solazur Hotel and when she entered the lobby Michael came striding up to meet her. With an affectionate grin, he pulled her close for a brotherly hug. His sandy hair flopping boyishly down on his brow, he drew back again to stand and smile at her.
"Anne, I appreciate what you're doing for me. I can't tell you how much. Let's go walk on the beach."
As they strolled along the white sandy beach a few minutes later, Michael kept peering behind them to make sure they weren't being followed. Anne, reminded of Carlos's comment that Americans, having seen too many movies, dramatized everything, was beginning to find it annoying. Wasn't Carlos right? At this particular moment she felt far too hungry, tired, and depressed to appreciate the veil of mystery that Michael was throwing over everything, and she honestly doubted the need for it. If only she could forget this whole stupid business and begin enjoying her vacation!
"All right, Michael, why didn't you show up last night?" she demanded to know.
Michael's light green eyes met hers. "Not now, Anne, please. I did come—but I'll explain it all to you in just a few minutes. Let's duck back to the street and catch a cab."
"But—but I thought we were already near where you live, within walking distance!" she snapped in exasperation.
"Hardly!" Michael responded, laughing. His attractive young face glowed with health in the early morning light. He's enjoying this, all this dramatic nonsense! Anne thought, and more than ever she agreed with Carlos. Michael, and possibly Dorrie too, had simply seen too many adventure movies, and now they were delightedly creating a phony adventure for themselves. If they'd just meet with Carlos, sit down and talk reasonably with him, surely some sensible resolution could be reached.
They soon managed to hire another cab which took them through narrow streets lined by closely crowded, whitewashed structures. In about twelve minutes, Michael motioned to the cab driver to pull over. He paid the driver, jumped out of the cab, and pulled Anne out.
"We're living right around the corner from here. Dorrie has a room toward the back, while I'm sleeping in one at the front of the boarding house. We've told our landlady we're brother and sister, here on vacation. She's a deaf old woman who doesn't seem to pay much attention to anything. Here, here we are."
Michael glanced carefully up and down the street, then hurriedly pushed open a heavy, whitewashed door and motioned Anne in. S
he stepped into a narrow, dim hallway. Michael followed her in, closed the door, and led her off down the hall.
He stopped before an open door. Frowning, Michael stepped through it, pulling Anne in after him. "Dorrie? Dorrie, where are you?"
Scowling, Michael dropped Anne's arm and stepped away. Glancing around, Anne found she was in a small room with white walls and a brightly woven carpet on the floor. A narrow cot was placed along the front wall. Strung across the room were various ropes, with drying wash slung over the lines. Michael ducked under the nearest line, momentarily disappearing from view. A moment later he reappeared at Anne's side, his green eyes nearly frantic.
"She doesn't seem to be here. You don't suppose—"
At that moment soft steps came into the room. As Anne swung around, she saw a lovely, fair-skinned, black-haired young woman who bore a strong family resemblance to the man from whom she had parted only two hours before.
"Oh, thank God, here you are!" Michael exclaimed. He rushed over to close the door behind the girl. "For God's sake, Dorrie, don't scare me like that. When I saw you weren't here, I almost had a heart attack."
"Silly." The girl smiled lovingly at Michael. She reached up to press a kiss on his cheek. A moment later she stepped over to Anne, extending her hand. "Hi. I'm Dorrie, and you must be Anne. I'm so delighted to meet you. You know, of course, that I'm madly in love with this brother of yours!"
Dorrie's dark eyes danced. She put her arm through Michael's and drew him up close beside her. "My family, of course, objects strenuously, but I won't give Michael up and no one can make me. I love him dearly and he loves me and we're going to be married, no matter what!" Dorrie's sparkling black eyes looked adoringly up at Michael, while his attractive young face beamed down at her.
Love Captive Page 3