“You — you —” There were no words to express her feelings without resorting to profanity.
His face tightened. “Take care,” he said, an odd note in his voice that was at variance with the naked interest he allowed to surface in his eyes. “If we are going to spend any length of time together, it will be better if we don’t get off on the wrong foot.”
It was beginning to look as if the most intelligent thing she could do was to get away from the lake house while she still could. “We aren’t! The only way I could be persuaded to spend time with you would be if I were roped and tied! I’m leaving, but I’m certainly going to mention you to Judge Kavanaugh to make sure he knows what kind of man he has staying at his house.”
An expression that could have been regret flickered in his dark eyes and was gone. “That will be a little difficult, won’t it, since he’s not at home.”
“He’ll be back,” Kelly answered, her tone scathing, “though I expect by then you’ll be gone.”
She swung away from him. She had not taken two steps before she discovered she had lost one of her sandals in the scuffle. That she had failed to notice the fact until now was an indication of how upset she had been. It lay on the ground under the window. With a hard look that dared him to comment, she bent to pick up her footwear.
Her attention was caught by the sound of voices. They came from the direction of the guest cottage that could barely be seen through the trees, on the opposite side of the house from where Kelly had parked. A moment later, two men appeared, coming along the overgrown path. The first was stooped and elderly with graying hair and gold-rimmed glasses. He was dressed casually in a pair of bright blue coveralls. Behind him was a hefty giant of a man whose balding head was fringed with black hair. He wore a white shirt buttoned to the collar, creased dress pants, and highly polished street shoes. Across his burly chest was strapped a black leather holster, and in it rested a heavy snub-nosed revolver.
The man beside Kelly swore a sibilant oath in what might have been the French language. At the sound, the two men looked up. With surprising quickness, the bigger of the two caught the arm of the elderly man and swung him around. With one hand on his gun, keeping a hard stare on Kelly, he pulled the other man back down the path with him, in the direction of the cottage.
What in the name of heaven was going in here? Kelly lowered her head and slipped on her sandal. With a fine pretense of oblivion, without daring to look at the man beside her, she turned toward her car.
“Wait.”
“I — I can’t stay, not if I’m going to find another place before it gets dark.” She edged along another step or two, aware that he was moving after her.
“I think it might be better if you stayed here after all.”
“I couldn’t, really.”
“I think you must.”
“No!” As he reached out for her, she evaded his hand, sprinting for her car. She dived for the handle, but as she pulled the door open, it was slammed shut again. His hard fingers closed on her elbow.
“I insist,” he said gently.
She twisted around to stare at him, her eyes wide. “You can’t keep me here.”
“Can’t I?”
She fought him in silent fury then, kicking, clawing, using fists, knees, resisting with every ounce of will and strength. It did no good. He countered her blows, avoided her nails, held her until she tired, and then bending swiftly, caught her with one arm under the knees and lifted her high against his chest. Swinging her dizzyingly, he strode around toward the front of the house where it faced the lake.
He snatched open the screen door, shouldering through to the main entrance. Holding her with an iron grip, he reached for the knob and pushed inside. The front door had not even been locked. Before that fact had time to register, before her eyes were adjusted to the gloom after the brightness outside, Kelly was thrown down on a leather couch on her back. The man dropped down beside her, pinning her wrists to the leather with his hands on either side of her face.
With a strangled cry catching in her throat, she strained against him, writhing, trying to slide from the couch. He leaned over her, pressing her down with his weight until she was motionless.
“Lie still,” he grated, his mouth inches from her ear. “I’m not going to rape you!”
She could hardly breathe, much less move. She lay rigid, allowing the words to sink in, aware of the steady beating of his heart against her and the pounding of the blood in her veins. By slow degrees, he raised himself from her, though he did not release her arms. Leaning over her on the couch, he surveyed her golden-brown tresses spread in a fan around her flushed face, and the panting rise and fall of her breasts. His black gaze fastened on the gray pools of her eyes, clouded now with the forced knowledge of her own vulnerability.
The sound of their breathing was loud in the quiet. Kelly lowered her lashes, concentrating on the shining gold disk that hung between them, swinging slowly from its chain around his neck.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice a thread of sound.
“You may call me Charles. The last name doesn’t matter.”
“Why are you doing this?” The gleaming disk was a religious medal showing a relief of St. Michael, the patron saint of warriors.
“My reasons don’t concern you.”
The coolness of his tone touched her on the raw. “Don’t concern me! How can they not concern me if you won’t let me go?”
“Maybe,” he said with deliberate irony, “I felt a sudden need for company.”
“I don’t believe it. Those two men —”
“Are good friends, but they are no substitute for a beautiful woman.”
“You can’t do this, you can’t,” she said, her voice rising as she lifted her gaze to his black eyes once more.
“It seems, my sweet, that I already have. Since we are going to spend some time together, I may as well know your name, too.”
She compressed her lips, the look in her gray eyes defiant.
“I could call someone like you darling and dearest and sweetheart, but that might put me in an amorous mood. I don’t think you would like that, though it’s hard to be sure with women these days. We could experiment a little, by way of finding out.”
His intention was plain as his glance flicked to her parted lips. She watched as he lowered his head, speculation lurking in the darkness of his gaze. A shiver ran over her nerves, and she tasted defeat. Against the firmness of his mouth as it hovered an infinitesimal space above hers she said, “Kelly. My name is Kelly.”
Her strength was dissolving into a great lassitude. She grew aware of the heat of his body, of the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders, the board hardness of his chest with its furring of hair, and the flatness of his stomach above the low-riding waist of his swimsuit. Her own clothing was damp from the water that had been clinging to him, and as she watched, a drop of water edged from his hairline, running down the high ridge of his cheekbone.
“Who are you, Kelly?” he asked, his tone softly menacing, his breath warm against her lips.
Her eyes flew wide. “I told you.”
“The only trouble is, I don’t believe you. It’s too much of a coincidence for me to swallow. I don’t know how you found out where the key was kept, or who sent you, but I mean to learn before I let you go.”
“Why? Why are you hiding here in the judge’s house? If you weren’t some kind of criminal it wouldn’t make any difference who I am, or why I came. If you weren’t some kind of a kidnapper or blackmailer, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Very clever,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing.
“I saw the way your so-called friend with the gun hustled that old man out of sight,” she went on, committing herself recklessly in her need to prevent him from carrying out his threat. “You found out the judge was out of the country, and you thought this would be a safe place to hide out, to keep a man prisoner while you waited for the ransom or — or something.”
�
�You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” he said, his mouth brushing hers with a feathery touch that sent the quiver of something like excitement through her.
Kelly gave a reluctant nod.
“You understand then why I can’t let you get away from me to go running to the police?”
She had expected him to deny it, to offer some explanation. There had been a moment when he had stiffened as if surprised, even angered, by the charge. His words of admission were smooth and easy, too easy, and always there was that lingering speculation in the watchful darkness of his eyes.
“Kelly?” The word was a threat.
“Yes,” she said shortly, “I understand.”
“Quite the little actress, aren’t you? But it won’t work. Who sent you here? Who knows where I am?”
“Nobody sent me. I came because it was my vacation and Mary Kavanaugh and her mother offered the house to me. It’s the truth!”
The words were smothered against her lips as his mouth took hers with bruising force. Searing in its contempt, it was a kiss that promised greater violation. Kelly tasted the saltiness of blood from the cut on his lip, tasted too the humiliation of the enforced intimacy. As she felt the probing of his tongue, she turned her head sharply. He gave a moment’s attention to the sensitive corner of her mouth, then trailed a path of fiery kisses along the curve of her cheek to the tender hollow of her throat. With tantalizing slowness, he dropped lower, to the beginning of the valley between her breasts just above the scooped neckline of her cotton terry top.
“Who sent you?” he queried, his tone low and husky.
“I — I told you. I can’t help it if you won’t believe me.”
At the tremor of tears in her voice, he raised his head, drawing back to study the silvery shimmer of her eyes. Kelly lowered her lashes in an instinctive protective gesture, an unaccountable ache in her throat.
From the direction of the screen door beyond the veranda there came a knock. So on edge were Kelly’s nerves that she started, her gaze swinging toward the sound. The shadowy figure of the man with the holstered gun could be seen through the front door that stood open.
“Saved,” the man who had called himself Charles said, glancing from the man who waited to Kelly, his black gaze mocking as he released her and got to his feet. “One of us, at least.”
Two
The murmur of voices came from the steps beyond the screening of the veranda. Charles and the other man had stepped away from the house a few paces so as not to be overheard. Kelly swung her feet off the couch and sat up. She would not be lying there when Charles got back. In fact, if she were extremely careful, she might not be there at all.
The front door was still open. She could see the two men through it, but could they see her in the darker interior of the house? It was difficult to be certain, yet they did not glance in her direction as she got to her feet and moved deeper into the room, toward the kitchen area.
The living area of the house was a large, open space lined with the soft sheen of pine paneling or built-in bookcases, and shaped like an inverted letter L. The kitchen was in the shorter portion, with the dining area between it and the living room where the couch sat. There was a second outside door which opened from the kitchen onto the veranda that enclosed the house on three sides. If she could make it that far unseen, she might be able to ease out this side door, and then from the veranda reach the place where her car was parked. The car was not visible from where Charles stood, but she could be certain the slightest noise would alert him to what she was doing. Holding onto the back of a chair, Kelly slipped out of her sandals, leaving them lying beside it. Her feet bare, she glided noiselessly and with slow care through the dining area, skirting the table. She touched the island cabinet that divided the dining alcove from the kitchen as she passed it, then came to a halt. The cabinets, the sink, and the electric range were surprisingly clean, all things considered. She did not have time to wonder at it, however. Barely breathing, she ghosted to the outside door. She flipped the lock, then closing her hand around the knob, turned it with exquisite care. Drawing the panel open, she slipped through, then stood listening. She could still hear the deep voices of the two men.
Resisting the urge to make a dash for the car, she edged across the veranda and pushed open the screen. It creaked on rusty hinges, a deafening sound. Kelly froze. The seconds ticked past. She could no longer hear Charles’s voice, but no one came. Taking a deep breath, she moved down the steps and crossed the open space to her car. As quietly as possible, she released the door latch and slide inside. She would not slam the door shut until she had started the engine. She reached for the key.
It was not there. The ring with the ignition key was gone. She bent to search the floorboard, knowing all the time that she had not removed it. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she sat up, scanning the seat, reaching for her shoulder bag which lay next to her.
“Is this what you are looking for?”
She swung sharply on an indrawn breath. Charles stood leaning on the top of the open car door, her keys dangling from his fingers just above her head. She could not prevent herself from snatching at them. Instantly, they were jerked out of her reach.
“I took the liberty of removing them while yon were creeping about in the dining room and kitchen. You must take me for an idiot to think you could get away so easily.”
She clenched her teeth with the rage that gripped her, her thoughts too incoherent for her to form words, to express how she felt.
“Get out,” he said, the words a quiet command.
“What I take you for,” she said, finding her tongue, “is a petty crook, a sneaking, vicious hoodlum who should be in jail!”
His eyes took on the hard glaze of obsidian and a shading of color receded from under the bronze of his skin as he answered, “Not petty, or you would never have been allowed to finish that little speech. Are you going to come out of there, or am I going to have to drag you out?”
Cooperating with him in any way was galling, but the danger in allowing him to put his hands on her again was too great to risk. She stepped from the car and stood facing him, her gray eyes smoldering.
“In the house.” He jerked his head toward the side door, and when she had moved aside, slammed the car door shut behind her.
As he swung toward her, Kelly took a hurried step away from him. Her bare foot came down on something sharp and piercing. The next instant, that small pain was forgotten as Charles took her arm, marching her ahead of him up the steps and across the veranda into the kitchen.
He did not stop there, but guided her through the dining room and down the hallway that branched off toward the bedrooms. At the door of the first one on the right, he stopped. As he pushed the panel open, Kelly wrenched her arm from his grasp, backing away from him.
“You do place a high value on your virtue, don’t you?” he said, one eyebrow lifted as he regarded her in the dimness of the hall.
“And a low value on your word,” she returned, her gray gaze steady.
She saw him tense, like an animal ready to spring, saw his face harden. A muscle corded in his jaw, then abruptly he relaxed, giving a short nod.
“I want to put on some clothes,” he said, “and while I’m doing it, I want you in my sight. We can do this the easy way, or you can make it hard on yourself; either way, you are going into this room with me.”
Kelly stared at him as he stood holding the door. For some reason that she could not explain, she felt that he meant exactly what he said, no more and no less. She also sensed that if she fought him the outcome might not be so cut and dried. Forcing her stiff limbs to take the necessary step toward him was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. He stood unmoving as she brushed past him into the bedroom, then as she came to a halt in the middle of the floor, he entered behind her, going to where a pair of brown pants and a cream-colored polo shirt lay across the foot of the bed.
She stared out the window that
opened onto the front veranda, her gaze on the narrow stretch of the lake that could just be seen between the trees. Even so, she was intensely aware of him stepping into his pants, pulling them up over his swimsuit with swift, economical movements. He shrugged his shirt on over his head, and stepped into the connecting bath to towel his hair dry. Combing it with his fingers, he searched out a pair of tennis shoes and slipped them on. She flung him a quick glance as he picked up a flat gold watch from the bedside table and strapped it on his wrist.
Moving to the door once more, he made her a mocking bow. “After you.”
In the hall he paused to flick the dial of a wall thermostat. Immediately the air conditioning unit came on, blowing cool air through the house. As they passed on into the living area, he moved to shut the door in the kitchen and also the front door, closing out the stifling heat of the waning day, closing them in together.
“Would you care for something cool to drink?” he inquired, his tone polite.
“No, thank you.”
He sent her a long glance, then moved to the kitchen cabinet, taking down two glasses. Removing ice from the refrigerator, he dropped it clinking into the heavy tumblers, then opened a bottle of cola, filling them to the rim. Striding to the table, he set the glasses down with a thump. He pulled out a chair, resting his hands on the back. His black gaze hard, he said, “Sit down.”
“I would rather stand,” she answered mutinously.
“For how long? You are going to be here for some time, of that much I can assure you.”
Kelly flicked a quick look at the chair, feeling suddenly drained and weary. Pitting her will against his over such a small matter was useless. She would do better to save her strength for more important issues. Pressing her lips together, avoiding his eyes, she moved to slide onto the chair he offered.
There was a strained moment when he stood stiff and silent behind her. Kelly thought she could feel the heat of his gaze traveling over her hair and shoulders, then he swung away, moving to take his seat across the table from her.
Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets) Page 2