But why the change in her behavior? Surely she wasn’t that terrified of being locked in the tower?
Then it all became clear. She had changed her strategy. Rather than insulting him, she thought she could charm him into letting her go.
It wouldn’t work, of course. She took him for a halfwit if she thought he’d fall for such an obvious ploy. But, as she moved closer to him, her body swaying like music, he thought that after all her abuse of the past few hours it might be enjoyable for him to let her try.
He wouldn’t be tempted by her, he told himself.
He was just curious to see how far she’d go.
Tamsin realized now that she’d been a fool to waste time with insults.
Unlike her pompous, rather oblivious half-brother, Marcos Ramirez wouldn’t be baited so easily. He was smart, organized and ruthless. He’d gone all the way to Morocco to kidnap her. He’d obviously spent a great deal of time and money to set up his revenge against Aziz and her family. And she’d thought he’d let her go for being rude?
It was time for a new plan.
Marcos gave her a quick glance as they ascended the sweeping stone staircase towards the sala. His desire was plain in his eyes, though he quickly veiled his expression with a smile. He obviously believed her to be a shallow, promiscuous socialite. And, judging by the clothes he’d provided for her—a black Gucci halter dress with a plunging neckline and Christian Louboutin pumps—he’d been watching her for some time. The outfit was a duplicate of the one she’d famously worn to a party. It had caused the tabloids to proclaim her London’s new ‘it’ girl—for that month, at least.
But now she wished with all her heart for a tracksuit and trainers instead. The peep-toe heels in crêpe chiffon mesh, beautiful as they were, weren’t exactly made to scale down stone walls or sneak past guards.
A sexy dress had other benefits, though. She glanced at him beneath her lashes. She could flirt with him. Lull him into complacency. Make him believe she might actually sleep with him.
Yes. She would deal with this arrogant Spaniard.
All she had to do was make sure Marcos continued to think she was everything the tabloids said—a shallow flirt who cared only for fashion and the admiration of men. She’d convince him that she was content to remain here in luxury while he prevented her marriage and ruined her family. Then, when his guard was lowered and he least expected it, she would escape to Morocco and stop him.
She smiled to herself, imagining the look on his face when his plans were destroyed by the woman he’d underestimated.
“Here we are,” he said as they reached a wide dining hall. His hand lingered possessively on the small of her back.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, smiling up at him until her cheeks hurt.
It wasn’t a lie. The architecture was medieval in appearance, though the plasterwork on the walls was covered with expensive modern art. She recognized a Picasso. The ceilings were high and the long darkwood table was decorated with a vase of exotic fresh flowers. The outside doors were open, overlooking a wide balcony and stone balustrade. She took a deep breath of night-blooming jasmine.
He escorted her to a seat near the end of the table facing the open windows. He was still wearing the same white shirt and fitted black trousers he’d had on the yacht, and she caught his scent on the breeze. He smelled of warm sun and Mediterranean sea and something else—something indefinable but totally male. Very different from Aziz, who wore enough cologne to make her gasp for air.
Marcos’s scent, his body, his voice, all made her body hum with delicious tension. It was … confusing. How could she be attracted to him when she longed to crack him over the head with a heavy vase?
“Care for a drink?” he asked shortly.
She hesitated. “Yes. Thank you.”
He went to the bar at the end of the dining room and her eyes followed his every step. Tall and broad-shouldered, he walked with lazy, sinuous movements, like a lion prowling the savannah. His crisp white shirt and finely cut trousers silhouetted the muscular shape of his body.
He turned back to face her. His strong jawline was dark with late-day shadow and his hair was black and full of curl. With his aquiline profile and full lips, his face was as perfectly chiseled and as cold in expression as a statue by Michelangelo.
Marcos Ramirez was a dark angel, she thought with a shiver. Beautiful, cruel and utterly without remorse.
“The brandy is from my own vineyards.” He put her snifter on the table and sat next to her. She jumped when she felt his knee brush against her bare leg.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Did I startle you?”
She blushed in embarrassment, furious at herself for acting like the virgin she was. She tried to recover. “No. Your legs are just very … big.”
“Gracias.”
So far, so good. She leaned forward to lightly brush her hand on his knee. “I admire strong legs on a man. Big hands. Big feet.” She gave them a conspicuous glance. “So good for heavy lifting.”
“I don’t just have strength, but stamina,” he observed, looking at her over his glass with an amused expression. “I can lift anything you want. All night.”
Oh, my God.
Flirting with Marcos was very different from dancing with a pallid young earl or drinking with a bull-headed celebrity at a London club. Marcos was a full-grown man, and a dangerous one at that. She was his prisoner, in his castle. He could do anything he wanted with her.
Playing with him was playing with fire.
You can do this, she told herself. Make him think you want him. Act like the promiscuous woman he believes you to be. Lean forward and kiss him now.
But she couldn’t do it. He was too powerful, too masculine, too in control of himself. It made her lose her nerve.
Grabbing her snifter, she lifted the brandy to her lips and drank deeply until the potency of the liquor caused her to choke and cough.
“Careful.” He pounded on her back with his left hand. “Inexperienced with brandy?”
She felt inexperienced, and not just with brandy, either.
“I was thirsty,” she responded lamely.
“Yes, I can see that.” His gray eyes gleamed. “Are you hungry as well?”
“Very.” She took another sip of brandy, more carefully this time. “By the way, I owe you my thanks.”
He regarded her with some suspicion. “For what?”
“For kidnapping me,” she said, keeping her eyes wide with admiration. “For saving me from Aziz.”
“Saving you? You were so desperate to marry him that you wanted to jump in the sea and swim back to Morocco.”
“That was just because I was frightened. I didn’t know what you meant to do to me. But I never wanted to marry Aziz—never. He would have stuck me away in the desert, a million miles away from shops, clubs, Harrods, everything.” She shivered prettily. “What kind of life is that for a girl to lead?”
His lip curled. “Qué lástima, you are right. It would be a tragedy.”
The only tragedy is how easily you’re buying this, she thought. She leaned forward to put her hand over his. “I’m not your enemy, Marcos. I have no love for my brother or Aziz. Perhaps we can … help each other.”
He glanced down at her hand. “What did you have in mind?”
His eyes had fallen to her mouth, and she licked her lips. Again, she had the feeling of being out of her league, out of her depth, and out of her mind. She couldn’t manipulate a man like this. Could she?
She swallowed the last of the brandy with a gulp and held up the snifter, looking at him with her best smile. “Would you get me some more brandy?” She gave a little giggle. “My head is starting to spin in such a wonderful way.”
Without a word, he took the glass and strode across the old stone floor to the wet bar. She watched him with narrowed eyes, but the moment he turned back to face her she simpered at him, dimpling.
“Tell me your plans, and I’ll tell you how I can help.” She
stretched her arms above her head with a dainty yawn, well aware that it would cause her breasts to rise against the low-cut halter dress. “I still don’t understand why you think kidnapping me will hurt Aziz and my brother.”
His eyes followed the swell of her breasts against the plunging black neckline. “It’s enough that it will.”
“But why do you want to hurt us?”
“Not you, querida. Them.”
“Why do you want to hurt them?”
He shrugged. “They’ve got it coming.”
Selfish bastard, she thought, irritated that he wouldn’t explain further. I won’t let Nicole’s life be ruined because of your stupid desire for revenge.
Tamsin had already seen enough in her life, thank you, especially from her father’s example. When he’d finally died of apoplexy, he’d been friendless and un-mourned, and all Tamsin had felt was relief that he couldn’t hurt them ever again.
“Here’s your brandy.” Marcos placed it on the table next to her.
“Thank you.” She crossed her legs, trying to show them to their best advantage, then pretended to accidentally drop one of her high-heeled shoes to the floor. She leaned forward to pick it up, just to give him a nice view down her neckline.
When she sat up, he was looking at her like a hungry wolf waiting to devour a lamb.
Perhaps it had worked too well, she thought as he slowly walked around her. She could feel his hot stare move up and down her body and nearly jumped when his hands touched her bare shoulders. She hadn’t expected her own senses to have such a strong reaction. Her voice trembled. “What are you doing?”
He smiled down at her, softly brushing her hair aside, causing shivers of awareness to spread from her scalp down her body. “You’ve had a difficult day, but we have the whole night ahead of us. To eat. To drink. To … enjoy.”
Her heart gave a strange little thump as he massaged her shoulders. She felt his hands move lower on the bare skin of her upper back, rubbing the tense muscles around her shoulder blades. She closed her eyes, unable to resist leaning back.
“Qué belleza,” he whispered. His fingers lightly traced the edge of her shoulder, the crook of her neck, the curl of her hair. “You are so beautiful.”
“It’s not me,” she gasped. “It’s just the dress.”
“It’s the woman in the dress.” He bent forward to wrap his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. “Perhaps you are right,” he said. “Perhaps we can help each other.”
“Tell me your plans,” she said, hardly able to believe that he was falling for her act, “and I will tell you how I can help you.”
Running his hands down her arms, he gave her an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. We shall see.”
It was working! He thought he could trust her! But, just as triumph was coursing through her, the housekeeper and two waiters entered the sala with trays of dinner, interrupting them. To her chagrin, Marcos moved away to his own chair.
“I’m serving dinner all at once, as you wanted,” the housekeeper said in Spanish, throwing a hard glare toward Tamsin. It bewildered her. Why would the housekeeper dislike her? “For your romantic night,” the woman added sourly.
“Thank you, Nelida,” Marcos replied in the same language, taking the tray from her. “I would be helpless without you.”
The plump middle-aged woman looked mollified. “You’d starve, that’s for sure. You’d live off coffee and tapas, or else forget to eat entirely. You always lose weight in Madrid.”
“But I always come back so you can fatten me up. Good night, Nelida.”
“I don’t think your housekeeper likes me,” Tamsin said after the woman and her assistants left.
“It’s nothing personal,” he said, buttering a thick slice of bread. “Nelida was my nanny when I was a child. She’s old-fashioned and possessive. She doesn’t approve of loose women.”
Loose women! Tamsin thought indignantly. She looked down at her meal. “What’s this?”
“The soup is salmorejo. Tomato soup, thickened with breadcrumbs, topped with chopped eggs and ham.”
She hesitantly took a mouthful of soup. It was cold, but delicious. “It tastes like gazpacho.”
“Yes.”
“And this?”
“Pato a la Sevillana. Roast duck with onion, leeks and carrots, cooked in sherry. And bread, of course. That’s Nelida’s specialty.”
Tamsin took several bites and realized two things: first, that she was starving, and second, that if she were prisoner here for long she would soon be putting on weight too.
That was, if Nelida didn’t decide to poison her for being loose.
She scowled.
“Do you like it?” Marcos’s slate-gray eyes looked into hers, as if he were asking another question entirely. For a moment, his dark gaze drew her, pulling her into a trance.
She shook herself out of it. Maybe I really am as stupid and shallow as he thinks, she considered grimly. Why else would she be attracted to such a cold, cruel, heartless man?
She forced herself to turn her attention back to the food.
“It’s delicious,” she replied and quickly ate more. “Your housekeeper is a treasure.”
Over the next hour, she fluttered her eyelashes and smiled, trying her hardest to get him to reveal why he’d kidnapped her, what his plans were, what her brother and Aziz had done to make him desire revenge. But, in spite of his hint earlier that he’d share his plans, he spoke little and revealed nothing. It was like talking to a brick wall. She continued to try, skimming her mind desperately for any topic that might make him open up—travel, business, even football. Finally, she gave up.
She’d never met such a brooding, unhelpful man in her life. Either that or she was losing her touch.
Fine, she thought resentfully. If that’s how you want to be, let’s see how you like it. She ate the rest of her meal in determined silence.
It seemed not to bother him a whit.
“You were hungry,” Marcos observed when her plate was empty.
“Being kidnapped will do that to a person,” she muttered, then gave a little laugh, as if it were a joke.
“Would you like more roast duck? Some dessert, perhaps?”
It was the most he’d spoken during their whole meal. But, unfortunately, any more roast duck and she’d burst out of her chic little dress. Another reason to wish she was wearing a track suit. “Thank you, but no. But there is something I do want.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your freedom, plus a quick flight to Morocco?”
She gave a nervous laugh, since that was exactly what she wanted. But she wasn’t going to let him catch her so easily. Shaking her head, she folded her arms, resting them on the table with what she hoped was an earnest look. “I just want to know what my brother and Aziz did to you that made you so angry.”
For a moment he looked as if he might tell her. Then he held out his hand. “Come out and see the view.”
Reluctantly, she set down her napkin and let him draw her towards the open doors of the veranda. “You can see the valley all the way to the sea,” he said. “See those lights? That’s El Puerto de las Estrellas. The village used to be known for smugglers, pirates, thieves.”
“Apparently it still is,” she muttered.
His dark eyebrows lowered. “Perhaps so, now that you are here. The Winters are liars and thieves, and your fiancé is worse.”
She bit back a tart retort, knowing it wouldn’t help her cause to argue. Besides … well, his accusation was true.
Sheldon had lied about many things. Particularly when he’d promised to watch out for Nicole. And, though she didn’t know Aziz very well, she was reasonably sure he was keeping a mistress and intended to keep doing so after their marriage. Plus there was that other small matter of murdering his first wife.
As they stood on the wide stone balcony a cool breeze blew through the valley, making her shiver in her tiny cocktail dress. Without hesitation, he put his arm around her.
�
��I am glad you are here with me,” he said softly.
Tamsin involuntarily leaned back into the warmth of his arms. Perhaps she had misjudged him, she thought suddenly. For all she knew, he had good reason to hate her family. Her brother and fiancé had certainly made enemies—even Tamsin despised them. Maybe trying to trick him and escape was a mistake. Maybe if she told Marcos the truth about why she was being forced to marry Aziz, he could truly help her …
“You are the pin in my grenade,” he said, giving her a hard smile. “Without you, I could not destroy Aziz al-Maghrib and your brother so easily.”
He was deliberately trying to bait her. She kept her expression bland, but inside she simmered. She wanted to kick him in the shins. Or maybe just kick herself for thinking well of him, if only for a moment.
What was it about him that kept luring her in? He was as relentless as the sea. The darkness of his beautiful eyes held a dangerous riptide that tempted her to drown in the murky depths …
“Getting warmer?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, looking at him. The moon was covered with gray clouds. The only light came from candles in the dining room behind them. They cast a glow around the edges of Marcos’s black hair, like a halo, leaving his face in shadow.
Dark angel, she thought again.
His gaze rested on her. “The cool air comes off the Atlantic at night.”
From the height of the castle, she thought she could see a glimpse of moonlight on the distant ocean. Something square and hard rubbed against her hip and she glanced down beneath her lashes. She saw a glimpse of silver in his pocket.
His mobile phone!
If she had his phone, she could call Aziz. He could pick her up with his uncle’s helicopter. Or she could call Bianca and Daisy, her two best friends from boarding school, who’d been her roommates over the summer. Bianca’s wealthy family kept private jets in New York and London. Whether by Aziz’s helicopter or Bianca’s plane, she could be back in Morocco tonight.
She had to get Marcos’s phone.
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