To her horror, her voice gave way and tears trickled down her cheeks.
'Blair .. .' Hunter cursed softly. She heard his footsteps moving towards her, and then his arms went around her and she felt the hardness of his chest against her back. 'Easy,' he murmured, 'easy. I know this is rough .. .'
'Let go of me,' she sobbed, but when he drew her back against him she sighed.
'You're tired,' he said quietly. 'You'll feel better in the morning.'
She could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. Her eyes closed slowly as she let the warmth of his body begin to chase the chill from hers.
'Things won't be any different in the morning,' she said wearily.
He turned her slowly in his arms and looked down at her. 'They will,' he murmured. 'Trust me.'
Blair looked up at him through her damp lashes. 'Trust you?' she whispered. 'Why should I?'
Hunter's hand moved slowly down her back, and she drew in her breath at his touch.
'Blair,' he said thickly, 'Blair .. .'
Her hands came up to push him away, but somehow her palms lay limp against his chest instead. His head was bending towards her; his arms were tightening around her, her lashes were drooping over her eyes ...
'I don't want to make this rougher for you than it has to be,' he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. 'Just promise me you'll behave, Blair, and .. .'
Her arms circled around his back, sliding down his torso to his waist as he drew her closer. He felt so good, so ... Suddenly, her eyes flew open. He had ... God, he had a gun tucked into his trousers, lying snugly in the small of his back. How had she missed it earlier? What was she doing? Was she crazy? Anger flooded through her, at herself as much as at him. She pushed him from her with all the strength she could muster.
'You're right,' she snapped, 'I am tired. Otherwise I wouldn't have listened to you for even a second. What kind of fool do you take me for, Hunter? I know what your game is-we're back to the Stockholm Syndrome again, aren't we? Did you just realize you bit off more than you can chew? Well, if you're counting on me to help guard myself, you can forget about it!' His arms fell to his sides and his expression hardened, but it was too late. She wasn't finished yet, and she was damned if she was going to stop now! 'I'm telling you right now, Hunter, I'll get out of this ... this hovel, and away from you the very first chance I get. The very first. The ...'
Suddenly, her bravado faded and reality crashed down around her. Hunter smiled grimly, his eyes as cold as ice.
'Thank you for warning me, Blair,' he said in that silky-smooth voice she knew all too well. 'You've made my job much easier. Now that I know your intentions, I simply won't give you' the opportunity.' His hand closed around her wrist.
'Wait ... Hunter, wait! I ... I didn't mean all that. I told you that you were right, didn't I? I'm just tired, I ... What are you doing? Where are we going? Hunter, please, answer me .. .'
'We're going to the outhouse,' he said, snatching up the lantern as he dragged her after him. 'And then we're going to bed.'
'I ... I don't have to go to the outhouse. And you can forget all those things I said. I… Dammit, Hunter, don't you hear me? I said ...' Her voice trembled as he kicked open a door at the rear of the kitchen and tugged her through to the room beyond. In the wavering glow of the lantern, she saw a four-poster bed that seemed to take up most of the room.
'No outhouse? OK, Blair, then you can wait here for me.' He put his hand in the small of her back and pushed; she fell face-down in a sprawl across the bed. He was on her before she could move, his legs straddling her body, his hand grasping her wrists, pulling them behind her. She heard the whisper of leather on fabric, and then something snaked around her wrists-his belt, she realized as she felt its cool touch against her skin.
'Hunter, don't,' she sobbed, but it was too late. The bed squeaked as he got to his feet, she heard a door slam, and he was gone.
She buried her face in the blanket and let the tears she'd so long suppressed roll down her cheeks. She'd been so careful all day, so cautious, only making a rash move that one time she'd tried to run, all the time weighing her words, planning her actions, doing everything she could to protect herself from him, and now she'd ruined everything. How could she have been so stupid? Anger, self-pity, whatever it was, she'd let it get the best of her, and look what had happened. Here she was, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, at the mercy of a dangerous criminal
The door slammed again. Oh, God ...
'Hunter, listen, I'll be good, I promise. I ...'
'Don't beg,' he said grimly. 'It doesn't become you.' Blair nodded. 'If you'd just listen to me for a minute,' she said quickly. 'I know I've insulted you ...' 'Insulted me?' His laughter was harsh and brief. 'You haven't insulted me, Miss Desmond, you've simply confirmed my opinion of you.'
Blair heard the whisper of fabric. 'What ... what are you doing, Hunter?' she asked.
From the corner of her eye, she saw his black sweater hit the floor. 'I'm getting ready for bed, Miss Desmond,' he said tonelessly. 'What the hell do you think I'm doing?'
'But ... I ... I'm hungry,' she said desperately. 'Aren't we going to have some dinner?'
He laughed again. She saw him put the gun on the table beside the bed'. 'Sorry, Miss Desmond, the kitchen at the Tuscany Hilton closed an hour ago. You'll just have to wait until morning.'
She swallowed drily, wondering if she could get enough saliva into her mouth so she could speak.
'H ... Hunter, look, what happened before-what I said-can't you forget it? Can't we go back to the way things were?'
She recoiled as his shoes clattered against the stone. floor. 'That's exactly what we're doing, Miss Desmond,' he said. Blair closed her eyes as she heard the metallic slither of a zipper. 'We're going back to the way things should be. I almost let myself think you were human for' a while. But you reminded me that you aren't. You're Meryl Blair Desmond. I know all about you.' She gasped as he clutched her shoulders and pulled her to' a sitting position. 'You'd rather die than spend a night in a what did you say, Miss Desmond? You'd rather die than spend a night in this hovel with a man like me.'
'Hunter, I didn't mean it ...'
Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks as he freed her wrists. 'Of course you meant it,' he snarled. 'Actually, I'm grateful to you for reminding me of our relationship.'
Blair rubbed her hands across her eyes. 'I ... I didn't mean it the way it sounded, Hunter. Really .. .' She looked up at him and the plea died in her throat. In the warm glow of the lantern, the planes of his chest gleamed golden against the shadows of the room. Dark hair lay whorled across his skin, tapering to a line that vanished finally beneath his trousers. He'd opened just the top of the zipper, and the trousers hung low on his hips. She looked back to his face, trying to think of something to say that would diffuse the sudden tension in the room, but her mind was blank.
'It's bed time, Blair,' he said softly, a cold smile twisting his hard mouth.
'I'm ... I'm not tired,' she said quickly. He smiled again. 'But I am.'
'Hunter, listen, I .. .'
'Get your clothes off.'
Blair shook her head. 'No,' she said softly.
'We've gone through this before,' he said. 'We can do this the easy way or the hard way.'
'I thought you said you had to keep me safe .. .'
He smiled grimly. 'You're safe when I say you are, Blair.'
She ran her tongue across her dry lips. 'Don't do this, Hunter,' she whispered. 'I beg you .. .'
'I told you, don't beg,' he said, lifting her to her feet. 'Come on, Blair, get undressed.'
'You don't really want to do this,' she said desperately. 'You ... Hunter,' she gasped, 'don't .. .'
She struck out at him as he began to slide her sweater up her midriff, but he ignored her.
'It's been one hell of a long day, Blair,' he said. 'I've driven over half of Italy, I've put up with your nastiness and your whining, and I'm tired.' She gasped
as he tugged the sweater over her head and tossed it aside.
'I'll scream,' she said.
'There's no one but me to hear you,' he said softly. 'And once I grow weary of listening .. .' His eyes flashed a cold warning. 'Don't push me, Blair,' he said softly. 'I may have indulged you this morning, but that was God knows how many hours and how many miles ago, and my patience is beginning to wear thin. Now, will you finish the job, or shall I?'
Tears coursed silently down her cheeks as she numbly eased the white trousers down her legs.
'Get them off,' he growled. 'The shoes, too.'
She kicked off her canvas flats and then the trousers, her eyes on his face all the while, until finally she stood before him wearing only a skimpy cotton camisole that barely fell below her breasts and a pair of matching bikini panties. A breeze from the open window drifted across her skin and she shivered, even though the night air was warm.
'Hunter,' she said, the single word a plea.
His eyes met hers and she saw that curious flatness in them again, and then his gaze moved over her slowly, dispassionately, as if she were a plaster mannequin. She waited for him to speak, but he said nothing. The silence between them grew and still she waited, barely breathing.
'Hunter,' she said again, 'please ...'
Her pulse began to race erratically. His eyes met hers· again, but it was· different this time. The flatness was gone, replaced by that bright silver flame that seemed to sear her flesh. She felt a wave of heat lick at her body as he took a step forwards.
'No,' she whispered, 'please .. .'
Her voice was thin. It was a stranger's voice, one she'd never heard before. Blair suddenly felt as if time had stopped. A trickle of cold sweat crept down between her breasts. She heard the laboured rasp of her breath, or was it Hunter's? The shallow rise and fall of his chest was as rapid as her own. The air in the bedroom was suddenly heavy with jasmine from the night wind. Hunter muttered something and took another step towards her. Her nostrils filled with the clean, heated scent of him.
'Hunter?'
Her whisper was as insubstantial as the petals of a fallen flower, but it stopped him. He stared at her, frozen, while an eternity ticked by in a second, and then he slammed his fist into his hand.
'Get on the bed,' he said in a rough whisper. 'Go on, dammit! Now!'
Blair sank to the mattress. The strength to fight him was gone. She had done all she could; what came next was beyond her control. He took her hand and she felt the light touch of the belt as he looped it around her wrist. She closed her eyes tightly, just as if she were a little girl back in Iowa. It was what she'd always done to block out something terrible, something dreadful, like visits to the dentist or the doctor or ...
'Goodnight, Blair,' Hunter said gruffly.
Her eyes flew open as she felt the weight of him settle on the mattress beside her. He had tied the other end of the belt around his own wrist; as she watched, he lay the gun on the bed, piled her clothing on it, tucked the makeshift pillow beneath his head and closed his eyes. 'Goodnight?' Her voice was a whisper.
Hunter yawned. 'Even if you could loosen the belt without waking me, which I doubt-even if you could manage it, you won't get far without your clothes.' He turned his head towards her. His eyes, she saw, had become a clouded grey. 'Your underwear is probably a big success on the pages of Vogue, but I don't think it would take you very far in these hills. Pleasant dreams.'
He reached out and turned down the flame of the lantern, then stretched lightly, like a cat. She stared at him in stunned disbelief as his eyes closed. In the lantern’s half-light, his sooty lashes lay thickly against his cheeks. After what could have been no more than a minute, she could tell by the even rise and fall of his chest that he was asleep.
Blair turned her face to the ceiling. Of course he'd fall asleep easily. What was there to keep him awake? He hadn't suffered the kind of terrifying day she had. He hadn't just been scared half out of his mind. He would sleep-snore, probably-while she lay awake the whole night ... while she ... while she ...
Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks and she slept. Some time during the night, the wind changed. A sudden damp chill blew through the window and into the room, but neither of the people on the bed noticed it. In their sleep, they had turned towards each other. Curled in Hunter's arms, Blair slept a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
SUNLIGHT was streaming into the bedroom when Blair awoke. She was alone, although the warm imprint of Hunter's body still creased the sheet beside her. Her fingers went immediately to her wrist, rubbing the chafed skin, tracing the faint line his belt had left. Damn the man!
There was a light blanket over her, although she couldn't remember using it the night before. Clutching it to her chin, she sat up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. The door was ajar, and she could hear noises from the other room, which meant that he was out there. Not that she'd expected him to be anywhere else. A man who stripped you of your clothes and tied you up to make sure you didn't get away wasn't very likely to wander off while you were asleep!
Her clothing was still piled on the mattress beside her, where he'd left it. If she hurried, she could get dressed while she was still alone, without his cool grey eyes watching her. Her white trousers were creased from having served as his pillow. She pulled them on quickly swinging her legs to the floor and closing the zipper with trembling fingers. Hunter wasn't going to get her clothes away from her again, not without one hell of a fight. He'd said he took them from her to keep her from trying to escape, but she knew there was more to it than that. There was a psychological disadvantage in being almost naked. Last night, when he'd looked at her, she'd felt vulnerable. And something more, something ...
Stop it! She eased the sweater over her head, pulling it down past her uncombed hair. The sweater was still warm with the heat of Hunter's body. And it smelled of him, she realized suddenly. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, wondering if he ever used cologne or aftershave, hoping he didn't, hoping he always smelled just this way ...
'Are you crazy?' she whispered aloud. 'You must be.
You ...'
'It's caffeine withdrawal,' Hunter said from the doorway, his voice low and sleep-roughened. Blair looked up in surprise and he grinned at her. His dark hair was tousled, his chest was bare. He was wearing denim jeans, slung low on his hips. 'Good morning,' he said pleasantly. 'Did you have a good night?'
Colour rose to her cheeks. 'Good morning,' she said stiffly. 'Where did you say the outhouse was?'
He nodded towards the main room. 'Through there and to the back. There's a door in the rear. You can't miss it.'
'Thank you,' she said formally. 'I don't suppose you've seen my shoes?'
He grinned again. 'As a matter of fact, I have.' 'Well? Where are they, then?' she asked impatiently. 'I need them if I'm going outside.'
Hunter shrugged his shoulders. 'The outhouse is only a few paces from the house. Even your tender feet can manage that.'
'Will you just tell me where my shoes are, Hunter?
I ...'
'No shoes,' he said, shaking his head. 'You only get them when I can keep an eye on you.'
'For God's sake,' she said angrily, 'this is insane! First my clothing, and now my shoes?'
He shrugged again. 'Why not think of it this way, Blair? You've improved your lot from last night. Bare feet are better than bare .. .'
'You're insufferable!' she snapped, stalking past him. He laughed. 'Coffee will be ready when you get back, he said. 'Maybe that'll improve your disposition.'
The rich, strong aroma of brewing coffee embraced her as she entered the kitchen moments later. Hunter was still half-dressed, she noticed, her eyes sliding away from him as he padded from an open cupboard to the table. But he'd combed his hair and splashed water on his face-she could see drops of it glistening on his skin.
'Your carry-on's in the bedroom,' he said. 'I thought you might want your toothbrush or something.'
Bl
air nodded stiffly and walked past him. The stone floor, polished to smoothness by generations of use, was warm beneath her bare feet. She ran a comb through her tangled hair, remembering how Hunter had rearranged it yesterday. It seemed ironic that he'd unknowingly put it back to the way she'd worn it before Meryl had talked her into having it restyled. Her hair probably needed more than a combing, but she was in no mood to poke through the carry-on for her brush. What did it matter how she looked? Hunter was the only person who was going to see her.
She took her toothbrush into the kitchen and brushed her teeth at the rust-stained sink. The water was cold as ice, and she gasped as she splashed handfuls of it on her face. But she felt better when she'd finished, and, when Hunter handed her a chipped, earthenware mug filled with black coffee, she almost smiled at him. There was an open tin of tuna fish on the table, along with a package of water biscuits.
A Flood of Sweet Fire Page 6