The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection)

by Blake, Jennifer

  Slowly she levered herself into a sitting position. Nothing seemed to be broken, but there was a huge lump on the side of her head that ached to the touch. The plane had leveled off, and she could get to her feet without too much difficulty. The movement sent a wave of dizziness over her, however, and she subsided quickly into the remaining chair on the opposite side of the table. She would sit there for just a moment, and then she must find some way of letting someone know of her presence.

  The opening of the small metal door between the galley and the main cabin did not immediately penetrate her consciousness. Awareness came with a sense of tingling disquiet. Combating a strange reluctance, she raised her head, and stared into the black eyes, lit by tawny flames of rage, of the man standing in the doorway. Her heart increased its beat, giving her a smothering sensation. For long moments she could not move, could not withdraw her gaze. And then, raking her pale face with his dark, feline glance, he drawled, “Airsick already? Too bad, but a fitting punishment for a stowaway.”

  Shock rippled through her. Unconsciously she straightened, drawing a deep, reviving breath. “I’m not a stowaway.”

  “Don’t trouble to deny it. This plane is definitely-not public transportation; it belongs to me. There is not one of my employees who would dare to smuggle you aboard without my permission, and as I did not extend you an invitation...” he paused suggestively.

  The sarcasm overlying the softly dangerous timbre of his voice made little impression on Anne. Her eyes widened a fraction. So this was Señor Ramón Carlos Castillo. She pictured the Mexican millionaire in her mind, for some reason, as short, plump, and graying. Nothing could have been further from the truth. His lithe frame filled the doorway, marking him as above-average height. No trace of gray threaded the blue-blackness of his hair, though from the fine lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes she thought he must be at least a few years over thirty. He had removed the coat of his suit, loosening his tie and opening the collar of his shirt. In contrast to the fine white silk, his skin had the golden swarthiness of an ancient Aztec idol. The planes of his face were rigid with the same impassive contempt she had seen once in a carving of their sun god.

  “No more protests?” he queried, one corner of his firm mouth lifting in a mirthless smile as he moved into the galley. “Then perhaps you would like to tell me why you have foisted yourself on me?”

  His presence in that tiny compartment was overpowering. Though he came to a stop with the heel of his hand resting on the refrigerator, he seemed to loom over her. She could not meet his fierce eyes, fastening her gaze instead on the signet ring on his little finger, a ring in black enamel on gold featuring the head of a small tiger. She wished she did not feel so disoriented. She could hardly expect him to be as concerned as she was over her predicament; still, his obvious anger and suspicion confused her.

  With a supreme effort, she gathered her thoughts. In a voice that sounded weak even to her own ears she said, “I am sorry for the inconvenience to you, but could you please tell your pilot to turn the plane around and go back?”

  “A time-consuming operation. Tell me why I should do that?”

  She stared at him for a blank moment before answering, “Because ... I have to get off.”

  “Why? Hasn’t your welcome been what you expected?” he asked, a soft tone in his voice that she did not like. His accent was very slight, she realized, more an intonation than anything else. Under other circumstances it might have been attractive.

  “I — didn’t expect a welcome of any kind,” she faltered.

  “Are you certain? Are you quite certain you did not expect ... this?” He leaned toward her with a swift, sure movement, encircling her waist, dragging her to her feet and against his chest. The grim mask of his face hovered above her, an odd, questing light in his black eyes, and then his mouth came down on hers.

  Anne had never had much time for romance. She had had a brief flirtation or two, shared a few good-night kisses, but nothing more serious. She had never been kissed like this, never felt the burning force of barely leashed passion, never been held in a crushing embrace from which she could not have escaped, even if she had desired it. More in surprise than response, her lips parted beneath his, and then in the recesses of her mind she recognized the emotion that drove him. It was contempt.

  His hold had slackened as he felt her complaisance. Abruptly Anne drew back, tearing herself out of his arms.

  Señor Castillo retained his grip on her wrist. “Wasn’t your welcome to your liking?” he asked, sarcasm edging his voice.

  Anger erupted inside Anne’s brain, crowding out shock and confusion, subduing for a brief instant the pain that still pulsed there. Her eyes blazing in her pale face, she lifted her free hand and struck out at the hateful, mocking face above her. She never reached her target. Her arm was caught, turned, and once more she found herself held against the silk-clad chest of the señor. Resistance, she discovered, was futile.

  Panting with her struggles, she flung back her head, shaking the tawny gold hair out of her face. “Let me go,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He surveyed her, an expression in his eyes that made her far too aware of the quick rise and fall of her breasts against him. A muscle in the hard line of his jaw tightened, then suddenly she was free. She stepped back a quick pace, rubbing her wrists where his fingers had bitten into the flesh. A continuous tremor ran through her, and she clenched her hands to keep their trembling from becoming obvious to this man who stared down at her. It was rage, she told herself, only rage.

  “Well,” he gibed.

  She looked up at him in mute incomprehension.

  “Aren’t you going to favor me with the excuse you made up for the occasion? Or didn’t you even intend to try to explain why you are here?”

  Anne took a deep breath. “I am here,” she told him as calmly as she could manage, “because your secretary placed an order with Metcalf Caterers. We were to deliver a light dinner to your plane. I brought it.”

  “You will forgive me if I point out that you don’t have the look of a caterer?” he said dryly.

  “Looks have nothing to do with it—” she began, only to be interrupted.

  “Still, I suppose you are fully prepared to tell me what Metcalf’s has sent for my delectation?”

  She was, of course. She had been just about to present her knowledge of the menu as proof positive of her story. The implication that such a move was expected, and would, therefore, carry little weight, brought a flush to her cheeks. But what could she do? There was nothing else she could use to convince him. She told him, in considerable detail, the contents of the refrigerator and the warmer.

  “Very good.” He applauded. “You have used your time while hidden back here to excellent advantage. I congratulate you on your intelligence. It seems to be superior to the average of the women who usually try such bizarre methods to bring themselves to my attention.”

  Anne clung to her temper with difficulty. “I did not come aboard this plane to bring myself to your attention,” she said evenly. “In fact, I can’t think of anything I would be less likely to do. Why any woman would want to put herself in such a humiliating position is more than I can understand.”

  “I don’t understand it either, but there it is. Rock stars, movie stars, men of power, position, and wealth affect young women in strange ways. I have had women accost me in hotel rooms, on the beach, the golf course, and tennis court. They wait in my limousine if it is left unguarded for an instant. On one memorable occasion I was invaded in a sauna bath. So you see, you are not the only one who has tried this ruse, though I will grant that you are the first to stowaway on my plane. You must tell me how you managed it.”

  “I did not stowaway,” Anne said, her voice rising, “and furthermore, I doubt that half the other women you claim have been throwing themselves at you had any such intention. You are the most arrogant, conceited, obstinate man I have ever come across—”

  “I neve
r claimed the attraction was anything more than my money,” he interposed with a slight smile. But ignoring his comment, she rushed on.

  “And I would have been perfectly happy if I had never set eyes on you! And I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for those ridiculous cases of grape juice I found shacked up on the floor. If I hadn’t stopped to put them away, I would have been gone long before you came on board! Though what use,” she ended bitterly, “a man who ordered wine with his dinner can have for so many bottles of grape juice is more than I can see.”

  “For my grandmother,” he murmured, an arrested look in his dark eyes. “She has a preference for that brand only.”

  Anne’s face cleared as that small mystery was solved. “I see, for the one who is ill,” she said before she thought.

  His features hardened immediately. “That is correct. You really must tell me your sources of information. In the meantime I suggest you come into the cabin and make yourself comfortable for the remainder of the flight.”

  “You are going to turn back?” Anne asked, driven by a distinct feeling of misgiving.

  The señor had already turned toward the cabin door. Now he swung back. “Unfortunately not.”

  “You can’t mean — you don’t mean that you are going on to Mexico City.”

  “I mean exactly that. We are already nearly an hour into a flight that normally takes approximately two and a quarter hours. To turn back would be a waste of time, fuel, and money, but especially time, which may be of the essence.”

  “But I can’t go to Mexico City with you! I have no money with me, no papers. How will I get back to Dallas? And if I can’t get back how can I stay? I haven’t a change of clothing, not even a toothbrush.”

  “You should have thought of that before you smuggled yourself on board.”

  “I did not smuggle myself on this plane,” she grated. “I walked on with the tray from Metcalf’s. If you don’t believe me, you can ask the guard who was stationed at the foot of the gangway.”

  “That is your first mistake, señorita. You know very well there was no guard — that he was called away to assist with a heart-attack victim on one of the commercial airliners. Which is the only reason you are here.”

  She might have guessed there was some such reason why the guard had not informed the señor that she was still on board. What was the use of arguing? What difference did it make what Señor Castillo believed? With luck she would never see him again. When she reached Mexico City, perhaps she could throw herself on the mercy of the airport officials, and if she explained what had happened, maybe they would put her on a return flight to Dallas. Failing that, there was always the American consulate. They would surely help her to get in touch with Joe and Iva. These tentative plans forming in her mind, she marched before him into the cabin and seated herself in one of the cushioned lounge chairs.

  It was a little unnerving to have the señor, instead of returning to the rumpled comfort of the settee made up as a bed for him, lower his long length into the chair across from her. She tried to ignore his close scrutiny by staring out the nearest window at the twilight purple of the late-evening sky with the cloud layer just below them shot with the gold of the last rays of the sun reaching from beyond the edge of the horizon. It was a beautiful sight and one that was oddly soothing. When, after a time, Señor Castillo spoke, she was able to turn to him with at least an appearance of composure.

  “You have someone who will be worried when you do not return this evening?” he queried. “Your parents, perhaps?”

  Her roommate, Judy, was out of town. Joe and Iva would not expect to see her again until Monday morning. No, there was no one. She shook her head.

  The face of the man across from her turned a shade harder and the brooding silence fell once more.

  “What is your name?” he asked abruptly.

  She struggled for a brief moment with the impulse to tell him it was none of his business. She could foresee no good in making him the gift of it. She wanted no more to do with Señor Castillo than she could help. In truth, the quicker she forgot the entire day leading up to this moment, the happier she would be. There might, however, be one thing to be gained by withholding it.

  “Why?” she inquired.

  The inclination of his head was a masterpiece of irony. “You have a slight advantage of me,” he replied.

  The recessed lighting of the cabin was dim. It gave a soft sheen to her tawny hair and made mysterious pools of her gold-flecked eyes as she faced him. “If you want to know my name,” she said slowly, “you can ask at Metcalf Caterers.”

  He stared at her, his eyes narrowed speculatively under thick dark brows; then he gave a quick, impatient shake of his head. With an abrupt change of subject he asked, “Have you had dinner?”

  She was forced to admit she had not.

  “Nor have I,” he rejoined shortly. “Since you have inspected the provisions made by Metcalf’s, you should have some idea if there is enough food for two?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she answered, adding quickly, “It is Metcalf’s policy to give ample portions.”

  “Spare me the corroborating statements,” he requested with a sharp gesture as he got to his feet. “I am asking you to share a meal with me, no more than that.”

  Anne would have liked to have refused to eat with him, but that would have been foolhardy. She had eaten only the sketchiest kind of lunch, a half of a sandwich and a cup of coffee, more than eight hours ago, and there was no way of knowing when she would be able to eat again since she had no money with her. Moreover, the smell of the trout Marguery, when her host removed the cover from the container, would have shaken a much stronger will than her own. While she searched for china, silver, and a glass for the señor’s wine, he meticulously divided the fare into two equal portions. He insisted that she have wine also, finding the glass and filling it for her when she demurred. She was not accustomed to wine with her meals, and the first taste of the sparkling, pale-gold liquid sat oddly on her palate, but as she gradually grew used to it, it seemed right for the time and the place. It was not easy to force the first few bites of food down her throat that was tight with nerves. She was helped considerably, in time, by the señor’s attitude. Concentrating on his dinner and, afterward, staring into his wineglass, he gave every appearance of having forgotten she was there.

  It was, she discovered, a false impression. No sooner had she drained her wineglass than he leaned to refill it.

  “No, please. Really, I don’t want it,” she protested. He paid no attention, tipping the last of the bottle into her glass. The idea flitted across her mind that he was trying to make her tipsy, then she had to suppress a smile at the absurdity of it. Nothing was less likely.

  “Drink it,” he told her, his gaze on her long, slender fingers playing in a nervous gesture with the stem of the wineglass. “It will help you relax.”

  “I don’t need to relax,” she said, flicking him a puzzled glance from under her lashes.

  “Don’t you? I would have thought there was something troubling you. Are you certain there is no one at home who will care what becomes of you?”

  The wording of his phrase disturbed her. Immediately on the defensive, she answered, “Only for tonight. I have a roommate who will be back tomorrow. Naturally she will be concerned if I’m not at the apartment.” It would be late Sunday evening before Judy returned, but Señor Ramón Carlos Castillo did not need to know that.

  “She? This roommate is a young woman?”

  “Of course,” Anne replied, a shade of tartness creeping into her voice.

  The señor raised a brow. “Your pardon,” he drawled. “These days such a thing cannot be taken for granted. What of your parents, then? Are they so modern they take no notice where you go or when you return?”

  “I fail to see what concern it is of yours,” Anne said, lifting her chin, “but my parents are dead. In any case, I am over twenty-one and have been taking care of myself for some time.”

&nbs
p; The señor nodded. “I begin to see.”

  As she caught the trend of his reasoning, a frustrated anger such as she had never felt before rose up in Anne. He thought that, because she had been orphaned, she was a girl with some kind of obsessive need for the kind of security he represented. In her rage and chagrin she could not decide which was worse, to be thought mercenary or merely pathetic.

  Glaring at him, she said distinctly, “You do not see anything, anything at all!”

  When he smiled into her stormy brown eyes, she could have reached out and slapped his golden, sardonic face — if she had not been afraid.

  Two

  In a silence that was something less than friendly, they cleared away the remains of the meal and placed the dishes and utensils in the cushioned plastic holders that would keep them unbroken until they could be washed after landing. This done, the señor escorted her back into the main cabin, then took his leave, saying he wished to speak to his pilot.

  Anne was glad enough to be relieved of his presence. She sank back into one of the armchairs, resting her head on the soft, pillowed back, wondering dejectedly what she was going to do. It was a frightening situation. Suppose Señor Castillo decided to press charges? What chance would she have to explain her position in a foreign language? And even if there was someone available who could understand her, what chance did she have that Mexican officialdom would believe her against one of their own countrymen? Even if the worst did not occur, what would she do after being set down in a strange country? How could she contact Joe and Iva without money to pay for a wire or phone call? If she was forced to turn to the American consulate, there was always the possibility they would not come to her assistance. She had heard they were no longer so helpful to stranded Americans, especially young people, as they had once been. Too many teenagers touring foreign countries by means of their thumbs had turned to the embassies to bail them out when they ran into difficulties. It did no good to worry about it. She would just have to wait and see.