"Look," she said, her voice tightly controlled, "let's stop playing games, OK? My father made a deal with you. You were supposed to get me on a plane to the States..."
"You're leaving something out, Princess," he said softly.
"Leaving what out? I..." Color rose quickly into Elena's cheeks. "All right, yes, you were supposed to marry me."
"Supposed to? I did marry you, Elena. How could you forget a ceremony that meant so much to both of us?"
The color in her cheeks darkened. "OK," she said through her teeth, "what's the bottom line?"
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You're right, Princess, it's time to put all the cards on the table. It's almost dawn," he said, leaning over the steering wheel and peering at the pewter-colored sky. "I don't want to be sitting here like a target once the sun is up." He turned towards her and his eyes fixed on hers thoughtfully. "I could leave you here." His voice was soft, almost a caress, and Elena felt herself paling beneath it. A cool smile twisted his mouth. "We both know what a bastard I am, don't we?"
She drew in her breath. "Listen, Rogan..."
"Come on, don't be shy. You've told me what you thought of me. In fact, you've told me several times."
"Dammit, if you're going to dump me out here, do it! Don't toy with me."
A muscle clenched in his jaw and he looked back at the road. "I know it's going to come as something of a disappointment," he said finally, "but I'm going to take you with me."
The sun was rising over the mountains far ahead of them, its golden rays spreading quickly across the grey landscape. Rogan pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and put them on.
"Just understand, it's not going to be a walk in the park."
Elena looked at him, but his eyes, hidden behind the mirrored lenses, were closed to her.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, I'll get us out of here—but I'm not sure how I'm going to do it. There'll be all kinds of problems.."
Her eyes followed his as he looked at the fuel gauge. "We're all right so far," she said quickly. "We've got half a tank of gasoline left."
"You mean, we've already used half a tank."
"It comes to the same thing," she said impatiently. "And we haven't seen anyone since we got away from those three men."
"Not if you don't count a burned out airport, no."
"You know what I mean, Rogan. We haven't bumped into a car or a wagon or..."
"Right. Which makes me wary as hell. This is the main road out of Santa Rosa. And we're in the middle of a rebellion. Where in God's name is everybody?"
He was right, she thought, casting a worried glance out of the window. Everything was much too quiet. Not that she wanted to run into any armed men—the encounter during the night had been quite enough. But wouldn't troops or rebels or somebody be all over this road by now?
"I... I hadn't thought about it," she admitted slowly.
Rogan's jaw clenched. "Well, I have, believe me. Things might get interesting any time now." He paused and then he looked at her, his expression blank. "Which brings us back to our deal, senorita. If you want me to take you with me..."
If? She sat up straight and stared at him. "But you said…"
His voice cut through hers. "If you want my help, you'll have to agree to my terms."
"Your terms? What do you mean, "terms"? You were already paid to get me out of here."
He sighed. "How quickly we forget, Princess. I've already met my part of the deal, remember?"
“I hate when you call me that! And you haven’t.”
“Yeah, I have. I got you to the airport. It's not my fault the plane burned, is it?"
Elena drew in her breath. "That's not the point."
"You're right, it's not."
She looked at him quickly. She hadn't expected such a quick concession, but he was smiling agreeably. Dear God, why was she suddenly so nervous? And why was he looking at her that way?
“Then, what is?”
He shrugged his shoulders. "I figure I'm entitled to something extra."
"More money? I haven't got any, Rogan, not here..."
"I don't want money," he said roughly. "I want something else."
Her pulse began to pound. "I... I don't understand," she whispered.
He gave her a smile so dazzling that it made her heart turn over. "Sure you do, Elena," he said softly. "You're my wife. My dutiful wife."
“I'm not," she said quickly. "You know I'm not."
"I have a piece of paper that says you are, Princess. Mr. and Mrs. Blake Rogan—that's us."
Her mouth fell open and then closed again. She curled into the corner of the seat, wedging herself tightly against the door, and looked at him. His eyes were hidden behind the mirrored lenses of his glasses, but she knew how they must look right now, the midnight-blue irises glinting with amusement at her expense. Her gaze drifted across the high cheekbones that gave his face a mysterious cast. His jaw was thrust forward aggressively, and she could see a muscle ticking in his cheek. She looked at his hands, lying lightly on the wheel of the car, and suddenly she remembered the strength of them when they had held her to him.
They were married. Her father had called it a legal maneuver, but in the end all that mattered was that she was Rogan's wife. The piece of paper—the license that was to have ensured her safety also gave him certain rights, certain privileges. Especially here, she thought, especially in San Felipe, where married women had no rights except those that their husbands permitted.
She felt an unbidden rush of excitement sweep through her. He could do almost anything he wanted to her. She belonged to him. He could stop the car right now, along the side of the road, and turn to her and... and...
But he wouldn't. Blake Rogan might be a lot of things, but he wasn't a man who had to force himself on a woman. Her glance drifted to his mouth and lingered there. His lower lip was full and sensual. Everything about him was sensual. He had the darkest, thickest lashes she'd ever seen. And she could still remember the taste of him, and the touch of his hard hands on her.
Heat raced through her blood.
Desperation made her speak.
"I've... I've got a boyfriend in Miami, you know. Did my father tell you?"
Rogan nodded. "No," he said politely, "actually, we didn't have time for much chit-chat."
She felt her cheeks burning with color. "We're engaged to be married."
It wasn't really a lie, she thought. Jeremy had proposed to her twice. The fact that she'd turned him down, the fact that she couldn't imagine him as anything but a nice man and a good employer, was nobody's business but hers. But it might work, she thought, watching Rogan's face. The man had a sense of honor. She knew that much. He'd saved her from those men in the marketplace, hadn't he?
"Now, how could that be, Princess? You're already married—to me."
"We're not," she said again. "You know that. And... and Jeremy, my fiancé, would be very angry if you... if you and I..."
"Miami's a thousand miles from here," he said bluntly.
So much for honor, she thought, closing her eyes. "You can't really mean that you... that you expect me to…to..."
"I not only mean it, Elena, I demand it." His voice was suddenly cold. "I expect you to obey me without question."
Her eyes flew open. "Obey you?"
He nodded. "Yes," he said curtly. "I know it's an old-fashioned concept, but it's what I want. You'll do exactly as you're told, when you're told, without argument or questions." He glanced at her and then back at the road. "In other words," he said softly, his voice taking on a hint of cool amusement, "you'll be the ideal wife."
The ideal... Hysterical laughter rose in her throat and she fought it back. Rogan had been talking about obedience, not...
"Can you manage that? Because getting out of San Felipe isn't going to be a picnic. The last thing I need is to spend every minute explaining my actions to you." He gave her a quick smile. "Besides, I'm an old-fashioned man—I like sweet and complia
nt women."
It was impossible to prevent herself from snorting. "I'll bet you do."
He grinned. "I haven't had a complaint yet, Princess."
Elena fell back against the seat and sighed. "All right," she said finally. "We'll do it your way."
"Good. Now, open that glove compartment and see if there's a map in it. I want to be off this damned road by the time the sun is over that peak."
"OK."
"What's that?"
"I said, OK, Rogan, I heard you."
"Blake," he said pleasantly. "Remember? You want to get in the habit of calling me that, Elena. Who knows how many more times we'll have to convince somebody that we're husband and wife?"
"But that's silly. Who'd know the difference?"
"I would."
"Yes, but that doesn't make sense—"
"Elena!"
Her head snapped up at the sharpness in his voice. "Yes?"
"We're five minutes into our deal and you're reneging already. No questions, no arguments. Wasn't that the agreement?"
"Well, yes, but you can't mean..."
"Sweet and obedient, remember?"
"This is ridiculous. I agreed to do as you ask when we're in a situation that requires it."
"Why is this so difficult for you, Elena? I thought all senoritas were raised to be dutiful wives."
"I am not your wife, dammit!”
“Don't curse, Elena. I don't like it. My wife..."
"I just told you, I'm not your wife."
The brakes squealed as he pulled the car to the shoulder of the road. He took off his sunglasses and turned towards her. There was something in the taut angle of his body, something in the midnight-blue darkness of his eyes that made her panic. She moved quickly, but not quickly enough. Her shoulders jammed against the door as his hands caught her.
"Lesson one," he said roughly. He pulled her towards him, his fingers curling in the dark mane of her hair. "I've tried reasoning with you."
"Rogan, I didn't mean..."
His eyes bored into hers. "No," he said softly, drawing her closer, "no, you didn't."
"Dammit, listen to me!"
"If a marriage license can't convince you, maybe this will."
"Don't," she said desperately. "You can't. You..."
He smiled in a way that made her heart stop. "I can," he whispered. "And I damned well will."
His hand clasped the back of her head and brought her to him. Elena twisted against him, trying to free herself, but it was impossible. His mouth swooped down and caught hers in a kiss that took the breath from her.
She whimpered against his lips, and her hands rose between them, but Blake caught her wrists easily and drew her arms harmlessly to the side.
"Don't fight me, Elena."
"You bastard," she hissed. "I'll kill you!"
He laughed softly as he drew her tightly against him and then his mouth covered hers again. She closed her eyes against what was happening, against his kiss. It spoke of ownership and of power, just as his body spoke of strength. She was helpless against him, he was telling her, and she knew it...
And then, suddenly, the kiss began to change. Blake shifted in the seat; his hand fell from her wrists and his arm slid around her, bringing her so closely against him that she could feel her breasts flatten against the hard muscles of his chest. His lips moved over hers, seeking, urging, and then she felt the heated brush of his tongue against her mouth. She murmured something against the silken intrusion and then her lips began to open slowly to his. Her hands slid up his arms, up his shoulders, to his neck.
"Say my name, Elena," he whispered against her lips, the words searing her like the heated breath of the jungle.
"Please," she begged, and his mouth closed on hers again.
"Will you say it now?" he murmured a lifetime later.
Her eyes fell closed. "Yes," she whispered.
His hands moved down her neck, spreading along her shoulders. "Say it."
She felt the sting of tears beneath her closed eyelids. "Blake," she murmured.
He brought her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear. A shudder went through her; his heart was racing as rapidly as hers.
"And will you do as I tell you?"
She could feel the heat of his hands burning through her cotton shirt, feel the strange, fiery weakness that seemed to have captured her soul. Her mind struggled against his words.
"Answer me, Elena."
He cupped her head again and raised her face to his. "I hate you," she said in a broken whisper. "I hate you!"
He laughed softly. "Do you?"
"Yes," she said. A shudder went through her as his mouth touched her throat.
"Hate me all you like," he whispered, touching his tongue to her flesh. "I don't really give a damn. All I want is your word that you'll obey."
What would he do if she refused him? The thought sent her blood surging.
"Will you let go if I say I will?"
His voice was thick. "Are you sure that's what you want?"
For an instant, time seemed to stand still. She felt his arms tighten around her and her heart turned over. She could never fight him off, not if he were determined to have her. What would happen if he began to kiss her again, if he began to touch her? Something quickened and began to uncoil deep within her.
She blinked as his hands fell away from her. "OK," he said roughly, jamming the sunglasses on his nose again, "let's get moving. Where's that damned map?"
CHAPTER SIX
Elena blinked again, like a dreamer surfacing from a deep sleep. She watched as Blake put his hands on the steering wheel and flexed his fingers. He was staring out of the windscreen as if he could see something beyond the road arrowing towards the distant mountains.
"The glove compartment." His voice was husky, and he cleared it before he spoke again. "Go on. See if there's a map in there."
Her own voice was barely a whisper. "A... yes, a map..."
Her dark hair, the strands cool against her heated skin, swung forward and brushed against her cheeks as she bent towards the dashboard. What in heaven's name had happened just now? There wasn't much question about why Blake had kissed her. It had been a lesson, just as he'd said, a reminder of how vulnerable and dependent upon him she was.
At least, that was how it had started. But it had ended as something quite different, and now her mind was busily skittering away from the possibilities like a nervous horse from the edge of a precipice.
The glove-compartment door was jammed, and she had to slam the heel of her hand against it before it fell open and revealed a dark, littered interior. Half a pack of chewing gum, a pair of sunglasses with one lens missing, a comb, a book of matches and finally, in the very rear of the compartment, a bulky, folded piece of paper. Her fingers closed around it.
It was a map, torn along most of its fold, but was usable. Elena opened it and spread it across the dashboard.
Blake nodded. "Terrific. Let me take a look."
He bent over the crumpled paper, his head close to hers. She could see the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes, the furrows beside his mouth. His shoulder brushed against her as he leaned closer to the dashboard. His hair, thick and luxuriant, was the color of chestnuts, except where the early morning sunlight touched it with gold. It would feel soft to the touch, she thought, her glance flickering to where dark tendrils curled lightly over his collar.
Blake jabbed his finger at a thin blue line. "This is where we are. And that," he added, pointing to the top of the map, "that's where we want to go."
"Mexico?"
He nodded again. "Mexico. That's the first stop where we can be sure nobody will make trouble for us just for the hell of it." He sat back. "But," he said thoughtfully, "we've got a problem."
Elena looked from the map to him. "Yes, I see. There's only the one road north."
"Right."
"And you don't think it's safe to stay on it."
<
br /> "Right again," he said, peering at the map once more. Two vertical creases appeared between his eyebrows. "But there's a secondary road ahead of us," he added, pointing to a thready line that angled to the north-east. "It leads into the mountains."
Elena nodded. "Las Montanas de la Luna. The Mountains of the Moon."
"Yeah. And just the other side of the mountains, we can pick up the highway again. From there, it's a straight run to Mexico."
She looked at him warily. "Aren't you forgetting something? There's the border crossing into Mexico after the mountains."
Blake shrugged. "Piece of cake."
"And the mountains are supposed to be full of bandits."
"Maybe."
"And we'll have to cover a couple of hundred miles without any supplies or provisions or..."
"Have you got any better ideas?"
Elena sighed. "No," she said finally. "Not one."
"OK," he said as he folded the map, "then that's the plan. If the scale on the map is accurate, we should run into the turn-off in another couple of hours, and there's a town called Las Palmas just north of here. We can buy some food and fill the gas tank."
Elena nodded. "I'll draw up a list of things we'll need."
"Perfume, lipstick, hairspray..."
She swung her head towards him. A rush of angry words were on her tongue, but the expression on his face stopped her. His lips were curved in a smile, but it held none of the mocking amusement she'd anticipated. After a second, she gave him a quick smile of her own in return.
"Quinine tablets, aspirin, insect repellent," she said. "Tinned foods, blankets. And a machete."
His expression was blank. "A machete," he repeated.
"That's rough country up there."
"Well, well, well," Blake said softly.
Elena looked up quickly, again expecting that cold look of laughter to be in his eyes. That it wasn't there confused her.
"What does that mean?" she demanded.
He shrugged. "I guess I'm surprised to find that you haven't spent your life pouring tea and attending debutante dances."
Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set Page 54