Capturing Caleb (Knight Security 3)

by Carole Mortimer

  He stood up. “I would like to go to my room now.”

  “Of course.” Spiro nodded to one of the bodyguards. “Take Mr. Volkov up to his suite, Andreas. Dinner is at nine, Dmitri.”

  That would give Caleb three hours when he could perhaps take a stroll outside and try to make contact with Lena.

  Three more hours before he had to somehow convince Dukakis it was his intention to fuck the woman provided as his companion.

  As Caleb hadn’t been physically attracted to any woman but Lena since he’d first seen her photograph, and he had absolutely no interest, anyway, in bedding a woman who was forced to be with him, this rescue mission could go to hell before Caleb had even had so much as a glimpse of Lena.

  “Remember what I told you, Magdalena.” Spiro wasted no time on pleasantries when one of the guards brought Lena to join him and his blond-haired lover in the sitting room shortly before nine o’clock. “Please Volkov, and you will please me.”

  As she had no interest in pleasing either of those men, that might prove difficult. Although she had yet to actually meet Dmitri Volkov, she had no illusions about him. She knew what Bratva was, and if this Russian was as powerful as Spiro implied he was, then he was even more dangerous than Spiro. Lethally so.

  The Greek eyed her critically as she was unable to repress a shudder of revulsion. “Are you cold?”

  In the past four hours, Lena had been pampered and dressed suitably, as Spiro had said she would be, by a silent maid who either refused to answer when Lena spoke to her in Spanish and English, or simply couldn’t do so.

  The pampering had consisted of a luxurious soak in a perfumed bath, her hair washed and dried in curls down her back, and light makeup applied.

  The dress provided for her to wear was a deep burgundy in color. The thin straps over her shoulders and figure-hugging style, with a long slit up one side of the skirt, didn’t allow for any underwear to be worn beneath it.

  Unfortunately, a glance in the mirror had shown Lena she had never looked more beautiful. Her hair was gleaming. The contours of her face were sharper from her loss of weight, mascara giving her sooty lashes a longer appearance as they framed her dark gray eyes. Blusher dusted her high cheekbones. Her lips had been painted a dark red to match the gown.

  All for the titillation of some old and ugly member of the Russian Bratva.

  Was it any wonder she felt as if she had ice in her veins rather than hot blood?

  “Ah, Dmitri.” Spiro looked past her, a beaming smile lighting his chubby features. “Come and meet my other guest.”

  Caleb had to force himself to keep walking. Fuck, to keep breathing!

  One glance across the room, and he knew Magdalena was the woman Spiro intended to share Dmitri’s bed tonight.

  Holy fuck, no.

  In the past three hours, Caleb had surreptitiously looked for, and found, where all the cameras were in his suite. There were two in the bathroom and three in the bedroom. Unfortunately, he had also found four state-of-the-art listening devices, hidden from view but placed so that even the dropping of a pin anywhere in Caleb’s suite would be picked up by one of them.

  Not only would Dukakis have a ringside seat when or if Caleb was forced to take the woman to his bed, he would also be able to hear every moan and groan.

  Sick to his stomach, Caleb had quickly showered and changed into a black linen shirt and tailored trousers before taking that stroll outside. His sharp gaze had taken note that the rest of Dukakis’s security was exactly as his surveillance and hacking had said it would be.

  Except for the fact there were no longer any guards outside that single-story building a short distance from the house.

  Caleb knew within seconds it was because the building was empty.

  Lena was gone, and he had no idea where. His disappointment had almost brought him to his knees. Despair quickly followed as he imagined what her fate must be.

  It had never occurred to him, not for a single moment, as he changed yet again, this time for dinner, that Lena was the woman, the surprise, Dukakis had promised him.

  Lena had taken one glance at Dmitri Volkov and quickly lowered her lashes to shield the expression in her eyes.

  This man wasn’t old or ugly, but cover-model gorgeous!

  Another surreptitious glance told her he couldn’t be older than his mid-thirties, and he moved with a predatory grace in his black evening suit, white shirt and black bow tie, perfectly tailored to his well over six feet in height. His hair was very dark and shoulder-length. His eyes were the palest green she had ever seen and set in a face of harsh elegance that could have been chiseled by Michelangelo, with high cheekbones and a sharp blade of a nose, his lips full and sensual above a square and arrogantly angled chin.

  He was also Bratva, she reminded herself, and there would be blood on those elegant hands. Violence seen through those pale green eyes that were as cold as the ice running through her own veins.

  “Look at me.”

  Another shiver traveled the length of her spine at the authority in that gravelly and slightly accented voice.

  “I said, look at me.” One of those elegant hands was placed beneath her chin to tilt her face upward.

  Lena was so surprised, both by the warm touch of another human being after being kept isolated for so long, and that this man’s touch sent an almost electric shock through her body, that her eyes opened wide instinctively. She found herself staring straight into those ice-green depths. It was like looking into a cold mountain stream. Arctic. Bottomless. Emotionless.

  “Better.” That sensual mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “In future, do as I say instantly, and you will come to no harm.”

  Lena was trembling all over, and she didn’t think all of it was due to the fact she hadn’t eaten properly in months.

  There was something compelling about Dmitri Volkov that held her totally captive and provoked a desire to please him, which she found totally unsettling. Not just unsettling, unacceptable.

  Stockholm syndrome?

  She almost snorted at the ridiculousness of that thought. After all these months of captivity, if she was going to respond to anyone in that way, then it would have been Spiro. And all he made her feel was nauseated.

  No, this compulsion, her heart-pounding response to the sound of Dmitri Volkov’s voice, was all due to him. And she hated him for it.

  She wrenched her chin out of his grasp, cheeks hot with temper. “Go to hell!”

  Volkov shot Spiro a mocking glance. “A little skittish still?”

  “Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.” The Greek looked a little shame-faced before his expression brightened. “Or it could be the ideal opportunity for you to demonstrate your superior persuasive powers to me.”

  Volkov nodded, that pale gaze remaining unwaveringly on Lena. “I guarantee by tomorrow morning, she will be docile and compliant.”

  By tomorrow morning.

  After Lena had spent the night in this man’s bed.

  Chapter 4

  During his time in the military, Caleb had faced guns, tanks, mortar fire, been held captive by Afghan rebels for weeks while they tortured him for their pleasure. The work he had done for Knight Security the past few years hadn’t been without its dangers either. And yet none of those things had been or were as torturous as sitting beside Lena at the dinner table, with Dukakis and his lover seated opposite them.

  To Caleb’s eyes, Lena looked good enough to eat.

  Oh, she was thinner than in her photograph, probably due to her ill-treatment the past three months, but it didn’t detract from her beauty in the slightest.

  She looked taller too, in three-inch-heeled fuck-me strappy black sandals that made her legs look long and sexy.

  Her auburn hair was glossy and tumbling down her back in long curls. Her eyes were a haunted gray above high cheekbones, the fullness of her lips glistening a dark red. The style of her dress revealed the sharp edges of her clavicles above the tiny swell of he
r breasts, and her waist was so slender, Caleb believed he could span it with both hands.

  As for the slit up one side of the calf-length dress… Before she sat down, Caleb had caught only tantalizing glimpses of her long bare legs. But the gown fell away completely once she was seated beside him, the slit so high, it bared her almost to her waist, despite her efforts at modesty.

  Because she isn’t wearing anything underneath it.

  It was so totally inappropriate, but Caleb’s cock engorged as he looked at the bare length of Lena’s thigh. It throbbed painfully at the thought of all that naked flesh beneath her dress.

  What the hell sort of man did that make him?

  This woman had been ripped away from the life she knew and obviously loved, from her family and loved ones, and was being held here at the whim of this bastard, Dukakis. And Caleb was so fucking hard for her, he could probably knock nails into wood with his cock.

  Bastard.

  “Eat.”

  Lena tensed and turned to at look Dmitri Volkov as he spoke to her in that guttural voice. “I’m not hungry.”

  Pale green eyes looked at her coldly. “I said eat.”

  “But—”

  “Do not make me say it a third time.” That merciless gaze dared her to continue defying him.

  Lena was aware of Spiro’s interest in their conversation. Even his young lover didn’t look quite as bored as he usually did. And she wasn’t being difficult, she just wasn’t sure her stomach would accept the richness of prawns cooked in some sort of creamy sauce, after weeks of being fed only bread and a thin stew. Just the smell of the prawns was enough to make her abused stomach give a sickly lurch.

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Would you like me to feed you?”

  How on earth did that suggestion sound sensual, even erotic, when spoken in that accented voice?

  Volkov was Bratva, damn it.

  In all probability a cold-blooded killer.

  The fact that he was a business associate of Spiro’s should have been enough to make her hate him on sight.

  Even worse, she was expected to share Volkov’s bed for the night.

  Instead of the revulsion she should have felt, Lena was dismayed to feel that hot quiver of awareness once again slide down the length of her spine and settle between her thighs.

  “Open.”

  Lena blinked, taking several seconds to focus, first on the fork held in front of her, a prawn covered in creamy sauce on the tines, before she gave a quick glance at the man proffering it. Dmitri Volkov had now turned fully in his seat toward her, his thigh pressing against hers and effectively cutting Dukakis and his lover from her view.

  She looked at him searchingly. Could it be her imagination, or was there actually a little warmth now in the coldness of Dmitri Volkov’s eyes? Was that even possible?

  If it was, then it was most probably a trick, she instantly chastised herself. A pretense of kindness in order to gain her compliance, rather than the depravation she had suffered the past three months.

  Even so, she found it impossible to look away from those compelling eyes as she began to lean her torso toward the food he offered.

  “No doubt you will need all your strength for the night ahead, Magdalena,” Spiro put in derisively. “Hmm, Dmitri?”

  Lena pulled back with a jerk, furious with herself for her weakness as she saw the smug humor in Spiro’s and his lover’s faces. At her expense. How could she have allowed herself to think, even for a moment, there could be an ounce of kindness inside a man like Dmitri Volkov! How could there be, when even Spiro had claimed the Russian was ten times worse than him. She inwardly thanked the Greek for reminding her of exactly who and what Volkov was.

  Caleb’s jaw tightened at Dukakis’s interruption, although he took care not to show any of that anger outwardly as he carefully placed his fork on his plate before turning to his host. “I admit to preferring my women a little more—robust.”

  Spiro chuckled. “Then you must take care not to break our lovely Magdalena.”

  “I will do whatever is necessary to induce her to obey me.” The deliberate coldness in his eyes, an expression he had seen Nikolai use to good effect a dozen times, dared the older man to challenge him.

  The Greek instantly backed down. “Of course.”

  He nodded abruptly before turning his attention back to Lena. “You will either feed yourself, or I will have to force you to do so.”

  Caleb was very much aware that right now he was behaving like the bastard Dukakis and Lena believed him to be. But his demand that Lena eat wasn’t the demonstration of his control she thought it was. At some stage, the two of them were going to attempt to get off this island, and when they did, Lena was going to need all her strength to keep up with him.

  Dukakis had done half the work for him, of course, by bringing Lena up to the main house, but the two of them would still have to make their way out of the house and then on foot to the helo pad. He couldn’t allow Lena to hold them back because she was weakened from a lack of food.

  Those rebellious gray eyes continued to challenge his for several long seconds before Lena reluctantly picked up a piece of the bread she had previously crumbled on her side plate. Caleb watched, mesmerized, as she parted those plump lips before popping the bread into her mouth.

  He continued to watch her as she slowly chewed before wincing as she swallowed. As if food, any food, was painful for her to swallow. Further evidence—not that Caleb needed any, considering her loss of weight—that Dukakis had been starving her. “Drink,” he instructed evenly.

  Another flash of those smoky gray eyes. “I’m not your damned pet!”

  “Magdalena—”

  “I like her this way, Spiro,” Caleb assured him mockingly. “Obviously, your tastes are a little different.” He gave Spiro’s lover a mocking smile and received a venomous glare in return. “But a little fire in a woman makes the eventual bending to my will so much more…pleasurable. Sip your wine, Lena,” he added harshly. “And then eat some more food.”

  He saw Lena’s eyes widen as he deliberately used the name he knew she was called by her family and friends, and by the little boy who had been in her care when they were both abducted.

  She looked confused for several seconds before shaking her head. “The food is too rich and the wine not to my taste.”

  Caleb leaned forward on the table, once again cutting Dukakis and his lover from their conversation. “Would you prefer water instead?”

  She eyed him scornfully. “What does it matter what I would or wouldn’t prefer, when later tonight you have every intention of fucking me against my will?”

  “Magdalena—”

  “Nyet, Spiro.” Caleb held up a silencing hand before using that same hand to run the tips of his fingers down Lena’s pallid cheeks. His hand curved about her stubborn chin and held her as she would have flinched away from him. “Firstly, you will not use such words in my presence again. Secondly”—his voice lowered huskily—“it will not be against your will.”

  Her eyes widened. “You honestly think I’m going to let you—”

  “Not only will you let me, Lena…” Caleb used that name again deliberately, having seen how it had unnerved her earlier. “You will enjoy it.”

  “Like hell I will!” She wrenched out of his grasp before standing abruptly, angry color in her cheeks. “I would like to be excused, Spiro.” She held her head at a proud angle.

  “Sit.”

  Her eyes blazed with anger as she glared at Caleb. “I told you I’m not your fucking—” Her words were cut off as his fingers moved about her arm and he pulled her down to sit on his thighs.

  “And I told you not to use that word in my presence again,” he reminded her evenly. “These”—he ran his finger over her slightly parted and moist lips—“were made for much more pleasurable pursuits.”

  All the breath seemed to leave Lena’s body the moment Dmitri held her tightly in his arms. His fing
ertip caressing her bottom lip made her head spin and her limbs feel heavy, preventing her from standing.

  He felt so warm. His arms about her were strangely comforting rather than threatening.

  Which was, as her English mother would put it, bullshit.

  Lena’s eyes stung with tears at her own weakness. Was she really so starved for human warmth and affection she was responding to the man who intended to totally destroy her by taking her to his bed tonight, whether she wanted it or not?

  It made no sense.

  He made no sense.

  This had to be a game to him. He was playing with her, deliberately confusing her.

  And at the moment, Lena knew she simply wasn’t strong enough to resist. Choose the fights you can win, her mother would also have told her. She wasn’t about to win this one.

  She averted her gaze. “I’ll eat and drink.”

  “Good.” Volkov pulled her chair a little closer to his before placing her back on it. “Take these prawns away,” he instructed the maid who had come into the room to remove any used plates. “Whatever you are serving for our main course, bring Magdalena some cooked chicken instead, no sauce, and perhaps a small green salad. Oh, and some cool water.”

  Lena could see the shock in Spiro’s expression at Volkov’s highhandedness. She had to admit to being more than a little surprised by it herself. Not only was it the height of rudeness to take over in that arrogant way in someone else’s home, but Volkov’s instruction almost made it seem as if he cared—

  Don’t be a fool, Volkov is only playing at being nice, Lena instantly remonstrated with herself. The only thing either of these men cared about was not damaging the merchandise.

  Thankfully, Spiro chose not to make any objection to the Russian’s request. It was much easier for Lena to eat the plain cooked chicken and salad, helped down with sips of the cool water, than the beef cooked rare, accompanied by a rich red wine, which the others were now enjoying.

  Unfortunately, as Lena quickly discovered, the more edible chicken and salad came with a price.