Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection)

by Jennifer Blake

  “Curious like a fox.” He was trying to see if she could keep her story straight, testing his impression of her.

  “Should I be flattered?” he asked.

  “If it suits you.”

  “It doesn’t.” he answered, his tone hardening. “What kind of job?”

  “Secretary for a construction company, if you must know.”

  “How long have you known the judge and his family?”

  “What does it matter?” Since she had been expecting something of the sort, the change of subject did not throw her off balance.

  “I asked you a question and, if you will remember, I like answers.”

  She sent him a look of purest dislike bordering on hate. “I have known them most of my life.”

  “Your mother and father are friends of theirs also, in fact?”

  “My mother and father are dead.”

  “Poor little orphan, all alone in the world. I suppose you live by yourself.”

  Kelly opened her mouth to give him a sharp answer when something in his expression warned her. He was trying to make her angry, trying to make her answer without considering the consequences. “You — would like to think so, wouldn’t you? It would make it so much easier for you if there were no one to miss me if I didn’t turn up in a day or two.”

  “Is there?” If he was disconcerted by her perspicacity, he gave no sign.

  “Of course there is!”

  “You were bound to say so. Who?”

  “My landlady, my boss, the girls in the office where I work.”

  “All of whom know you left on vacation, and if they are aware that you came down here at all, must expect you to stay several days. I would be surprised if anyone starts to worry about you before next weekend, if then. And that will be long enough.”

  A tight feeling closed over Kelly’s heart. “What — what do you mean?”

  A smile curved his mouth, but did not light the darkness of his eyes. “It will be long enough for us to get to know each other, something I look forward to with — great anticipation.”

  Blindly, she reached out to pick up the drink he had poured for her, swallowing quickly against the dryness of her mouth. She doubted that his glib explanation was a true answer to her question, but if it had been made to reassure her, it had not succeeded.

  Charles leaned back in his chair, his arm resting on the table in a deceptively relaxed pose. “I don’t understand why you aren’t married, or engaged at the very least. You are much too attractive to be running around free.”

  “Running around free, as you put it, is the way I like it. I don’t have time for men.”

  “A liberated woman?”

  “To the extent that I have my own living to make and no ties to hold me down, yes.”

  “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it, though I won’t press you. Why don’t you get married and let some man take care of you?”

  “The men I have met aren’t interested in marriage.”

  “They prefer to play house? What can you expect of hard-hatted construction workers?”

  “I have gone out with an architect or two, and an executive in a loan company. They weren’t so different.” The derision in her eyes was veiled by her lashes as she played with the ice in her glass, making it swirl around the side.

  “They need to have their heads examined,” he said.

  She looked up quickly, her surprise mirrored in her gray eyes. She was in time to catch the scowl that crossed his face before he schooled his features to blandness. “I mean,” he went on, as the memory of his threatening invitation hovered between them, “that their technique must have been all wrong.”

  “Yours is better?” she asked, her tone laced with acid.

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we? Of course, if all else fails, I can always fall back on force.”

  “That is exactly what I was getting at,” Kelly flung at him, the flush of embarrassed fury creeping under her skin.

  “A pity. For a minute I thought you might be interested in a comparison.”

  “You thought no such thing!”

  “A man can dream, can’t he?”

  Kelly stopped, disconcerted. For an instant there had been a flash of real laughter lighting his eyes with warmth and enjoyment. Then the mocking challenge had closed over his face once more, igniting her urge to hit out at him. Never in her life had she felt such a need for physical retaliation. In some dim recess of her mind, she was shocked at the violence that shook her, causing the foundations of her quiet and tranquil personality to tremble with this wild need to join battle with the man across the table from her, and with the equally strong counter-instinct that warned her she could not win.

  “You have an expressive face,” he said, irony strong in his voice.

  Kelly looked away from him. Beyond the windows and the screened veranda, the sun was setting, its long rays slanting through the trees with crimson light, turning the waters of the lake to an iridescent, rose-tinted, blackish green. On its still surface were reflected the stretching shadows of the trees, the stately cypresses mired knee-deep in the muddy lake, their feathery branches like arms uplifted in supplication. A blue heron napped across the open space in arrow-straight flight, the dark underside of its wings flushed with pink. On the distant horizon of the opposite shore, the trees that lined it were already black with the approach of night.

  Kelly dropped her hands into her lap, clenching them together. She took a deep breath. As if compelled, she said, “What do you intend to do with me?”

  “Why belabor the point?” he asked after a long moment.

  “Because I have to know!” she cried, swinging to face him. “You have no right to keep me here, no right to interfere with my life! I want to know why you’re doing it.”

  “Can’t you just accept it? Can’t you relax and take things as they come?”

  “Could you?” she demanded.

  “I’m not a woman.”

  “That has nothing to do with it! It makes it worse, if anything!” She lifted her small fist and brought it down on the table with a bang.

  “Kelly —” There was a warning note in his voice. He reached across the table to place his strong fingers on her arm.

  She shook off his hand, coming up out of her chair so quickly it toppled over behind her. As he surged upward, rounding the table toward her, she retreated. Suddenly he came to a halt. He straightened, a stillness coming over him. Watching him, Kelly realized how dim it was growing in the room. His face was in shadow, the features unreadable.

  “Kelly, wait,” he said, his voice soft. “I don’t want to hurt you; I won’t, unless you force me.”

  His voice with its promise of a modicum of safety was hypnotic. She wanted to believe him, needed to believe him. She could feel the tight coil of her resistance beginning to unwind. This new attack upon her defenses might well prove to be more dangerous than physical force.

  “Behave myself like a good little girl, is that it?” she lashed out at him. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? It would make things so much easier for you!”

  “It might well be that I would prefer it not to be easy.” His voice was quiet, almost reflective.

  “You should be happy then,” she said with a lift of her chin, “because I intend to make it as difficult for you as I can.”

  The steady hum of the cooling system was loud in the silence that stretched between them. With an exclamation under his breath, he swung away from her. Striding to the light switch, he flipped it on. As the room sprang into bright detail, he stood staring around him with his hands on his hips and a grim look on his face.

  “This house,” he said with measured emphasis, “has too many doors and windows.”

  Kelly tilted her head to one side. “What a shame.”

  “It means I will have to keep a close eye on you, stick to you day and night like the proverbial leech.”

  Day and night. She swallowed, her inclination to bait him rapidly disappearing.
“How — exhausting.”

  “Possibly, though it may have its compensations.”

  “Not,” she said with more bravado than she felt, “if I can help it.”

  “Yes, but can you?” he queried softly.

  Their eyes met across the width of the room, clear gray clashing with opaque black. What was he trying to do, frighten her into submission? If so, it was entirely possible he might succeed. And yet, there was an odd land of courage to be gained from the reflection that if he wanted to subdue her completely, he had only to use those tools of the kidnapper’s trade, the gag and bonds. She would give him a fierce run for his money, of course, but she had felt enough of his strength to have little doubt as to the outcome. That he had not yet brought them out was a source of wonder, and puzzlement.

  “I can try,” she said, and was disgusted with herself when the words left her throat as no more than a whisper.

  With the beginning of a frown between his eyes, he moved away from her. He stopped at the front window, staring out for a long moment with his back to the room. He made a movement with his shoulders that might have been a shrug, then reached to draw the drapes, shutting out the twilight.

  “Can you cook?”

  The prosaic nature of the question was so strange that it was a moment before Kelly could form a response. “Yes.”

  “Steak?”

  “I’m not up to cordon bleu standards, but I can broil a cut of meat.”

  “Good. That should keep you occupied for a while.”

  “If you think I’m going to cook your dinner for you —”

  “And your own, of course.”

  “Of course,” she jeered, “and while I’m at it, why not enough for your friends in the guest cottage?”

  “They can fend for themselves for the time being,” he answered, his face impassive.

  “Why? Don’t you want the two prisoners to become too chummy?” she demanded.

  “Maybe I would rather be alone with you,” he told her, his voice silky.

  “I don’t want to be alone with you.”

  “You have made that abundantly clear. I hope I have made it just as plain that what you want doesn’t matter?”

  She longed to defy him, to tell him to cook his own dinner, but from the glint in his eyes, she thought that was just what he expected her to do. The hard fact of the matter was she was weak from hunger. She had been so busy packing that morning that she had taken time for only the sketchiest breakfast and had skipped lunch entirely. She had thought to stop for a sandwich on the way, but she had forgotten how scarce were fast-food places on the back roads that led to the lake. The mere thought of a steak, and perhaps a salad, was enough to make her mouth water. What good was all her righteous anger if she lacked the strength to sustain it? How could she manage to escape if she was too weak to run?

  That was not the only problem. As she swung on her heel, heading for the kitchen, she felt a sharp pain stab into her instep. There was something in her foot, probably a thorn from the locust trees in the surrounding woods. She would deal with it later, when she was alone, if she was permitted the luxury of privacy. For the moment, it only hurt if she stepped on it a certain way. If she took care, she should be able to get through the rest of the evening. With so much else to worry her, a thing as little as a thorn could be ignored.

  If she had thought she was going to escape the watchful gaze of her captor, she was disabused of the notion in short order. Charles moved after her into the kitchen where he perched on a wooden stool beside the island cabinet in relaxed comfort, his dark eyes following her every movement.

  With a fine pretense of indifference, Kelly took the steaks from the refrigerator and unwrapped them. Switching on the broiler to let it begin heating, she took out the broiler pan, then opened a drawer and selected a sharp knife to score the fat and keep the steaks from curling. The kitchen was well stocked; it took her only a moment to assemble the salt, pepper, and butter. That done, she rummaged through the refrigerator once more to see if he had the makings of a salad. Finding lettuce and a tomato, she swung to the cabinet where Mrs. Kavanaugh had always kept the large plastic container she had used for tossing salad greens. It wasn’t there.

  “Is that what you’re looking for?” Charles asked, nodding toward the top of the refrigerator.

  He was using the container as a fruit bowl. Kelly glanced at the oranges and bananas it held, then took down a pair of individual salad bowls.

  “I will have to admit you know your way around this kitchen,” Charles said, his tone thoughtful.

  She paused, her back to him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

  “My mind is open on the subject.”

  “What earthly reason would I have for coming down here except the one I gave you?” Kelly removed the core of the lettuce, slicing around it with her knife, then tearing it out with a quick twist of her fingers before she ripped the head of iceberg apart, letting water run over it in the sink.

  “Information?” he suggested.

  “What do you mean? As some kind of police spy? That’s ridiculous.”

  “You certainly don’t look the part,” he agreed, leaving his stool to come and stand beside her, reaching for a piece of crisp lettuce to crunch between his white teeth.

  “That’s something, anyway,” Kelly snapped. Setting the lettuce aside to drain, she picked up the tomato and the knife.

  “But then,” he said meditatively, “it would be stupid of them to send someone who obviously looked like — police.”

  She had the strange idea that he had substituted that last word for another he had started to use. She gave him a quick glance. “If you really thought I had that kind of connection you would be more worried. Supposing I were on a special assignment, someone would be expecting my report.”

  “That leaves you in a dilemma, doesn’t it? Whether to try to convince me that you are, or that you aren’t.”

  If she was with the police, then someone might come looking for her after a time. If not, he had no reason to distrust her, but also no reason to fear her superiors would send someone after her. Kelly turned to face him, her paring knife in her hand. “I only want you to see the truth, that I am no danger to you, that I have no interest in you or your friends.”

  He did not move, there was no outward sign, and yet she was aware of the alertness that galvanized him as she turned the blade of her knife in his direction. He leaned against the cabinet, his unprotected chest, with the polo shirt taut across its muscled width, only inches from her. If she made a movement toward him with the steel, would she ever reach him, or would swift counter-measures prevent her from making contact? The thought of using the sharp knife against him had not occurred to her until she sensed his guard against it. Why it hadn’t, she could not tell; she should have been looking for weapons. Regardless, she had no stomach for the thought of slicing his flesh in such a way, even if the odds for success had been more favorable than they were.

  Almost against her will, she raised her gray eyes to his dark and suspended stare. Turning the knife handle in his direction, she said, “You may as well do your share. You can cut up the tomatoes for the salad while I put on the steak.”

  He took the knife in one hand and the tomato in the other. He still stood weighing her words, watching her, when she turned away.

  They spoke little as they ate their meal and cleared away after it. Charles, with perfect aplomb, rinsed and dried the dishes as she washed them. Kelly tried to disregard his nearness, and also the distrust that made him determined to keep her within easy reach. It could not be done. Once their shoulders brushed as he leaned to pick up a cup at the same time she dropped a fork into the steaming rinse water. The contact sent a shock along her arm that she felt to the tips of her fingers. It suddenly seemed unreal, beyond belief that she could be where she was, alone in the lake house with a stranger, a ruthless man who was keeping her a prisoner, one who saw her as desirable and took great pains to make her aware of it. Da
rkly handsome, he moved back and forth in the small kitchen with lithe, catlike grace. And beyond the drapery-covered windows, the night drew in, advancing with ponderous slowness toward the time when they would have to go to bed.

  As if attuned to her thoughts, Charles spoke. “Do you have anything outside in your car that you might need tonight?”

  She flicked him a wary glance, discarding the impulse to ask him one more time to let her go. “My suitcase, I suppose, and there is an ice chest with a few things in it that should be put in the refrigerator.”

  “If you will point them out, I will bring them in for you.” His offer was politely helpful, with no hint of the unspoken demand that she stay in his sight.

  Her back stiff with resentment, Kelly marched before him out to the car and stood to one side while he inserted the key and lifted the trunk lid. In careful monosyllables, she indicated the things she wanted. Taking her canvas shoulder bag containing her billfold and cosmetics and a brown paper bag filled with paperback books from the front seat, she left him to struggle with the ice chest and her larger suitcase.

  “You came prepared, didn’t you?” he commented as he dumped the chest on the cabinet in the kitchen.

  “I told you I meant to be here for a week.”

  “So you did.” He sent her a tight glance, but if he found reason in her obvious preparations for a long stay to accept that she was no more and no less than what she had said, he was not ready to concede it.

  “You wouldn’t trust your own mother,” she exclaimed, angry disappointment flaring in her eyes.

  “We’ll leave her out of this, if you don’t mind.” His tone was cool, but final.

  “You mean you have a mother?” The words were out before she considered how they might sound, jarred from her by surprise at his protective attitude.

  “Most people do,” he answered dryly.

  “I wonder —” she began, then stopped.

  “You were saying?” he prompted, though there was a forbidding look in his face.

  In a rush, she said. “I wonder what this mother of yours would think if she knew what you were doing now.”

  Amusement crossed his features and was gone. “She would shake her head in sorrow over her wayward son, and wonder at the wisdom of his running such a risk.”