Читать книгу Reluctant Hostage - Маргарет Майо - Страница 7

‘I’M sure there’s some perfectly good explanation,’ Warwick told Libby succinctly. ‘It was a pity you didn’t let your sister know you were coming out here. Surprises are all very well, but they can fall flat.’

‘Does she often stay out all night?’ Libby reminded him of her previously unanswered question.

‘I’m not Rebecca’s keeper, Libby. I’m merely her employer. And surely she’s at an age where she is free to do what she likes?’

‘She’s only eighteen.’

His brows lifted. ‘I thought she was older.’

‘She gives that impression,’ Libby rejoined drily. ‘You claim she’s always here to cook your breakfast. What time is that?’

‘About eight.’

‘And it’s almost that now,’ claimed Libby, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘She’s cutting it a bit fine, don’t you think?’

‘If for some reason she’s detained, she’ll send a message, I’m sure,’ he said quietly, but as the minutes ticked away they heard nothing, and as morning progressed into afternoon Libby began to get seriously worried.

‘I think we ought to contact the police,’ she said.

‘And what would we tell them?’ he asked reasonably. ‘It’s too soon, Libby. She’ll either turn up or be in touch. Whatever is detaining her must be out of her control.’

‘Was she happy working for you?’ asked Libby sharply. She felt so responsible for her sister. She hadn’t been keen on her leaving home in the first place. What if she’d got in with the wrong crowd? Who knew where she was or what she was doing? ‘Cooking and cleaning isn’t exactly the sort of thing Rebecca enjoys.’

His lips suddenly quirked. ‘For the first few days I thought I was being poisoned, but she learned quickly when I made her eat her own food. Yes, I would say she’s happy here. She certainly never complains.’

The thought of Warwick and Rebecca sitting and eating together disturbed Libby. It wasn’t the sort of relationship she had expected them to have. Had anything else happened between them? Was there something she did not know? ‘So why did you employ her in the first place?’ she asked with some asperity.

‘She was introduced by an acquaintance of mine,’ he told her. ‘He said she desperately needed a job with accommodation thrown in. Like a fool, I thought all women could cook. Nevertheless she pulled her weight, did whatever I asked of her, and was appropriately decorative about the place.’

Libby imagined this last was at least accurate. She could imagine Rebecca sunbathing in a minuscule bikini on the deck. Rebecca coming out of the shower with nothing but a towel between her and her modesty. Rebecca in all sorts of seductive poses. That was the sort of girl her sister was. But where was she now? And why wasn’t Warwick as worried as she?

‘Are you sure you don’t know where she is?’ she asked in sudden suspicion.

‘You think I wouldn’t tell you if I did?’ His tone was surprisingly sharp. ‘I’m as anxious to find your sister as you are.’

‘But not anxious to involve the police?’ she swiftly returned.

‘Simply because it’s too soon,’ he pointed out.

‘Can I have a look at my sister’s room?’ He was right, but what else could they do? How long did he expect her to wait before they did anything?

‘Of course; it’s down here.’ A short flight of steps led through the galley and dinette, a cursory glance revealing an inset microwave oven and refrigerator, everywhere spotlessly clean. Between the galley and dining area a door led into the forecabin, which was much larger than she had expected, with a double bed and plenty of hanging space and cupboards, and behind another door was a shower-room.

Libby looked into the wardrobe, and was surprised by the number of new dresses Rebecca had bought in the short time she’d been working for Warwick. He either paid her very well or…The alternative did not bear thinking about.

‘It doesn’t look as though she was planning not to come back,’ commented Warwick. He was standing close behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his breath warm on her cheek. Libby felt her senses tingle, but concern for her sister had to take precedence.

She pulled away from him. ‘I still think there is something terribly wrong.’

He shrugged. ‘If it will make you happy I’ll go and have a word with the policia, even though I think it’s premature. Your sister has always given the impression that she’s more than capable of looking after herself.’

‘But she wouldn’t just disappear without leaving word,’ Libby insisted. ‘Rebecca might have her faults, but she wouldn’t do that. There is something wrong, I know there is.’

She hurried up the steps to the saloon, but when she would have left the boat Warwick put a detaining hand on her arm. ‘I’ll go alone. You wouldn’t want to miss Rebecca if she turns up, would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I won’t be long,’ he promised, holding her hands and looking deeply into her eyes.

Libby felt herself quiver. They were still all there—the feelings she had felt so strongly on the plane, and once Rebecca was found, once she knew her sister was safe, then they could take up where they had left off. She gave him a wan smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied and, lifting her hands, he placed a kiss, gently, in each palm. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

When he had gone Libby paced the saloon anxiously, then, because it was so stiflingly hot, she made her way out on to the deck and sat in the sunshine, her hands clasped around her knees, absently watching holidaymakers strolling by, but not really taking in the busy scene.

When she tired of sitting she pushed herself to her feet and took a walk around the marina. It was filled with boats of all sorts: yachts, motor cruisers such as the Estoque—some larger, some smaller—catamarans, speed-boats. It was a fascinating sight. Most of them were silent and empty, but some were a hive of activity, decks being hosed, paintwork touched up; one was slowly making its way out of the mouth of the harbour and another was getting ready to leave.

She strolled around and climbed some steps up on to the harbour wall, where she had an uninterrupted view across the Atlantic Ocean. Here the breeze lifted her hair and cooled her skin, but never did she let the Estoque out of her sight. When she saw Warwick return she quickly joined him.

‘Well, what did they say?’ she asked at once.

He grimaced. ‘As I said, it’s too soon for them to do anything. A few hours is nothing. A few days might be more serious.’

‘“A few days”?’ asked Libby in alarm. ‘This is preposterous. I can’t just sit and wait, it’s out of the question.’

‘I’m afraid that’s all we can do.’ His hand was comforting on her arm, his voice soft and reassuring.

She felt a feathering along her nerves, and again wondered how she could feel such sensations when Rebecca was missing. It seemed that this man had the ability to make her forget everything except him.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘How about if I cook us a meal?’

‘I couldn’t eat,’ confessed Libby. The very thought of food made her feel ill.

‘You need to keep up your strength,’ he told her firmly. ‘I’ll make us something you’ll find impossible to resist.’

Libby knew it would be pointless to protest, and to be truthful it felt good to let him take over. She sat down again and closed her eyes, letting the late afternoon sun wash over her, and the next thing she knew Warwick was touching her arm and telling her to wake up.

For a few seconds Libby did not know where she was. She felt warm and lethargic, and Warwick’s face close to hers made her heartbeats quicken. She wanted to pull him down beside her, to draw her strength from him, to savour once again all the new and wonderful sensations she had experienced on the plane.

She had no idea how appealing she looked, her amethyst eyes soft and misted from sleep, her cheeks flushed, her ash-blonde hair attractively tousled. She took his extended hand and let him help her up, and the next second found herself pulled against a chest that was packed with hard muscle.

‘My lovely Libby, you’re irresistible,’ he muttered against her ear.

Her heart hammered with all the intensity of a jungle drum; in fact it was so painful she could feel it right up into her throat. She let herself savour for a moment the unusual experience of having a man such as Warwick Hunter find her desirable.

With one hand still behind her back his other moved up to touch her throat, to feel the shape of her chin and the softness of her lips. Libby felt she was drowning in a thousand different sensations. He kissed the tip of her retrousse nose, each cheek, her eyelids, her brow, her ears. Her lips parted as she hungrily waited for him to claim her mouth. For the moment all thoughts of Rebecca had fled.

His kiss was a long time in coming. He touched her lips again with gentle, exploratory fingers, almost like a blind man trying to familiarise himself with the shape of her wide mouth. Involuntarily she ran the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips, feeling a spasm of pleasure pulse through her as she accidentally touched the abrasive roughness of his fingertip.

When he pulled down her lower lip and kissed the warm, soft moistness inside she squirmed with unexpected pleasure, surprised to hear a whimper, an animal sound almost, escape the back of her throat. Without even kissing her properly he was arousing her more than all the other boys she had dated put together.

He feathered her lips with tiny kisses, traced the outline with his tongue, creating a new flurry of excitement so that she felt as if her bones were melting, and if he let her go she would sink into a heap on the floor and disappear like a snowball in the sunshine.

Without her even realising it, her arms had snaked behind him, and beneath her palms she felt the ripple of powerful muscle. She had an insane urge to work her hands up beneath his shirt and explore the exciting warmth of his bare skin. She had never, in the whole of her life, felt like this. It was a wanton, primeval feeling that both shocked and thrilled her, but, when her hips ground instinctively against his, when she discovered that he was equally excited, she pulled abruptly away, daunted by the thought that she had been able to do this to him.

He smiled, a gentle smile that suggested he understood, though Libby knew he didn’t. How could he know that for her age she was very naive? That looking after her mother and Rebecca had left her little time for personal relationships? Or the fact that because she was the ugly sister she had been reluctant to go out anyway? It all added up to the fact that she knew nothing at all about men, and was scared now of the situation in which she found herself.

‘Let’s eat,’ he said, tucking her arm through his, and leading the way back inside.

An unexpected sight met her eyes. Fresh bread, sliced thinly and made into salmon and cucumber sandwiches, fruit cake, strawberries and cream. A pot of tea and china cups. So typically English that she was stunned. She had thought he would cook a proper meal, something Spanish, something which, in her present agitated condition, would be completely indigestible.

His eyes looked wickedly amused. ‘You look surprised.’

‘I am,’ she confessed.

‘I thought you needed something to tempt your tastebuds. Do sit down.’

Libby astonished herself by eating hungrily. The bread was crusty and fresh, spread with butter and plenty of salmon. It was the most appetising meal she had eaten in a long time. The fresh strawberries, too, were sweet and juicy, and by the time she had finished she felt somehow happier. Pleasantly replete, and with a man looking at her as though she were a princess, what more could she want?

After they had finished eating they moved into the saloon, Warwick surprising her by sitting a distance away. Even so his eyes were constantly on her, keeping the flame alight that he had ignited earlier, making her wish that the world were theirs alone, that there were no external worries to take her mind away from him.

But of course there was Rebecca—Rebecca her recalcitrant sister who was disturbingly missing. It was dark again now; another day had passed, and still there was no sign of her.

‘Worrying about your sister won’t do you any good,’ said Warwick.

Libby pulled a wry face. ‘How can I help it? She came out here with a friend, Zelda Sanders. Perhaps she might know where Rebecca is, or even her brother Mark? They lived together for a while—until he lost his job and couldn’t afford the apartment. I think that’s when Rebecca came to you. There’s also the man who asked you if you’d find her a job. He might know. I’m sure there are lots of things we could be doing?’

‘I’ve already contacted the guy who introduced Rebecca; he knows nothing,’ he told her. ‘And, as for friends, she never mentioned names or brought anyone here. I have no idea where this Zelda or Mark might be living. There really is very little more we can do for the moment.’

‘But I feel so helpless,’ Libby protested. ‘We must do something. People don’t go missing for no reason.’

Warwick put his hands to her shoulders and looked at her in concern. ‘Libby, if you’re going to go out of your mind worrying, I don’t think it would be a good idea staying in your hotel room alone. I think you should sleep here.’

Her eyes widened, beautiful amethyst orbs in a face that was prettily flushed with the warmth of the afternoon’s sun. Her pulses quickened as she remembered his suffocating closeness on the deck earlier, and her whole body went on instant alert.

‘You’ll be quite safe, I assure you.’ Again he knew exactly what she was thinking.

How could he say that when he had given proof of how much he desired her? But hadn’t she been equally guilty? And, apart from the lightest of kisses, had he made any demands on her body? Of course he hadn’t. In fact he had been far more of a gentleman than she’d expected, and he was right—she would worry about Rebecca. She wanted to be here the second her sister came back, not stuck in a hotel room where she would know nothing until morning. But it was still a risky thing to do, and her mind warred with itself as she struggled to make a decision.

‘Libby,’ he said softly, ‘there’s a lock on Rebecca’s door. I simply thought it would be the best solution—for you, not me.’

She nodded, her lips compressed, her face wry. ‘You’re right, of course. I’d worry like anything away from here; I probably wouldn’t even sleep.’

‘Whereas you’ll be able to sleep like a baby, confident in the knowledge that when Rebecca returns you’ll be woken instantly.’

‘I’ve never done anything like this before,’ she muttered uneasily.

‘Your sister’s never gone absent before,’ he reminded her. ‘I think you owe it to her, if not to yourself, to be here.’

‘You’re confident that she’ll come back?’

‘Most definitely. She wouldn’t have left any of her dresses if she’d planned on moving out. I’ve learned enough about Rebecca to know how much she loves clothes. She’s probably gone to one of those parties that go on for days on end. She’ll turn up.’

‘Not a drugs party?’ asked Libby in horror.

‘Of course not. Rebecca’s far too sensible. I’ve never known a girl with such a level head on her shoulders—for her age. That’s why I thought she was so much older.’

He was taking it all remarkably calmly, Libby thought, as though people often went missing for a couple of days. But it wasn’t his sister who was involved; he couldn’t really have any idea how upset she was.

‘I’ll stay,’ she said softly, mentally crossing her fingers that she was making the right decision. On the other hand did it matter if they became lovers? Lovers? Even the word sounded exciting. That indefinable something that had brought them together on the plane was not a figment of her imagination, she was sure. They had both felt it, were both aware that it was something special and rare and magical. Many people went through their whole life without experiencing anything like it. And who was she to be so expert on this sort of thing? She was deluding herself; this wasn’t the way of things at all.

‘I’m sure you won’t regret it, Libby.’ Warwick’s tone was low and persuasive. ‘I knew on the plane that our meeting was predestined.’ Libby smiled, relieved, pleased she hadn’t been wrong, still bothered about Rebecca, but feeling as though she were floating on a cloud. ‘I think you felt that way too?’

She nodded shyly. ‘I couldn’t believe, though, that you felt like that about someone like me.’

‘Someone like you, Libby? Someone with a rare beauty that reminds me of an English rose? Rebecca’s an exotic hothouse bloom, loved by some but not to everyone’s taste, and especially not mine. You are truly remarkable—as delicate as a wild orchid. No man ought to be without someone like you.’

His compliments bemused her. She felt sure she wasn’t worthy of any of them, but they were satisfying all the same, and she felt much more comfortable about staying. ‘I’ll fetch my clothes,’ she said awkwardly.

‘No need,’ he told her. ‘Your case is already here.’ And when she gasped he said with a disarming smile, ‘I anticipated you’d agree, and took the liberty of picking it up while I was out earlier. I trust you don’t mind?’

Libby did mind, she minded very much, but she felt that under the circumstances it would be childish to protest.

He detected her anger instantly, and his voice was at its most cajoling. ‘Libby, don’t be cross; this is the best solution all round.’

‘You could have asked me first,’ she protested fiercely, her eyes deeply purple.

‘It didn’t occur to me until I was out, and I thought it would save wasting time later.’ He pulled a little-boy face, the face of a boy who was trying to get back into his parent’s good books. ‘Do you forgive me?’

How could she not when he looked at her like that? ‘I suppose so,’ she agreed, ‘but it doesn’t mean to say I like what you did. It was a sneaky trick.’ But already she was smiling. It pleased her to think that he was so sure of her, because she was just as sure of him.

He stood up and held out his hands. ‘Come here, Libby.’

Without hesitation she walked into his arms. Already it felt the right thing to do. Confidence had grown in her, even though she still found it absolutely amazing that he should find her attractive when no other boy had looked at her twice. It was obviously true what they said about beauty being in the eye of the beholder. And, although outwardly she had not changed, inside she felt beautiful and feminine and sexy, and every one of her senses was responding to him.

She wanted him to hold her close, to kiss her, she craved real physical contact, but all he did was hold her very gently and look into her eyes. He seemed to be searching deep inside her, and his expression was as evocative as a kiss. The longer he looked at her, the more she responded. Tiny hidden tremors ran through her until her whole body sang with sensation. She would not have believed it possible to feel this way without being touched.

‘You’re beautiful, Libby,’ he murmured and then, to her intense disappointment, he put her from him. ‘I think a nightcap’s in order. What will it be, a tot of whisky or rum, or——?’

‘Just some orange juice, please,’ said Libby, and instantly felt like an unsophisticated teenager. But she really wasn’t ‘into’ drinking alcohol and, besides, she wanted to keep a clear head. He all too easily made her forget Rebecca.

He took a carton from a refrigerator, which was cleverly hidden behind a polished wooden door, and filled a glass. Her mouth was so dry that she drank it swiftly and gratefully. Then she went down into the galley and washed up.

Seeming to sense that she needed time to herself, Warwick stayed m the saloon, but, even so, Libby could still feel his presence. His male odour lingered on her skin, and she insanely wished that he weren’t such a gentleman.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ she said hesitantly when she had finished, needing to put some distance between them if she didn’t want to torture herself further.

Warwick was stretched out on one of the dove-grey seats, his glass empty, his expression carefully guarded. ‘Goodnight, Libby,’ he murmured softly.

He still made her name sound different, and she wanted more than anything to go across the room and have him take her into his arms again, but she hated the thought that she could be making a fool of herself. Although he seemed to be genuinely attracted to her, she was too inexperienced in the ways of men to be sure. Besides, what she admired about him most was his restraint. She felt safe with him as things stood, and if she encouraged his kisses who knew what might happen?

She smiled weakly. ‘Goodnight, Warwick.’

When she looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror she was shocked to see the sparkle in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. She looked like a different person. Who would have believed that one man, a stranger, in fact, could be capable of doing this to her? He could melt her at a touch or a glance. Simply thinking about him made the blood race through her veins. It was mind-boggling. But she was also very tired and, without bothering to unpack, she pulled a nightdress out of her case and got ready for bed.

The instant she slipped beneath the quilt she was asleep. She dreamed about Warwick—wonderful, erotic dreams where he was making endless love to her and telling her over and over again how beautiful she was. She awoke at the crack of dawn with his name on her lips, and for a few seconds felt deliriously happy, until the movement of the boat and the steady hum of its engine told her that they were no longer tied up in the harbour. They were on the move!

Instantly unease took the place of happiness, and she sprang out of bed. This man she had trusted—what was he doing? What was happening? Where were they going? What the devil was going on?