Читать книгу The Bedroom Barter - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 7

SHE had not told Mama Rita the truth when she’d said she couldn’t dance. Because dancing had been one of her passions in that other, seemingly far-off lifetime.

Then, she’d turned herself deliberately into a party animal, going whenever she could to clubs and discos, losing herself totally in the pounding noise and frenetic rhythms of the music. Using the fevered momentum of her body to exorcise her teeming frustrations over her abortive singing career—as well as all the other limitations that being her father’s daughter had imposed on her life.

But this was not the same kind of music at all. This was slow and swaying, and deliberately, infinitely seductive. It wasn’t meant to induce forgetfulness. It had the opposite purpose—to entice the man watching her into opening his wallet to pay for each further revelation.

And that was what she had to do in order to survive.

She tried desperately to remember what Jacinta had told her. Smile, but don’t look. Raise a mental barricade and keep the greedy, leering eyes at bay. Close yourself off emotionally from all that follows.

Because this is not you, she reminded herself. This is Micaela, and she does not even exist, so that nothing that happens to her can harm you.

Not that the client’s meditative blue gaze held any real hint of incipient lust, or even particular interest in her performance so far. He, too, seemed to be thinking about something else.

He asked for me, Chellie thought, bewildered. So why isn’t he looking at me? Am I boring him? Oh, God, I need—I really need to get this right, or Mama Rita will make me suffer.

She began to move her hips with deliberate sinuousness, her hand smoothing the brief silky skirt against her slender thighs, even pulling it up slightly, then letting it drift back. And saw his brows lift in almost mocking acknowledgement of the teasing promise that her actions implied.

‘Why not come a little closer?’ he invited softly. ‘Or does that cost extra?’

Chellie shook her head, not trusting her voice.

‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ he went on. ‘I don’t bite, unless specifically requested to do so. And, anyway, I believe the rules state that I’m only allowed to watch—not touch.’

Rules? Chellie thought wildly. In a place like this? What rules could possibly apply? Was he crazy or just naïve?

‘Or not without your permission, at least,’ he added almost idly. ‘Which I admit doesn’t seem likely at the moment.’ He took out his billfold. ‘Perhaps this might soften your heart—hmm?’

He extracted some notes and placed them on the table beside the ice bucket. ‘So, maybe we could—move the performance on a little? Just so that my evening isn’t completely wasted.’

In other words, he was telling her to take off her dress.

Chellie’s stomach lurched in swift panic as she remembered how little she was wearing beneath it. She was braless, and the rest of her underwear was little more than a glorified G-string. Which he would undoubtedly want her to remove as well.

It occurred to her that this stranger would be only the second man to see her naked. The first, of course, had been Ramon, but he’d been in too great a hurry to pay much attention.

Her whole body shivered as she recalled how he’d pushed her back on the bed, the weight of his body crushing her into the mattress, the painful, grunting thrusts which she’d thought would never end.

Which she was going to have to endure again …

He said, ‘I’m waiting for you—Micaela.’

If he’d seemed uninterested before, he was certainly giving her his undivided attention now, his mouth oddly hard, the blue eyes implacable, almost analytical—as if he was observing her through a microscope and did not much care for what he saw.

She pivoted slowly in front of him, letting the skirt swing out away from her slim legs. Going blindly, automatically through the motions, while her mind shivered on the edge of chaos.

Oh, God, she thought imploringly. Let this not be happening to me. Let me wake up soon—please …

The zip that fastened her dress was at the side, reaching from breast to hip. Once she began to lower it the dress would simply fall away from her body. And after that there could be no retreat.

Her shaking fingers undid the tiny hook first, then fumbled for the metal tongue of the zip.

And halted as her entire being froze in outrage and rebellion over what she was being made to do. Her eyes met his in a glance that mingled pleading with outright defiance.

She said hoarsely, ‘I can’t. I’m sorry, but I just—can’t …’

She sank down on to the carpet, because her legs would no longer support her, and covered her face with her hands.

She was expecting an angry reaction and knew that it would be perfectly justified. He might even be violent. Or he could just walk to the door and summon Mama Rita—or even Manuel. Her teeth bruised her lower lip as she recognised the kind of retribution she was inviting.

Yet, strangely, it made no difference to her decision, she realised with an odd calm. Whatever kind of aftershock it might create, she knew she could not strip in front of this man or any other.

Nor could she—or would she—allow him any of the intimacies his money gave him the right to demand.

She thought, I’d rather die …

Although death might not be the worst thing that could happen to her.

The silence in the room seemed endless. Perhaps he’d simply walked out already, leaving as quietly as he’d arrived, she thought, venturing to look up. Gone to make his complaint and demand his refund.

But he was still there, lounging on the sofa, apparently unmoved by her outburst. And if he was furious with disappointment and thwarted desire then he was masking it well.

When at last he did speak, he had the gall to sound faintly amused.

‘Have you ever considered changing your job?’ he asked. ‘Because you seem to lack total commitment to your current career.’

Somehow she managed to scramble to her feet, glaring at him as she did so.

She said thickly, ‘Don’t you laugh. Don’t you dare laugh at me—you bastard.’

He stood too. He was tall. Even in her heels Chellie found she had to look up at him, and resented it.

He said with sudden harshness, ‘You’re right. This is no laughing matter. And it might be better not to call me names.’ He gestured at the sofa. ‘Sit down.’

‘No.’ She took a step backwards, hugging herself defensively.

‘Do as you’re told,’ he said curtly. ‘Before you fall down again.’ He reached into a back pocket and produced a slender hip flask. ‘Here.’ He removed the stopper. ‘Drink this.’

Chellie stayed where she was. ‘What is it?’

‘Brandy,’ he said. ‘And a damned sight safer than your boss’s inferior and possibly drugged champagne.’ He paused, surveying her pale face and shocked emerald eyes. ‘Go on—have some. You need it.’

She shook her head. ‘My troubles are just beginning,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Brandy won’t cure them.’ She swallowed. ‘I—I’d better go. Do you want me to send you one of the other girls?’

‘If so, I’d have asked for them in the first place,’ he returned brusquely. ‘But I picked you.’

‘I know.’ Chellie caught her trembling lower lip in her teeth. ‘And I’m sorry. I thought I could do this—I—I really meant to—but …’

‘For a moment there, I thought so too.’ He slanted a wry smile. ‘You almost had me fooled. However, I’m trying to live with the disappointment.’

She stared at him. ‘You’re saying that you knew I wouldn’t go through with it?’ Her voice shook.

‘Of course.’ He shrugged. ‘Now, sit down and drink some brandy.’

Chellie obeyed reluctantly, her gaze mutinous and suspicious. What was going on here? she asked herself. She’d been bought and paid for. Why didn’t he insist that she kept the bargain? And how could be possibly have known that she’d fall at the first hurdle?

The brandy was powerful stuff, and she nearly choked as she swallowed it, but she felt it warming her, thawing the icy core lodged deep inside her.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiltedly, as she handed back the flask.

He shrugged again. ‘De nada.’ He sat down too, but at the opposite end of the sofa, deliberately creating a distance between there. It should have reassured her, but it didn’t—because he was still there in her sightline—in her space.

‘Tell me something,’ he said, after a moment, ‘do you suppose this room is bugged in any way?’

She gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘It surely isn’t that hard to comprehend.’ He spoke with an edge. ‘Does Mama Rita use hidden cameras—microphones? Check what’s happening?’

Slowly, Chellie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The other girls would have mentioned it, if so.’

He nodded. ‘Good.’

Tinglingly aware of his continuing scrutiny, Chellie tugged ineffectually at her skirt, trying to pull it down over her knees.

She said uncertainly. ‘Why are you staring at me?’

‘Because I’ve paid for the privilege,’ he said. ‘So I may as well take advantage of the time I have left.’

Her lips parted in sheer astonishment. ‘That’s all you want?’ she queried huskily.

‘It will do,’ he said. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to take something off for me?’

There was a silence, then she said in a small, stifled voice, ‘I should have known that—all this was too good to be true. Was the brandy meant to give me Dutch courage?’

He said coolly, ‘I was actually hoping that you’d remove that ghastly wig. Or are you going to pretend that it’s your natural hair?’

She was startled into a faint giggle. ‘No—no, of course it isn’t. But Mama Rita insists I wear it.’ She pulled the wig off and tossed it on to the floor, running awkward fingers through her dark hair.

‘Good,’ he approved softly. ‘That’s an amazing improvement.’

Her face warmed, but she said nothing.

She still didn’t understand or trust this volte face. And even now her reprieve might only be temporary, she reminded herself. He was only at arm’s length. Perhaps he was just lulling her into a false sense of security. Whatever, she could not afford to relax.

A fact apparently not lost on him. He said softly, ‘You’re like a wire stretched to snapping point.’

Chellie sent him a fulminating glance. ‘Does that really surprise you?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘What does puzzle me is how you come to be in this hellhole. I’m sure you’ll tell me it’s none of my business, but, as a life-choice, it seems a seriously bad move.’

‘Choice?’ she repeated with stunned disbelief. ‘Are you mad?’ Her voice rose. ‘Do you honestly think that if it had been down to me I’d ever have set foot in a place like this?’

‘If that’s truly the case,’ he drawled, ‘why do you stay?’

Her hands gripped each other until they ached. ‘Because I can’t leave,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I have no money, no passport, and no other option.’

His brows lifted. ‘Were you robbed?’

‘Mama Rita took my passport.’ Chellie bent her head. ‘Someone—someone else had my money. As a result I was turned out of my hotel room, and they kept my luggage.’

She paused. ‘I’d been suffering from a virus, anyway, so I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.’ Quite apart, she thought, from realising that Ramon had walked out on me. Left me broke and stranded.

But she couldn’t afford to think about that—about her sheer criminal stupidity. Or she might break down—lose it completely in front of this stranger.

Instead, she straightened her shoulders. ‘I knew I needed to find the British consul pretty urgently,’ she went on. ‘So I stopped this police car to ask the way.’

‘Not very wise,’ he said.

‘So I found out.’ She shivered. ‘At first the policeman threatened to jail me for vagrancy. Then he seemed to relent. He said the consul’s office was closed for the day, but he’d take me somewhere safe in the meantime.’

She tried to smile. ‘I can even remember feeling grateful to him. Only he brought me here, where I’ve been ever since.’

‘Hardly your lucky day.’ His voice was expressionless.

‘No,’ Chellie admitted tautly. ‘But I know there are worse places than this, because Mama Rita has already threatened me with them if I don’t do as she says. I could have ended up in one of them instead.’ And it could still happen …

Her voice broke slightly. ‘You know—I—I really believed she was going to let me sing my way out of here. We had this deal—in writing.’ She attempted a laugh. ‘How naïve can you get?’

His tone was dry. ‘Mama Rita is a woman who believes in exploiting all the assets at her disposal.’ He paused. ‘The only question is—do you intend to stay here as one of those assets?’

‘You mean—why don’t I run away?’ Chellie shook her head. ‘With no passport I wouldn’t get very far. And she’d simply find me and bring me back—or hand me over to her friend Consuela,’ she added, shuddering.

He said softly, ‘In an ideal world, how far would you like to run?’

She lifted her chin. ‘For preference—to the other side of the universe.’

He said, ‘I can’t promise that—but there’s always St Hilaire, instead.’

Her brow creased. ‘Where is that? I’ve never heard of it.’

‘Hardly surprising,’ he returned. ‘It’s in the Windward Islands, and not terribly big. I’m taking a boat there for its owner.’ He paused, giving her a level look. ‘You could always go with me.’

Chellie stared at him. She said uncertainly ‘Go—with you?’ She shook her head. ‘I—I don’t think so.’

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘And listen well. I may be the first man to pay for your company, but I certainly won’t be the last. And the next guy along may not respect your delicate shrinkings. In fact, he could even find them a turn-on,’ he added laconically. ‘And expect a damned sight more pleasure from you than I’ve had. Are you prepared for that?’

Colour flooded into her face. ‘You don’t mince your words.’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m letting you down lightly.’

She was quiet for a moment. ‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Because you can.’ The blue eyes met hers in a single, arrogant clash, and Chellie found herself looking away hurriedly, aware of the sudden thud of her heart against her ribcage. Even if he wasn’t here alone with her, she thought, he would still be one of the most disturbing men she had ever encountered.

She lifted her chin. ‘I’ve trusted other people recently. It’s been a disaster every time.’

He shrugged. ‘Your luck has to change some time,’ he said. ‘Why not now?’

She hesitated again. ‘When you say—go with you …’ She paused, her colour deepening. ‘What exactly do you mean?’

His mouth curled. ‘Listen, songbird, if I really wanted you, I’d have had you by now.’ He paused, allowing her to assimilate that. ‘The boat has more than one cabin, so you can have all the privacy you want. I’m offering you safe passage to St Hilaire and that’s all. There’s nothing more. So—take it or leave it.’

She should have been relieved at his reassurance. Instead she was aware of an odd feeling closely resembling pique.

She was angry with herself because of it, which in turn sparked a sudden sharpness in her voice. ‘You don’t look much like a philanthropist to me.’

‘Well, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘your own appearance is open to misinterpretation—wouldn’t you say?’

He seemed to have an answer for everything, she thought with growing resentment.

She said, ‘It’s just that—I can’t pay you—as you must know.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he directed lazily. ‘I’m sure we can reach some mutually agreeable arrangement.’ And, as her lips parted indignantly, he added, ‘Can you cook?’

‘Yes,’ she said swiftly, and on the whole, untruthfully.

‘Problem solved, then. You provide three meals a day for Laurent and myself, and you’ll have paid for your trip several times over.’

‘Laurent?’

‘The other crew member. Great bloke, but not gifted in the galley.’ He paused. ‘Well?’

No, she thought, that’s not the word at all. ‘Dangerous’ comes to mind. But so does ‘tempting’ at the same time.

She said slowly, ‘I—I don’t understand. Why should you want to help me? We’re total strangers to each other.’

‘We share a nationality,’ he said. ‘We’re both a long way from home. And one look tonight told me you were in deep trouble. I thought maybe you might need a helping hand.’

She stared at him. ‘Your name isn’t Galahad, by any chance?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Any more than yours is Micaela.’

Chellie bit her lip, once again at a loss. ‘I’m still not sure about this …’ she began.

He gave a quick, impatient sigh. ‘Understand this, darling.’ His tone bit. ‘I’m not about to force you on board La Belle Rêve. And I’m not going to beg you on my knees either. It all depends on how badly you want to get out of your current situation. But I’m sailing tonight, whether you’re with me or not.’

He paused. ‘So—no more discussion. We’re wasting valuable time. I’m the rock. This is the hard place. You have to make the decision, and make it now.’

‘And when we get to St Hilaire?’ she asked jerkily. ‘What then?’

‘There’ll be other choices to consider,’ he said. ‘There always are.’

‘You forget,’ Chellie said. ‘I still have no passport, which reduces my options to zero. Unless, of course, St Hilaire has openings for singers,’ she added wryly.

He was silent for a moment. ‘You say Mama Rita took it from you. Do you know where she keeps it?’

‘In her desk—locked in the top right-hand drawer. She showed it to me once.’ Chellie bit her lip. ‘To convince me she still had it, and therefore still had me. Playing cat and mouse.’

‘And the key to her desk? Where’s that?’

Chellie grimaced. ‘On a long chain round her neck.’

He shuddered. ‘Which is where it can definitely remain.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Where will Mama Rita be now?’

‘Down in the club. She’ll come up at the end of the night to count the takings, but that’s usually the only time. She considers she’s one of the features of the place. That people come just to see her.’

‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘she could be right. After all, something brought me here this evening. So let’s hope that her ego keeps her right there in front of her admiring public.’

‘Why? What are you going to do?’ she asked.

‘Break into that desk, of course.’ His tone was almost casual.

Her jaw dropped. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘Well, we can hardly take the damned thing with us. People might notice.’ He gave her a dispassionate look. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t tried to get into it yourself.’

His faint note of criticism needled her. ‘Because I wouldn’t know how,’ she said tautly. ‘Unlike you, it seems.’

‘Merely one of the skills I’ve acquired along the way.’ He shrugged, apparently unfazed. ‘For which you should be grateful.’ He gave her a questioning look. ‘I hope there’s a back way out of here?’

‘Yes, but that’s always locked too, and Manuel has the key.’

‘Well, that shouldn’t be a serious problem.’ He got to his feet, and Chellie rose too.

She said breathlessly, ‘You don’t know him. He’s always hanging round—and he has a knife.’

‘I’m sure he has,’ he returned with indifference. ‘I thought when I saw him that serving drinks couldn’t be the entire sum of his talents.’

She said in a low voice, ‘It’s not funny. He’s really dangerous—worse than Mama Rita.’

He said softly, ‘But I could be dangerous too, songbird.’ He paused. ‘And don’t say that hasn’t already crossed your mind.’

She stared at him, the silence between them crackling like electricity. He knew how to break open a desk, she thought, and he wasn’t scared of knives. Just who was this man—and how soon would she be able to get away from him? And, most of all, how much was it going to cost her? Her throat closed.

She said huskily, ‘Perhaps you just seem—the lesser of two evils.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, his mouth twisting. ‘I think. Is Mama Rita’s office on this floor, by any chance?’

She nodded. ‘Just along the passage. You—you want me to show you?’

‘It could save time,’ he said. ‘Also it might stop me intruding on anyone else’s intimate moments. I presume this isn’t the only private room?’

‘No,’ Chellie said. ‘But this is reckoned to be the best one. It must have cost you plenty to hire it.’

‘Well, don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I expect to get my money’s worth in due course.’ He looked into her startled eyes and grinned. ‘All that home cooking,’ he explained softly.

He kicked the blonde wig out of sight under the sofa. ‘You won’t need that again.’ He looked her over. ‘Do you have other clothes? Because you could change into them while I’m breaking and entering.’

‘I haven’t very much.’ It was humiliating to have to make the admission.

‘Then grab a coat from somewhere,’ he said. ‘We need to make an unobtrusive exit, and you’re far too spectacular like that.’

As Chellie went to the door she was crossly aware that her face had warmed.

The passage outside was thankfully deserted, but there was a lot of noise drifting up from the floor below—music with a strident beat, and male voices laughing and cheering.

He said softly, ‘Let the good times roll—at least until we’re out of here.’

The door of Mama Rita’s office was slightly ajar, and the desk lamp was lit although the room was empty. Apart from the desk there was little other furniture, and most of that, he saw, was junk, with the exception of a nice pair of ornately carved wooden candlesticks standing on a chest against the wall. The air was stale with some cheap incense, and he grimaced faintly.

He said, ‘She doesn’t seem to worry about being robbed.’

‘She doesn’t think anyone would dare. Besides, she has a safe for the money.’ Chellie pointed to the desk. ‘That’s the drawer.’

‘Then I suggest you leave me to it while you go and change. I’ll see you back here in a couple of minutes. And bring the stuff you have on with you,’ he added. ‘If they believe you’re still somewhere on the premises, it will give us extra minutes.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Chellie hesitated. ‘Be—be careful.’ Her tone was stilted.

He said softly, ‘Why, darling, I didn’t know you cared.’

‘I don’t,’ she said with a snap. ‘You’re my way out of here, that’s all. So I don’t want anything to go wrong.’

He grinned at her. ‘You’re all heart.’

She looked back at him icily. ‘You said it yourself. The rock and the hard place. That’s the choice, but I don’t have to like it.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not that keen myself, but there’s no time to debate the situation now. We’ll talk once the boat has sailed.’

Biting her lip, Chellie left him to it.

Once alone, Ash crossed to the door and listened for a moment before pushing it almost shut. Then he went back to the desk, swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and extracting the flat pouch he had taped to his waist. He chose one of the skeleton keys it contained and opened the drawer that Chellie had indicated.

Inside, lying on the untidy jumble of papers, was a large-bladed knife, businesslike and menacing at the same time.

Ash’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. ‘Songbird,’ he said softly, ‘I think you may have underestimated Mama Rita.’

There were several passports in the drawer but only one with the distinctive maroon cover. He opened it, swiftly checking the details with a nod of satisfaction.

So far, so good, he told himself.

He gave the photograph a cursory glance, then paused, studying it more closely. The girl in the picture looked back at him, a faint, almost defiant smile playing about the corners of her mouth, the green eyes cool and candid. And totally unafraid.

His mouth curled cynically. ‘But that was then, darling,’ he told the photograph. ‘How things can change.’

He closed the passport, slipping it into his back pocket, then replaced his keys in their pouch, retaping it to his skin.

He took the knife and used it to force open the other drawers in the desk, scattering their contents all over the floor to give the impression of opportunist theft. Then he closed the top drawer and forced that too, using the tip of the knife to damage the lock.

He felt brief sympathy for the other girls whose passports had been stolen and held against their good behaviour, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Besides, none of them were rich men’s daughters.

Only you, songbird, he thought. And you’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.

Chellie’s heart was racing as she went up to her room, and she made herself breathe deeply and evenly, trying to calm down and be sensible. As she opened the door she braced herself against the usual scuttling noises, her skin crawling with revulsion.

At least on the boat she’d be spared that particular nightmare, she thought, switching on the naked lightbulb which dangled from the ceiling. But vulnerable to plenty of others in its place, an unwanted voice in her head reminded her.

She knew nothing about her rescuer—not even his name. There was no guarantee that he’d keep any of his side of the bargain. In fact, by trusting him even marginally, she could find herself in a far worse mess.

He looked tough enough, she admitted unwillingly. His body was lean and muscular, with wide shoulders and a strong chest. But then the life he’d chosen—delivering other people’s boats, with some petty thieving on the side—was a pretty chancy existence.

Under normal circumstances he was the last man in the world she would ever have turned to for help.

But she couldn’t let herself worry about that now. Desperate situations required desperate measures, and she had to get away from this place, whatever the means.

Once I’m out of here, and I have my passport back, I can think again, she told herself with a touch of grimness.

It was amazing the effect that even a whisper of hope could have. After these weeks of fear she was beginning to feel a resurgence of her old spirit. The conviction that her life belonged to her again, and she was back in control.

Swiftly, she stripped off what little she was wearing and put on the underwear—white cotton bra and pants—she’d washed earlier in the day. They still felt damp, but that couldn’t be helped. She dragged her one and only tee shirt over her head, and pulled on a brief denim skirt. She stowed the black dress and G string in her canvas shoulder bag, along with her few toiletries and what little money she had left.

Then she took her sandals from the cupboard, banging them together

to dislodge any lurking cockroaches, and slipped them on to her feet.

‘Ready to go,’ she said, half under her breath.

On her way to the door she caught sight of herself in the piece of broken mirror which hung from a hook on the wall. Once more her hand went involuntarily to her shorn head as she experienced a pang of real pain at the loss.

Her hair, dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, had been cut in a sleek chin-length bob when she’d arrived here, but Mama Rita had ordered it to be chopped off to make more room for the wig. Lina had been given the scissors and had enjoyed her task, while the others laughed and jeered.

I’m barely recognisable, she thought.

But maybe that would be an advantage when the time came to continue her journey—alone.

Think positive, she adjured herself.

After all, that was what she had to aim for—to focus on—to the exclusion of everything else. Taking charge of her own destiny once more.

What had happened with Ramon was a glitch, but no more than that. And she would make damned sure that no other man ever made a fool of her again. Including Sir Galahad downstairs.

Him, perhaps, most of all.

She extinguished the light and went quietly down the rickety steps.

She was halfway along the passage to Mama Rita’s room when Manuel came round the corner.

Chellie checked instantly at the sight of him, and he stopped too, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

’Hola, chica,’ he said. ‘What you doing, huh?’

From some undiscovered depth Chellie found the strength to smile at him. ‘I thought I’d go down to the bar for a drink.’

‘Where’s that hombre who hired you?’ He was frowning.

‘Asleep.’ Chellie gave him a long, meaningful look from under her lashes. ‘And not much fun any more.’

He looked her over. ‘Why you in those clothes? And where your wig? You supposed to be blonde.’

‘My dress got torn.’ She shrugged casually. ‘And that wig is so hot. Surely I don’t need it just to buy a beer?’

A slow, unpleasant grin curled his mouth. ‘I have beer in my room, chica. You want more fun? You have it with me.’

‘No.’ Chellie took a step backwards, her hand closing on the strap of her bag in an unconsciously defensive gesture.

He noticed at once, his gaze speculative. ‘What you got there, hija?’

‘Nothing,’ she denied, lifting her chin. ‘And I’m going to have my drink in the bar—without company.’

For a moment he stared at her, then, to her astonishment, she saw him nod in apparent agreement. It was only when he slid to his knees, eyes glazing, then measured his length completely on the wooden floor that she realised who was standing behind him, grasping one of Mama Rita’s wooden candlesticks and looking down at his victim with grim pleasure.

She said shakily, ‘My God—is he dead?’

‘Not him.’ Ash stirred the recumbent body with a contemptuous foot. ‘I knew what I was doing. He’ll have a bad headache when he wakes up, that’s all.’

‘All?’ Her laugh cracked in the middle. ‘Breaking and entering, and now GBH. What next, I wonder?’

‘Well, I can’t speak for you.’ He went down on one knee, and rifled through the unconscious man’s pockets, producing his keyring with a grunt of satisfaction. ‘But I plan to get out of here before he’s missed.’ He got to his feet, his glance challenging. ‘I have your passport, so are you coming with me? Or would you rather stay here and accept his next invitation? It may not be as cordial as the last,’ he added drily. ‘But perhaps you don’t care.’

Not just the rock and the hard place, Chellie thought. This was the devil and the deep blue sea, and she was caught between them, as trapped as she’d always been.

And, it seemed, she had to choose the devil …

For now, she told herself, but not for ever. That was the thought she had to cling to. The resolution she had to make.

She felt a small quiver of fear, mixed with a strange excitement, uncurl in the pit of her stomach as she looked back at him, meeting the blue ice of his gaze.

She said lightly, ‘What are we waiting for, Galahad? Let’s go.’