Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (3 page)

“Why? Why are you hiding here in the judge’s house? If you
weren’t some kind of criminal it wouldn’t make any difference who I am, or why
I came. If you weren’t some kind of a kidnapper or blackmailer, it wouldn’t
matter.”

“Very clever,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing.

“I saw the way your so-called friend with the gun hustled
that old man out of sight,” she went on, committing herself recklessly in her
need to prevent him from carrying out his threat. “You found out the judge was
out of the country, and you thought this would be a safe place to hide out, to
keep a man prisoner while you waited for the ransom or — or something.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” he said, his
mouth brushing hers with a feathery touch that sent the quiver of something
like excitement through her.

Kelly gave a reluctant nod.

“You understand then why I can’t let you get away from me to
go running to the police?”

She had expected him to deny it, to offer some explanation.
There had been a moment when he had stiffened as if surprised, even angered, by
the charge. His words of admission were smooth and easy, too easy, and always
there was that lingering speculation in the watchful darkness of his eyes.

“Kelly?” The word was a threat.

“Yes,” she said shortly, “I understand.”

“Quite the little actress, aren’t you? But it won’t work.
Who sent you here? Who knows where I am?”

“Nobody sent me. I came because it was my vacation and Mary
Kavanaugh and her mother offered the house to me. It’s the truth!”

The words were smothered against her lips as his mouth took
hers with bruising force. Searing in its contempt, it was a kiss that promised
greater violation. Kelly tasted the saltiness of blood from the cut on his lip,
tasted too the humiliation of the enforced intimacy. As she felt the probing of
his tongue, she turned her head sharply. He gave a moment’s attention to the
sensitive corner of her mouth, then trailed a path of fiery kisses along the
curve of her cheek to the tender hollow of her throat. With tantalizing
slowness, he dropped lower, to the beginning of the valley between her breasts
just above the scooped neckline of her cotton terry top.

“Who sent you?” he queried, his tone low and husky.

“I — I told you. I can’t help it if you won’t believe me.”

At the tremor of tears in her voice, he raised his head,
drawing back to study the silvery shimmer of her eyes. Kelly lowered her lashes
in an instinctive protective gesture, an unaccountable ache in her throat.

From the direction of the screen door beyond the veranda
there came a knock. So on edge were Kelly’s nerves that she started, her gaze
swinging toward the sound. The shadowy figure of the man with the holstered gun
could be seen through the front door that stood open.

“Saved,” the man who had called himself Charles said,
glancing from the man who waited to Kelly, his black gaze mocking as he
released her and got to his feet. “One of us, at least.”

Two

The murmur of voices came from the steps beyond the screening
of the veranda. Charles and the other man had stepped away from the house a few
paces so as not to be overheard. Kelly swung her feet off the couch and sat up.
She would not be lying there when Charles got back. In fact, if she were
extremely careful, she might not be there at all.

The front door was still open. She could see the two men
through it, but could they see her in the darker interior of the house? It was
difficult to be certain, yet they did not glance in her direction as she got to
her feet and moved deeper into the room, toward the kitchen area.

The living area of the house was a large, open space lined
with the soft sheen of pine paneling or built-in bookcases, and shaped like an
inverted letter L. The kitchen was in the shorter portion, with the dining area
between it and the living room where the couch sat. There was a second outside
door which opened from the kitchen onto the veranda that enclosed the house on
three sides. If she could make it that far unseen, she might be able to ease
out this side door, and then from the veranda reach the place where her car was
parked. The car was not visible from where Charles stood, but she could be
certain the slightest noise would alert him to what she was doing. Holding onto
the back of a chair, Kelly slipped out of her sandals, leaving them lying
beside it. Her feet bare, she glided noiselessly and with slow care through the
dining area, skirting the table. She touched the island cabinet that divided
the dining alcove from the kitchen as she passed it, then came to a halt. The
cabinets, the sink, and the electric range were surprisingly clean, all things
considered. She did not have time to wonder at it, however. Barely breathing,
she ghosted to the outside door. She flipped the lock, then closing her hand
around the knob, turned it with exquisite care. Drawing the panel open, she
slipped through, then stood listening. She could still hear the deep voices of
the two men.

Resisting the urge to make a dash for the car, she edged
across the veranda and pushed open the screen. It creaked on rusty hinges, a
deafening sound. Kelly froze. The seconds ticked past. She could no longer hear
Charles’s voice, but no one came. Taking a deep breath, she moved down the
steps and crossed the open space to her car. As quietly as possible, she
released the door latch and slide inside. She would not slam the door shut
until she had started the engine. She reached for the key.

It was not there. The ring with the ignition key was gone.
She bent to search the floorboard, knowing all the time that she had not
removed it. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she sat up,
scanning the seat, reaching for her shoulder bag which lay next to her.

“Is this what you are looking for?”

She swung sharply on an indrawn breath. Charles stood
leaning on the top of the open car door, her keys dangling from his fingers
just above her head. She could not prevent herself from snatching at them.
Instantly, they were jerked out of her reach.

“I took the liberty of removing them while yon were creeping
about in the dining room and kitchen. You must take me for an idiot to think
you could get away so easily.”

She clenched her teeth with the rage that gripped her, her
thoughts too incoherent for her to form words, to express how she felt.

“Get out,” he said, the words a quiet command.

“What I take you for,” she said, finding her tongue, “is a
petty crook, a sneaking, vicious hoodlum who should be in jail!”

His eyes took on the hard glaze of obsidian and a shading of
color receded from under the bronze of his skin as he answered, “Not petty, or
you would never have been allowed to finish that little speech. Are you going
to come out of there, or am I going to have to drag you out?”

Cooperating with him in any way was galling, but the danger
in allowing him to put his hands on her again was too great to risk. She
stepped from the car and stood facing him, her gray eyes smoldering.

“In the house.” He jerked his head toward the side door, and
when she had moved aside, slammed the car door shut behind her.

As he swung toward her, Kelly took a hurried step away from
him. Her bare foot came down on something sharp and piercing. The next instant,
that small pain was forgotten as Charles took her arm, marching her ahead of
him up the steps and across the veranda into the kitchen.

He did not stop there, but guided her through the dining
room and down the hallway that branched off toward the bedrooms. At the door of
the first one on the right, he stopped. As he pushed the panel open, Kelly
wrenched her arm from his grasp, backing away from him.

“You do place a high value on your virtue, don’t you?” he
said, one eyebrow lifted as he regarded her in the dimness of the hall.

“And a low value on your word,” she returned, her gray gaze
steady.

She saw him tense, like an animal ready to spring, saw his
face harden. A muscle corded in his jaw, then abruptly he relaxed, giving a
short nod.

“I want to put on some clothes,” he said, “and while I’m
doing it, I want you in my sight. We can do this the easy way, or you can make
it hard on yourself; either way, you are going into this room with me.”

Kelly stared at him as he stood holding the door. For some
reason that she could not explain, she felt that he meant exactly what he said,
no more and no less. She also sensed that if she fought him the outcome might
not be so cut and dried. Forcing her stiff limbs to take the necessary step
toward him was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. He stood
unmoving as she brushed past him into the bedroom, then as she came to a halt
in the middle of the floor, he entered behind her, going to where a pair of
brown pants and a cream-colored polo shirt lay across the foot of the bed.

She stared out the window that opened onto the front
veranda, her gaze on the narrow stretch of the lake that could just be seen
between the trees. Even so, she was intensely aware of him stepping into his
pants, pulling them up over his swimsuit with swift, economical movements. He
shrugged his shirt on over his head, and stepped into the connecting bath to
towel his hair dry. Combing it with his fingers, he searched out a pair of
tennis shoes and slipped them on. She flung him a quick glance as he picked up
a flat gold watch from the bedside table and strapped it on his wrist.

Moving to the door once more, he made her a mocking bow. “After
you.”

In the hall he paused to flick the dial of a wall
thermostat. Immediately the air conditioning unit came on, blowing cool air
through the house. As they passed on into the living area, he moved to shut the
door in the kitchen and also the front door, closing out the stifling heat of
the waning day, closing them in together.

“Would you care for something cool to drink?” he inquired,
his tone polite.

“No, thank you.”

He sent her a long glance, then moved to the kitchen
cabinet, taking down two glasses. Removing ice from the refrigerator, he
dropped it clinking into the heavy tumblers, then opened a bottle of cola,
filling them to the rim. Striding to the table, he set the glasses down with a
thump. He pulled out a chair, resting his hands on the back. His black gaze
hard, he said, “Sit down.”

“I would rather stand,” she answered mutinously.

“For how long? You are going to be here for some time, of
that much I can assure you.”

Kelly flicked a quick look at the chair, feeling suddenly
drained and weary. Pitting her will against his over such a small matter was
useless. She would do better to save her strength for more important issues.
Pressing her lips together, avoiding his eyes, she moved to slide onto the
chair he offered.

There was a strained moment when he stood stiff and silent
behind her. Kelly thought she could feel the heat of his gaze traveling over
her hair and shoulders, then he swung away, moving to take his seat across the
table from her.

He took a long swallow of his drink, then set the glass back
down. His dark regard rested on her slim fingers as she toyed with the frosted
sides of her glass, then moved upward along her arms and shoulders to the faint
flush of color that lay across her cheekbones before returning once more to her
hands.

“You don’t wear a ring of any kind. Does that mean there’s
no husband, no fiancé, no boyfriend close enough to give you one of those
sentimental little promise rings?”

“The state of my love-life is none of your business,” she
snapped, flashing him a look of scorn.

“I take that to mean there isn’t, since I don’t doubt for a
minute that you would have dragged him forward as a form of protection, if
nothing else.”

His acuteness making her voice grim, she said, “Think what
you like.”

“You mentioned a vacation; your first job?”

“What of it?”

“Nothing,” he answered smoothly. “I’m just curious.”

“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.”