Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (4 page)

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.