Destination Wedding (6 page)

Camille blinked, struggling to focus on reality and not wishful thinking.

When she didn’t move, he followed her gaze, staring into the shadows where she thought she had seen Nick, and she realized that if by some miracle he was there, she had just made a bad mistake. The last thing she should do was clue in Victor that someone had crashed his party.

“Our guests are waiting to greet us,” he repeated, his hand on the small of her back, exerting steely pressure, reminding her who held the power in this relationship.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She wanted to scream that she was far from all right. But Victor was beside her, and everyone was watching her. She gave a small nod and straightened her shoulders. It helped to tell herself that she was playing a part—like in high school when she’d been in some of the productions her private school had put on. She’d gotten some of the best roles because she’d been good at sinking into a character—which was what she had to do now. Later, when they were alone, it would be more difficult, but among the wedding guests, she could fall back on her skills not only as an actress but also as a hostess.

She let Victor lead her to a group of people standing and talking. The men were tough looking and the women were flashy. They were all looking at her speculatively.

“So how long have you known each other?” a willowy brunette asked, her voice tinged with an accent Camille couldn’t place. She seemed to be with a man who was twenty years her senior—like most of the women, come to think of it. All of them looked like they were the second or third wives of men who could afford hefty divorce settlements.

“A couple of years,” she answered.

“He’s certainly kept you a secret,” a grizzled man with a scar running from the corner of his mouth to his left cheek said. “How did you meet?”

“Victor was a guest at my father’s estate,” she answered, still playing the role she’d been assigned.

“Samuel Norland?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised . . .” he started to say, then apparently thought better of it.

Victor filled the conversational gap. “Yes, Samuel and I got to know each other quite well when he was negotiating for some of the oil in my pipeline through Ukraine. He asked me to his charming estate on Longboat Key. Camille and I hit it off so well that I invited myself back several times, so that I could enjoy her company.”

Although she didn’t remember it that way, she didn’t correct him. And he didn’t add that he’d kidnapped her so he could keep up the enjoyment.

“You’re such a lovely bride,” a blond woman said. She was wearing a skin-tight gold dress that clung to her curvy figure. “Thank you,” Camille answered, trying to look like she gave a fig about how she looked.

Russian folk tunes had begun to play, and Victor raised his voice above the music. “I’ve brought in food and drink from the mainland. Please enjoy yourself.”

One of the waiters was standing by with a tray holding shot glasses of clear liquid.

Victor motioned him over. “Vodka. In the tradition of my homeland.”

“A toast to the bride and groom,” a short bald man with a heavy Russian accent proposed. Raising his glass he said, "May the happy star that brought you together shine on you for many, many years. Let us raise our glasses to the newlyweds and their happy future!"

He and several of the men downed shots. On the next round, Victor joined them.

She supposed it was futile to hope that he’d get too drunk to do anything but sleep tonight.

Now that the ceremony was over, the crowd was relaxed and prepared to have a good time at their host’s expense. As she watched them, Camille was thinking they’d be very surprised if it turned out that Victor had invited a bunch of his rivals to his wedding so he could kill them.

It was a cynical thought, and she struggled to dispel it. But it was followed by another dark speculation. What would he do if she resisted him in bed?

oOo

Mary Ann was talking to one of the guests, a man of about Victor’s age with a rounded body and salt and pepper hair.

She detached herself and glided over to the bride and groom. “Do you want to change out of your wedding gown into something a bit more comfortable?” she asked Camille.

“Yes, thank you,” she answered, glad for the chance to take off the long dress. It might look stunning, but it was hardly comfortable.

She and the other woman went back to her bedroom, where several elegant but practical selections were laid out. She chose a dark blue silk shirtwaist and low-heeled sandals.

As Mary Ann helped her take off the wedding dress, she was thinking that Victor had probably arranged for the change of clothing now so he wouldn’t have to deal with all the little buttons on the gown.

“We should put this in plastic,” his assistant murmured.

As far as Camille was concerned, it could go into the ocean, but she only nodded before putting on the shirtwaist and walked back to the patio where she saw Victor immediately focus on her. Apparently he didn’t want to let her out of his sight for long.

“You looked lovely in your wedding dress, and you’re equally lovely now,” he complimented her.

“Thank you.”

Leaning closer, he whispered, “I can’t wait to be alone with you.”

She could only nod wordlessly, fighting the sudden breathless feeling that seized her.

The reception lasted for several hours. Mostly Victor was relaxed now that he thought Camille was completely in his control, but sometimes she saw him startle, then probe the shadows. Was he seeing the same thing she had—Nick Cassidy?

The guests kept getting louder the more they drank. Camille would have wished them away—except that the reality of being alone with her new husband made her blood run cold.

Although the tropical island was warm, it was November, and by late in the afternoon, it was getting dark. Everyone began to seek out her and Victor before heading toward the boat dock. As each couple left, Victor gave all of the women what looked like a diamond pendant. Quite a nice little wedding favor.

The patio was empty, and Camille couldn’t stop herself from looking around for Nick, but she only saw the servants who were putting away the furniture and the food.

Hoping to stave off the inevitable, she said, “I hardly got anything to eat during the reception. Do you think we could have a little supper?”

He considered the suggestion. “Yes, I didn’t have much, either. Why don’t I have a table and some food brought to my bedroom.”

His bedroom. She’d hoped they could eat in the dining room.

Testing to see how much he’d indulge her, she said, “Why don’t we stop in the kitchen so we can each make a selection.”

Again he agreed.

As soon as they entered, the staff stepped back, and she and Victor looked over the bowls and platters on the counter, each filling a plate. He also picked up a bottle of champagne and two glasses before leading her down the hall past the room where she’d spent the night. As she followed after him with her heart pounding in double time, she was hoping she could drink enough champagne to make her mind go fuzzy.

They stepped into his bedroom, and her breath caught as she focused on the dark wood king-sized bed where the green and brown spread had been neatly turned back.

She set down her plate on the small table, struggling with cold dread as she waited for him to touch her. Instead he sat down opposite her, leaning back and stretching out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles.

When he said, “I married you for love,” she struggled not to make a choking sound. Did he even know what the word meant?

“But there is a dividend. Your father refused a deal I offered him. Now he’ll have to take it. You know, because he’ll want to keep you safe.”

Goose bumps rose on her arms. So that was why he didn’t care which daughter he married. He’d get what he really wanted, either way.

If he caught her reaction, he ignored it, watching her like a cat who isn’t quite ready to pounce on a cornered mouse.

The relaxed, satisfied look made her throat close. Needing to put some distance between them, she turned away and walked to the bathroom. From the doorway, she saw a large marble expanse that looked like a luxurious Roman spa.

She stepped inside and pushed the door closed, thinking she could buy herself a few minutes of privacy. When she did, someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a hand over her mouth.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Camille tried to scream, but the hand tightened over her lips. As she struggled to pull away, a voice in her ear warned, “Don’t say anything, and don’t struggle.”

As the familiar voice registered in her brain, she felt relief wash over her. Nick Cassidy
was
here. Against all odds he had gotten onto the island—and into Victor’s private quarters. She tried to turn, but his strong arms held her in place.

“Nod if you understand,” he demanded, the words barely a whisper in her ear.

When she did as he asked, he unclamped his hand from her mouth. She spun to face him, her eyes wide and her heart pounding.

She was sure she had seen him at the reception. Then she was sure it was her own mind playing tricks. Apparently it was no illusion. Earlier he’d been dressed in a tuxedo like the invited guests. Now he had changed into a uniform that mimicked the men of Zanov’s security force.

She wanted to shout, “Thank God.” But somehow she remembered to whisper the words.

The look of relief on his face matched her own. When she reached for him, he pulled her into his embrace. As he folded her close, she drew in the first deep breath she’d taken since she woke up in the bedroom down the hall.

“You came.”

“I had to.”

The admission and his tone revealed a lot to her. For months he’d kept her at arm’s length, and she’d wondered how he really felt about her. Now she was sure he cared, and her heart leaped at that knowledge.

His hands stroked up and down her back as he brought his lips to her ear again.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. But I was scared.”

“Of course you were, but you did all the right things.” His voice turned fierce, “He didn’t . . . ?”

“No.”

“Thank God.”

Once again, the show of emotion warmed her. But his next words were a warning. “Getting off the island isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know.”

“How did you get here?”

“Swam from a boat offshore,” he said, keeping his voice at a whisper.

“And you did that thing?”

“What thing?”

“You made it so nobody could see you.”

He answered with a low sound. “You noticed.”

“Yes.”

“How do you do it?”

His hands gripped her shoulders. “We have to focus on getting away.”

Now that she was in his arms, it was hard to control her own emotions. “You let me marry him,” she said in a broken voice.

“I couldn’t exactly attack him in front of a dozen thugs and his armed security force.” Yet even as he pointed out the obvious, she heard the regret in his voice.

“You saw me exchange vows with him.”

“Yeah. But don’t focus on that now. We have to get you out of here before he finishes what he started.”

The frank observation was like a dash of cold water.

She wanted to stay in Nick’s arms where she knew she would be safe. But safety was only a state of mind until they had fled this death trap.

“I’ve got travel clothes for you. But you can’t put them on until we’re out of here.”

“Okay.”

He eased away, looked around and saw the frothy nightgown on a hanger near the mirror. “Maybe you’d better put that on.”

Earlier the idea of dressing in a nightgown had made her cringe. Now she began to open the buttons down the front of her shirtwaist, then glanced at him. For a long moment, their eyes met before he turned around to give her some privacy.

Swiftly she opened the rest of the buttons, yanked off the dress and kicked it into a corner. She hesitated for a moment. She would wear the gown with panties and a bra under it.

“Okay,” she told Nick, keeping her voice low.

He turned around and his eyes traveled over her body. The heated look he gave her made her skin prickle. Needing to say something, she asked, “How did you get in here?”

His attention snapped back to her face. “Across the roof. But we can’t leave the same way. They’d see you.”

“Yeah and in this gown.”

“And a robe,” he said, pointing to the matched pair hanging nearby.

She nodded, wondering how they were going to get past Victor in the bedroom.

Nick answered the unspoken question. “You’re going to call him in and I’ll take care of him.”

Before they could act on the plan, a knock at the door made her freeze. When Nick’s gaze bore into hers, she called out, “Yes?”

“Are you all right?” Zanov asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “Sorry, my stomach was a bit upset after all the excitement.”

“I’d better make sure you’re okay,” he answered, and she caught the edge of doubt in his voice. Probably he thought she was staying in here to avoid the inevitable as long as possible. Not a good move for a bride.

As the knob turned, Nick backed up and went stone-still. Maybe he was trying that trick of his—to make it so that nobody could see him. Or maybe now that he’d come to rescue
her
, she’d be the exception.

The door opened and Zanov stepped in and zeroed in on her, his gaze also probing the gown and seeing her underwear. Then he spotted the dress crumpled on the floor.

Anger flashed in his blue eyes. “What is going on, exactly?”

His gaze swung around the bathroom, and when it found the spot where Nick was standing, a harsh Russian curse flew from his lips. She’s seen the man’s violent streak, and she had no illusions about what he’d do to Nick.

Reaching around to the back of his waist, he pulled out an automatic pistol. Camille gasped. Acting instinctively, she swung out her arm, hitting him in the face before he could fire.

Probably everything was happening very fast, but it felt to Camille as if time had slowed down so that she could take in every detail of the scene. Nick knocked the Russian off his feet, and both men went down. Victor still had the gun in his hand, and Nick was trying to yank it away as they rolled across the marble floor.