Ransom (5 page)

He shrugged.  “It’s possible.  You’re a virgin, but I would never take a woman who did not desire me.  And on some level, I think that you do.”  He grinned.  “If your response is any indication…”

“You have courage, I’ll give you that.”

              “Why do you say that?”

              She studied him closely.  “You have the courage to touch me and not expect retaliation…”

              “I trust you, Triana.  Besides, it is my hope that plotting my demise is not an endeavor you wish to perform when wanting to make love…”

              She sighed, wanting to divert his attention to another subject matter.  If anything was going to help her it would only be learning more about her kidnapper, especially if she tried to avoid the issue of sex.  She knew it was natural in these situations sometimes; she did not want to encourage it, but Stockholm Syndrome was much like what he was making her feel.  “Why don’t you tell me your name?  I’m only your captive.  It wouldn’t matter if you said it.”

              “I feel you are digressing, but I will humor you for now.”  He sighed then.  “It
would
matter.  It’s for your own protection, Triana.  Believe me.”

              “Is there someone out there other than you who wishes me harm?”

              He sighed.  “I have never wished you harm, but the answer is yes.  There is the enemy out there.”

              “And you are not the enemy?”

              His eyes darkened further in the pale light, which made her shiver.  “I don’t want to be…”

              What did that mean?  Did he regret taking her for captive?  Wasn’t it too late to wish something as complex as being her friend or even more…her lover?  It was certainly too much to ask…or was it?  Triana could not lie to herself.  She was starting to like the man who held her in this place.  He’d said he meant her no harm, and yet he had also claimed that if he was ordered to, he would kill her.  Wasn’t that a contradiction?  The man was a total mystery.  “Is there something I can call you, a nickname even?”

              He lifted his head to devour her with his eyes.  “You are a stubborn one.”

              “Please…no one will ever know.”  She swallowed the lump in her throat.  “I…you know that I cannot tell.”

              “Then you will tell them you kidnapped yourself?”

              “No, only that I never knew your identity.”

              “You do not even know
that
.”  He turned from her.

              Tears sprang to her eyes.  “Please!” she cried brokenly and tears sprang from her eyes.

              A full turn brought him back to her and he lifted her chin to raise her glistening cheekbones.  “Triana…”  He sighed.  “I don’t understand.  Don’t you feel well?  Tell me what’s wrong.”

              “Please don’t leave me…” she sobbed.  Her knees buckled and she went down, but looked up in time to see that he’d met her level, that his strong arms were holding her up.  And, he was not leaving her.  Even that seemed like a miracle.

              “I think you’re exhausted, that’s all.”  He sat down only to drag her across his lap.

              “Maybe…”  She closed her eyes, groping for his hand.  “But, I’ve never liked being alone either.  Is there a name I can call you?  Please.  Anything.”

              His other hand brushed a few stray tendrils from her features.  He grinned.  “There is a nickname my brother used when we were kids.  Damien,” he produced with a hoarse laugh.

              “Damien,” she repeated.  “Why did he call you that?”

              “I was a rebel of sorts.  He had to call me something and it seemed better than nicknaming me after our dog Rex.”

              She giggled.  “Hmm…yes.  Damien is better.  It isn’t your name though?”

              “No, not my birth name.”

              “Would it bother you if I called you that?”

              “No…but, can you really care that much how I feel, Triana?”

              I do and it scares me, she thought.  But she said nothing to him, just laid against him, accepting his warmth until she slept.

Chapter 8

              Lance sighed, holding her close and feeling utterly protective of the young woman in his arms.  He shook his head regretfully.  He wasn’t supposed to like her this much.  He was just supposed to keep her there and wait for some kind of signal indicating what to do next.  But, he hadn’t counted on feeling more, much more than concern for Triana Richards. He never thought he’d feel even admiration for the young beauty, and yet he did. 

He felt a lot…enough to try and keep his hands off of her.  Soiling her was not his goal though sometimes his libido would say otherwise. 

He grinned.  At times he’d felt such a rush of desire and need for her that it almost bowled him over.  He’d never felt such intense pleasure combined with utter contentment as when he stood near her or held her close or kissed that lovely mouth of hers while tangling his fingers in that cloud of red hair.

Her limbs now pliant, he managed to stand and lifted her until he’d deposited her back on the cot.  He sat next to her, and brushed a hand over her face as she slept.  She was far too lovely.  And far too perfect for him, he carefully reminded himself.

****

When she woke, she thought she’d slept for some time.  She was lying on her side on the mattress.  She shook her head, aghast at her own behavior with Damien.  She had acted like a prima donna, bursting into tears and expecting his comfort.  She had to remember he was her captor, not a man that would care about her.  She had to be stronger than that.

When she rolled over, she was startled to see him on the bed beside her.  He was sitting there, watching her.  A shiver of awareness crept over her skin.  “Damien,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened, his face tightening as if in pain.  “Triana,” he returned.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He lifted a shoulder.  “It can’t be a mystery.”

“Maybe not, but you know it’s impossible.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

“Because…I’m me.  And you’re you.”

He laughed derisively.  “Of course.  Once again, the sexes are separated by circumstances.  I’m from the wrong side of the tracks…and you, you are simply a lovely young woman who comes from money.”

She caught on.  “So you
are
asking for ransom from my father.”

“Not I, my dear.  I won’t see a penny of that.”

“But, your boss will.  That man you were arguing with.”

He shrugged.

She was becoming increasingly frustrated with his close-mouthed policy. “You can all go to hell. I want nothing from you.”

An evil grin slashed across his features and before she could fight him, he had rolled her and climbed on top of her.  He kneeled over her, one leg between hers, hovering above her, their lips inches apart. 

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He groaned.  “Desire is a difficult thing to fight, Triana…”

She knew this; it was taking all of her reserve to be levelheaded toward this attractive stranger.  “But, would you fight, Damien?”

His gaze fasted on hers intently. “Hmm…would I?”  There was no warning as his lips descended towards her own.

His kiss was searing, truly burning her lips and as well, her body burned for his touch.  But, it was only a kiss, nothing else.  His hand rose to cup her chin, the other claiming the back of her neck as his lips covered hers, surprising her, testing her expectations with each gentle stroke. And then, slowly, his tongue claimed hers in an inescapable possession, yet she did not want him to stop, not now, not ever. At the same time, she knew she could not be protected and neither could he, not to mention the man was supposed to be her enemy.  At that moment while her thoughts betrayed her body’s urgings, he broke the kiss, pulling away to hold her gaze with those intense eyes.

He smiled. “You asked if I would fight?”  He chuckled.  “Not easily.  But, I would fight it for you.”

Sheer gladness rose inside her, shone in her face and she felt like crying.  As well, she wanted to embrace this man, no matter the consequences, because he was a giver and not a taker. 

Deep inside, she knew he couldn’t be bad.  The argument he’d had with Mr. Sanson that day made more sense now. He was trapped in this cruel game of greed and evil just as she was. It warmed her heart to know that Damien was not the mastermind behind her kidnapping, behind the cruel means for a simple ransom. He was a pawn in this game and the only thing he was guilty of was being attracted to her.

After he left, she drifted in a haze of thoughts and daydreams. Triana hated to feel so much. His touch was new, like nothing she’d ever known before. She didn’t want to allow herself to feel.  There was no future in it.  It kept swimming through her head. Nothing so romantic as Tarzan and Jane, but instead he, the ruthless criminal, and she, pegged as the willing captive.  It was hard to forget, but difficult to remember the simplicity of it when he was near. 

She should not like being close to him.  It was bad of her. She couldn’t let herself feel anything with him. And yet, how could she stop what she felt with him? How could she train her body to be cold and stiff against his touch? How could she stop her heart from reacting to his random kindnesses or even the possibility that he might be a good man locked into a tight situation, therefore naming him as the obvious suspect merely because of his presence? How could she close off those feelings?

              She would have to, she realized.  Or she would not survive this mess.

Chapter 9

Lance leaned against the wall outside the room.  Breathing heavily and terribly aroused, he closed his eyes.  Triana was too damned appealing. When he was away from her, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And when he was near her, he could hardly control himself. What was wrong with him?  He was no novice at this game.  He had been with women before, and he’d had no trouble getting his base urges under control.

She was different, he knew. There was something else about her, something besides her obvious beauty, which appealed to him. He thought it might be who she was. He was deathly afraid that he wanted her, all of her.  And a girl like her could not want someone like him.

It was probably an hour later when Lance heard a door banging in the building and frowned.  He went to see what it was. He saw a large man, built like a wrestler, come through the back door. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

              “I’m Hank. We spoke on the phone?”

              He nodded.  “I remember.”

              “I have orders, orders that were given before…in case…” He shook his head. “In case it didn’t work out.”

              Lance frowned. “Tell me.”

              The man shrugged. “The drop failed. When Mr. Sanson went to retrieve the cash, the police were on him like a bitch in heat. I watched the whole thing.” He sneered. “He had a plan though.”

              That didn’t sound good. The way he knew Sanson, it probably wasn’t. “What kind of plan?”

              “He said finish things here. Get rid of the evidence.”

              Lance noticed the man carried a bag. A shaft of fear sliced down his spine. “Why don’t you do the rest? I’ll finish the girl.”

              “According to Mr. Sanson, he said you don’t have the balls for that.”

              With a swift move, he removed his gun and cocked it.  “I assure you, I do.”

              “Well. It could be the boss was wrong about you then.  If you’re loyal to him, then I suppose I could let you take care of the girl.”

              “Thanks, man.”

              He shrugged.  “One less thing to worry about.” 

He grinned.  “You know that Louis character?”

              “Yes.”

              “Poor bastard got himself shot last night.” He shook his head.

              His heart tripped. Even though he wanted to level the gun at the jerk’s head, he gave the pretense of nonchalance.  “Who did that?  You, or Sanson?”

“Does it matter?” He shrugged, then he ambled off.

              Lance frowned after him, concerned about the pack he carried. He pulled out his cell phone, his heart pounding hard, and dialed the number. “Quinn. I heard. What’s going on?” He waited a beat while the guy told him the details.  “Is he going to be all right?”  After a moment, he let out a breath. “Good. Man, I’m damned sorry about this.  They wouldn’t tell me where he was.  I…I couldn’t protect him.”

After he hung up with Quinn, he stared into nothingness. Louis had been shot, his cousin, the man he had sworn to protect. But, he was relieved that it wasn’t too serious. At least, that was what the doctors thought. He had to trust that. And Quinn’s last words reverberated in his head.
You can’t save everyone, man. I’m sorry I put you in that position. This is on all of us. Not just you.
 

Lance came back to himself slowly. He recalled what he was supposed to do. He headed off towards where Triana was being held.

              He unlocked the door. She was sitting on the bed.  She appeared exhausted, circles under her pretty eyes and her hair was messy. She was still utterly beautiful.  “Triana,” he managed hoarsely.

              Her head jerked up.  “What now?” she asked warily when she eyed his gun.

              He’d forgotten about it, but he might still need it.  “I’m getting you out of here.”

              “Are you serious?” she said slowly.

              He didn’t blame her for being suspicious, but nodded anyway. 

“Why?”

              “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

              She launched herself at him and for a brief moment, he savored the feel of her in his arms. This was the first time she’d initiated an embrace. He breathed a sigh into her hair and then set her away.  “We really have to go now.”

              “Okay.”

              “You stay with me, all right?  If I push you behind me, you don’t fight, okay?”