The Hostage Bride (8 page)

‘I have to admit that when I decided on this course of action I hadn't realised quite how effective it would be. I knew Venables would be furious at losing his bride, but I'd never reckoned on just how much he would be missing. If that's the way you perform for him in bed,
querida
, it's no wonder he wanted to rush the wedding through so fast.'

Felicity had thought that it was impossible for her mental state to get any worse. That nothing Rico could do or say would make her feel any more degraded and used than she did already. But the callous indifference with which he had tossed a reminder of why she was here straight into her face was more painful than if his words had been an actual assault.

‘And is that the only reason that you…you bedded me?'

For the life of her she couldn't force her tongue to form the phrase ‘made love to me'. It was one that had no possible relevance to what had happened between her and Rico. That had been sex, pure and simple—though there had been nothing
pure
about the way this hateful man had behaved.

‘Was it all just to get back at Edward for whatever you believe he's done to you?'

‘Oh, no,
querida
.'

Rico's smile was demonic, the cold gleam in his eyes making her shiver just to see it.

‘Getting back at Venables wasn't all there was to it. There was a great deal of pleasure for me in the experience. In fact, it's one I would very much like to repeat in the future.'

‘Well, don't fool yourself into dreaming that you'll ever get the chance. Once was more than enough for me…'

She accompanied her words with a delicate shudder that was more eloquently damning than any longer tirade could ever be.

‘And now if you don't mind I'd very much like to get washed—I'm feeling decidedly grubby.'

And she wanted to wash away every trace of his touch, the scent of his body from her skin, the last lingering evidence of his lovemaking. She didn't have to put the feeling into words. It was there in the cold set of her face, the ice that made her eyes look as cold as the sea on a bleak day in deep midwinter.

‘Be my guest.'

Lazily he strolled round the room, picking up his discarded shirt, his socks and shoes. He would leave in his own time, and there was no way he was going to let her obvious impatience, the furious sparks in those wide grey eyes, rush him into doing anything before he was ready.

‘I'll make us both a coffee and something to eat. I reckon we could do with a meal, seeing as we haven't eaten all day.'

It would probably stick in her throat, choking her, if she had to sit opposite him and eat anything. Her stomach heaved at the thought. But once again she managed to flash that tight, brittle smile in his direction, though she couldn't bring herself to meet those deep ebony eyes.

‘Fine. You do that. And then perhaps you'll be prepared to keep your promise.'

‘Promise?' His quick frown revealed his lack of comprehension. ‘I don't recall…'

‘You said that if I didn't do anything stupid, like trying to escape during the night, then you would let me go this morning—today,' she amended belatedly, painfully aware of the fact that it was already well past noon.

It was the only reason she had stayed in her room overnight and hadn't even tried wandering the house, looking for a way of escape. Once she'd discarded the idea of climbing out of her bedroom window, that was. Looking out and realising just how high up it was, the distance she would fall if she slipped, had been enough to make her shudder.

‘I made no promise. I simply said that if things had gone according to plan I would consider letting you go.'

‘But surely things have? Haven't they?'

The nonchalant shrug that lifted those powerfully muscled shoulders implied supreme indifference to her question.

‘I have no idea,' he drawled sardonically. ‘I haven't had time to check. I was—too busy elsewhere.'

Once more those dark eyes drifted towards the bed; the sudden slight softening of his expression, the almost nostalgic smile, proved positively the last straw.

‘Then check, damn you!' she exploded. ‘I want to get out of here and the sooner the better.'

And unable to bear his company any longer she turned on her heel and stalked swiftly into the en suite bathroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it firmly.

F
ELICITY
pushed open the door to the kitchen and peered warily inside. She was not at all sure what sort of mood Rico would be in after the way she had left him upstairs.

He had been gone from her room by the time she'd got out of the shower. And that was something she'd been very thankful for. After all that had happened she didn't at all relish the prospect of having to face him again with only a pale blue towel wrapped round her.

But the room had been empty and silent, surprisingly with the bed carefully made, the pillows fluffed up and the duvet smoothed out so that no evidence remained of anything that had happened there that morning.

If only she could smooth out her memories and her life quite that easily, Felicity thought now, her nerves twisting themselves into agonising knots as Rico turned from where he stood by the stove and the dark eyes flicked over her in swift appraisal.

‘I was beginning to wonder where you were,' he said surprisingly evenly. ‘I thought you'd got lost on the way down.'

‘Or that I jumped from a window, perhaps, and tried to escape? I thought about it, believe me. I tried every door I could find as well.'

Unexpectedly Rico grinned.

‘I knew you would. That's why I made sure everything was secure before you came down. And in case you're wondering where the keys are…'

One hand patted the front pocket of his jeans creating a faint metallic jingle.

Well, if there was one place the keys were absolutely safe it was there, Felicity thought, her mouth twisting wryly. She certainly wasn't prepared to go hunting in that pocket for them. When her mind showed an unfortunate tendency to drift off on to thoughts of the moments earlier when her fingers had traced the muscles in that most intimate spot, the way his skin had felt like hot satin, she wrenched them back mercilessly, forcing herself to concentrate on the present.

‘What would you like to drink? Coffee?'

Perhaps a hot drink would warm her, ease some of the cold tension that gripped her in spite of the heat of the day.

‘I'll make it.'

‘No, you sit down, I'll do it—Felicity…' he added emphatically when she still hesitated. ‘Sit down! You can relax; I'm not going to poison you.'

‘Not poison perhaps, but how do I know you're not going to slip something into my drink?'

‘Madre de Dios!'
Rico exploded, raking both hands through the dark sleekness of his hair. ‘I told you, that was a one-off—an emergency measure. You are quite safe.'

The look Felicity turned on him was frankly sceptical. The word ‘safe' and Rico Valeron were two things that just didn't go together, at least not where she was concerned. But one thing she had been forced to realise over the past twenty-four hours was that the emotional danger she was in from this man was far, far greater than any physical fear she might feel.

‘You found the clean clothes, then,' Rico continued, spooning coffee into a filter machine and adding the water.

‘Yes—thanks…'

She forced herself to say it. She had to wear something. The silk wedding dress was totally impractical, besides which she would have felt a total hypocrite to continue
wearing it now that the prospect of her ever marrying Edward seemed as remote as the moon.

Last night Rico had offered her the loan of some of his own clothes—another tee-shirt and a pair of jeans—and she had gratefully accepted. And today, when she had finally emerged from the bathroom after scrubbing herself all over and standing under the hot spray for as long as possible, she had found another selection of shirts and tee-shirts neatly folded on a chair, waiting for her.

‘The colour suits you, and the fit could be worse.'

‘It is if I do this…' Felicity admitted, shaking out her arms so that the rolled-back sleeves of the deep turquoise shirt fell over her slender hands and flapped limply from the end of her fingers. ‘And you could fit two of me inside here. I must look like a charity case—a kid dressed in big brother's hand-me-downs.'

‘I like it,' Rico said, his voice suddenly dropping an octave, causing her dove-grey eyes to fly to his face in a rush. What she saw there made the colour leach from her face then almost immediately flood back into it again.

‘Don't!' she said sharply.
‘Don't!'

‘No. My apologies.'

Rico's tone was flat, unrevealing and abruptly he turned away, busying himself with taking mugs from a cupboard.

Would she ever get it right? Felicity wondered, subsiding uneasily into a nearby chair and forcing herself to concentrate on rolling her shirt sleeves back up to around her elbows. Would she ever get to the point where she could hold some sort of a conversation with this man without one or other of them stepping into the great, yawning traps that opened at their feet with every sentence?

But why should she even
want
to talk to him? Wouldn't she be much safer to keep a careful distance, hold herself aloof for whatever time longer she was forced to spend in
his company? That way at least she had some hope of escaping from this situation with some degree of safety.

But the truth was that Rico fascinated and intrigued her. She was repelled by the heartless, cold-blooded way he had moved in on her life, throwing it into turmoil in order to further whatever private vendetta he had with Edward, but at the same time there were other aspects of him that tugged at her feelings, drawing her to him like a needle to a magnet. He was a man of contradictions; the two different sides to him were almost polar opposites, so that she couldn't tell which was the real Rico.

Last night, for example, just when she had been at her lowest point, when realisation of what had happened to her had finally hit home, knocking her for six and leaving her limp and miserable, he had suddenly switched from the ruthless brigand to become another man entirely.

She had been in the room he had shown her to, the room where she had slept last night. Rico had suggested that she make herself more comfortable and had left her there to change into the clothes he had provided for her.

It was the veil that had been her undoing. The veil and the delicate tracery of the tiara. Both had been professionally woven into place, fastened securely with innumerable pins, guaranteed to stay fixed for the entire day, and removing them had proved totally beyond her.

It was the last straw. Overcome with exhaustion and despair, she had given up even trying and had just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring unseeingly into the mirror before her.

That was where Rico had found her.

‘Felicity? Miss Hamilton?'

His knock meeting with no response, he had pushed open the door and come into the room, dark eyes going immediately to her wan, pale face.

‘What is it?' he asked sharply and, beyond pretence, in
capable of holding back she had lifted her hands to gesture towards the ornate headdress, clenching her fingers in a gesture of impatient despondency.

‘It's this…' she wailed. ‘This damn veil! I can't get it off. I think I'm locked into it for ever!'

She had fully expected him to laugh, or make some impatient masculine comment about the foolishness of being persuaded by female vanity into such a tortuous arrangement. He did neither. Instead he soothed her fractious mood with easy words, reassured her softly, and set to work on the headdress at once, removing the fine hairpins with swift efficiency.

And he had been so unbelievably gentle. Where she had tugged and pulled at her own hair, bringing tears of pain to her eyes and only succeeding in making matters worse, he had seemed to have the magical touch. The pins almost melted away. Within seconds, the veil was freed and tossed aside, the tiara eased from her head and placed carefully on the dressing table.

But he hadn't stopped there.

‘You're appallingly tense,' he had murmured, long fingers testing the muscles at the back of her neck, feeling how tight they were.

‘And does that surprise you?' Felicity flung at him, grey eyes dark with reproach. ‘I mean, I'm having such a
wonderful
time! This should have been my wedding night, instead of which I'm God knows where, with a man who—who…'

Her voice cracked, died painfully, as her control shattered completely and tears welled up in her eyes, shimmering in the evening light.

‘What—what are you going to do to me?'

‘Nothing.'

Rico's tone was low and emphatic, tight with conviction,
and he reached out and captured her face in both his hands, hard palms lying warm against the softness of her cheeks.

‘
Nothing!
I swear to you,
gatita
, that you will come to no harm. My quarrel is not with you, but with the man you were supposed to marry. All I need from you is that you stay here until certain things are sorted out.'

‘What sort of things?'

It was disturbing how much she wanted to believe him—shocking to realise that she was already halfway to doing that. That appealingly accented voice held the ring of total conviction, and the black coffee eyes burned into hers as if willing her to accept that he spoke nothing but the truth.

‘What has to be sorted out?'

But it was obvious that he wasn't going to answer that. Rejection of her question was stamped into every line of his face, cooling the fires in those dark eyes, changing his expression swiftly and dramatically.

‘It isn't necessary for you to know that,' he answered with a curtness that made her flinch inwardly. ‘That is my business and none of yours. All you need to know is that you are quite safe. In fact, if you are sensible and do as you are told, and don't do anything foolish like trying to escape in the night, you might find that your captivity here will last no more than a day.'

Right now, even that seemed like an eternity. But it seemed it was the only concession Rico was prepared to offer.

‘I'll think about it,' she managed, unwilling in her turn to give too much away.

‘Do that,' he murmured, his voice gentling again. ‘Do that,
mi belleza
Felicity, and perhaps we will be able—if not to make peace, then at least to come to some sort of understanding we can both live with.'

And as he spoke his hands moved again, sliding into the loosened tangles of her hair, smoothing through the tousled
blonde strands, gently combing the knots out of them. Strong fingers kneaded her scalp, finding and easing the tightness of muscle that was like a band of steel around her head, massaging it away until she sighed with weary relief.

‘Coffee.'

Felicity started out of her recollections as Rico placed a mug of steaming coffee on the table in front of her.

‘Thanks.'

It was just a vague murmur as she struggled to force her mind to concentrate on the present. That had been her mistake earlier. Weakly and foolishly she had let the memory of how gentle Rico could be distract her. She had let her guard down for one vulnerable moment, and he had taken full advantage of the fact.

‘What would you like to eat? I was going to offer you breakfast, but perhaps that should really be brunch.'

‘Anything. I'm not really all that hungry.'

She looked like a small, stray kitten sitting there, hunched up in her chair in the oversized shirt and jeans, Rico thought, wincing as his conscience gave a painful twist of reproach. With her beautiful skin clear of any sort of make-up, and the fine blonde hair hanging loose about her face, she was just a shadow of the woman she had been yesterday—the woman who had given as good as she got and had fought him every inch of the way.

Except for that one moment last night when she had let her guard down.

‘Infierno!'

He cursed under his breath as his conscience tormented him again.
That
Felicity Hamilton had had him seriously doubting the truth of his half-sister's story. If he hadn't made promises he couldn't break, he would have put her in the car right there and then and driven her straight back home to her family. And yet…

Frowning, he stirred his coffee with unnecessary force.
She had shown precious little concern about the fiancé she had left waiting at the altar. And within less than twenty-four hours she had been in his bed—unfaithful to the man she had been about to marry. There were two very distinct sides to Felicity Hamilton and he didn't know which one to trust.

If only he had been able to get through to Maria he might have been able to clear up some of this confusion. But each time he phoned he was informed that the mobile he was calling was switched off.

‘You'll wear a hole in the bottom of that mug if you stir that coffee any more.'

The faint touch of humour was the last thing he had expected, and the small smile on the soft mouth, a hint of light in the slightly bruised looking eyes disturbed his already uneasy conscience again, pushing him into action.

‘Here…'

Felicity blinked in confusion at the mobile phone he dumped on the table in front of her.

‘What…?'

‘Ring your father,' Rico commanded brusquely. ‘Find out what's happening.'

‘Ring…'

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was he really going to let her go, just like that? Oh, she knew he'd promised but she'd never truly believed him.

‘If the news is good then you'll be on your way home.'

‘What exactly is good news?'

His shrug was swift, dismissive.

‘You tell me what your father says and I'll tell you if it's good.'

‘Fine.'

She struggled for a lightness she was far from feeling. It was his indifference, the total blankness of his eyes and
face that stung most. Did he truly care so little about the fact that she might be leaving?

Oh, face facts, Fliss! she reproved herself sharply. What else had she expected? She knew what this man was, an opportunist and a brigand. He had had all he wanted from her and now he wanted rid of her. But she was dammed if she'd let him see even for a second just what that did to her.