Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) Page 5

  “I don’t doubt it. On your stomach, please.”

  The nagging pain in her foot exacerbated her nerves that were by no means calm in the first place. She wanted the thorn out, and the sooner the better. Just now, her swollen instep was a handicap that she could not afford if she meant to get into a foot race. And if she were caught and dragged struggling back to his bed, what would be the result of their tussles in their skimpy nightwear if he carried out his intention of forcing her to lie still under him? She had already had more than one demonstration of the chemistry that could be ignited between them. It would be foolhardy in the extreme to invite another.

  Giving him a look of fulminating rage, Kelly stretched out face down across Charles’s bed and buried her face in her arms. He sat down beside her, and picking up her ankle, set her foot on his knee directly under the light.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

  “It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?” she said, her voice muffled.

  “Such a martyr,” he jeered. “I wonder if you will put yourself in your husband’s hands so reluctantly and fatalistically on your wedding night.”

  “I hardly expect it to be the same as having a thorn removed,” she said, her voice tart. Then, as the possible implications of her remark struck her, she was fervently glad that her face was hidden.

  A tremor shook him, as of silent laughter. His tone suspiciously grave, he said, “I hope not.”

  The touch of his hands was firm, yet gentle, the restraint he kept on her movement complete. She felt the pricking of the needle against the tightly held skin of her instep. A shiver ran over her as the steel of the needle touched the thorn.

  “It’s deep,” he said. “I can’t think why in the name of heaven you didn’t mention it earlier.”

  She unclenched her gritted teeth enough to say, “You were so busy threatening me, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

  “If I remember correctly, you did your share of the talking.”

  “For what good it did me.”

  He made no direct reply, asking instead, “When was your last tetanus shot?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “It’s a puncture wound, and this is cattle country. It’s been against the law for several years to allow cattle to range free, but sometimes the farmers let them out in the winter.”

  “That’s trusting of them, beef prices being what they are.”

  “Isn’t it?” he said. “It also increases the danger of tetanus, if you take my meaning.”

  He was speaking of the germ’s preference for incubation in fresh manure. She grimaced. “What would you say if I told you I had not had a tetanus vaccination since I was twelve?”

  “I would send to the nearest hospital for serum and give it to you myself.”

  She didn’t doubt it for a minute. His words, spoken without haste, were too even, too deliberate. “That won’t be necessary. I had a booster when I went in for my physical before I started to work.”

  He gave a grunt of satisfaction, though whether it was for the information she had given him, or for the success of his operation, she could not tell. Hard on the sound, he said, “Here is what was causing your problem.”

  She lifted her head, twisting to see the prize. Nearly an inch long, it was a brownish-black locust thorn. She had hardly been aware of his deeper probing for it. She knew that she had the firmness of his grip around the point of entry to thank for that oblivion, and also his provocative comments that had distracted her, keeping her attention from what he was doing. She levered herself higher, trying to turn.

  “Lie still.”

  She felt the sting and smelled the pungency of iodine, followed immediately by a soothing application of ointment. Over this he placed a square of sterile white gauze, then fastened it with strips of nylon tape. His movements were quick and sure, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “You go about that like a professional,” she said, a tentative note in her voice.

  “On a place as big as —” he began, then stopped, all expression leaving his face. “Let’s just say I have had a little experience.”

  What had he been going to say? She could make no sense of it. “I suppose I should be grateful for it.”

  He did not answer. Kelly lowered her lashes as she realized how ungracious her comment sounded. Turning over, she sat up, pushing toward the edge of the bed.

  “Not so fast,” he said. Turning from tightening the lid on the iodine bottle, he leaned to put one arm under her knees and the other across her back before he surged to his feet.

  “I can walk,” she protested as she found herself in his arms once more.

  “Yes, but not run. You don’t know how relieved that makes me.”

  “I can imagine,” she said, though there was a shadow of nervousness in her eyes as he carried her from the room and down the hall.

  “Can you?” he asked, “and are you also able to imagine what I am thinking now?”

  “I prefer not to try.”

  “Wise girl,” he said with a hint of self-mockery edging his tone.

  He deposited her on the bed, then walked into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a tumbler of water and two white tablets. As he held the medicine out to her in the palm of his hand, Kelly eyed it skeptically.

  “What is that?”

  “Aspirin, nothing more I assure you.”

  “I don’t need it.” She sat where he had left her. She had pulled the sheet up to her waist, but she could not bring herself to lie back and relax.

  “Do you feel you have to object to everything I say and do as a matter of principle, or do you just enjoy being stubborn?”

  “It isn’t being stubborn to object to being drugged!”

  “If I wanted to put you out,” he said, his black eyes holding the glint of steel, “I think I could find something stronger to push down your throat than two aspirin. Come on, they will help you sleep instead of lying here feeling sorry for yourself, or stomping up and down the hall keeping me awake.”

  “I should have known it was your comfort you were worried about,” she flung at him.

  “So you should. Why would I care about yours, after all?”

  “No reason in the world, any more than I care whether you get your rest or not. It seems to me that you are the stubborn one, determined to force your will on me. What are you afraid of — that if you let me get around you in this one small thing, I may be able to do it with something more important?”

  He stood looking down at her a long moment, the muscles standing out in the hard, bronzed planes of his face. Then abruptly he stepped to the bedside table where he set the glass down with a thud and placed the aspirins beside it.

  “Take them or not, as you please,” he said quietly, “but let me hear no more out of you until morning, or I refuse to be responsible for what happens!”

  Four

  The aroma of coffee drifted into Kelly’s dreams. It was a welcome morning smell. She stretched and opened her eyes. Her gray gaze focused on the ceiling fan twirling gently above her. She felt rested, surprisingly so. There was a twinge of soreness in her foot, but she did not think it was going to give her any trouble. The events of the night before flashed through her mind, and she closed her eyes. Charles had been right, damn him. The aspirin had helped, though she would die before she would tell him so.

  He must be up, if there was coffee brewing already. It was strange, but the aspirins must have been a better restorative than she had thought. She felt well and able to join battle with him again this morning. She wasn’t eager for it, of course. That would be expecting too much, even of such powerful medicine.

  She turned her head, listening. The house was quiet. She could hear no sound of him moving about in the kitchen. She knew he could be extremely quiet when it suited his purpose, but surely there should have been some noise. Maybe he had gone outside. He might even have risen early for a swim.


  It was then she saw the steaming cup of coffee. It sat on her bedside table in the exact spot where the night before Charles had left the tumbler and tablets.

  Fury rushed over Kelly, and she sat up. He had been here in her room this morning. He knew already that she had taken his blasted aspirins; there was no way she could keep the information from him. He had strolled in here while she slept as if he had a perfect right to enter her room, as if he owned the house and everything in it, master of all he surveyed. And what he had been surveying was her as she lay deep in slumber, unconscious, unaware.

  Coffee! She longed to take the cup and throw it against the far wall. She reached out and picked it up, then as she smelled the delicious brew, the sacrifice seemed too great. She would drink his coffee, then she would get dressed and go find him for the express purpose of telling him what she thought of him. Talk about her sneaking and creeping around!

  She pulled on a shorts outfit of crisp turquoise linen that gave her eyes a reflection of blue. Running a brush through her hair, she tied it back for coolness with a length of turquoise ribbon. Discarding the idea of footwear of any kind, she left her room with a militant set of her features.

  The thermostat for the air conditioning had been switched off and the doors thrown wide to take advantage of the early-morning freshness. As she stopped just inside the living room, Kelly glanced out through the front entrance. Charles was there, standing in front of the house beyond the screened veranda, in close conversation once more with the person who had been guarding the elderly man. With their backs to the house, they looked out over the lake as they spoke. The murmur of their voices came to Kelly where she stood, though she could not distinguish the words.

  Almost without thinking, she edged toward the veranda, favoring her injured foot as she quickly crossed the open doorway, using the cover of the front wall to conceal her stealthy approach. Flattening her back against the paneling, she held her breath to listen.

  The man with the revolver was speaking. “Seeing that girl yesterday really upset the old guy, made him think about how long it’s been since he saw his own family. He hasn’t given me too much trouble, you know, not since the first day or two, but he was sure restless this morning.”

  “It won’t be too long now,” Charles said.

  “We hope. Could drag on for months yet.”

  “I don’t think so,” Charles returned. “I believe the payoff will come in a week, two at the most.”

  Kelly clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent her gasp of consternation. She had been right; they were holding the old man she had seen for ransom.

  “If he’s still alive by that time.”

  “Yes,” Charles said, his tone hardening to an almost unrecognizable grimness.

  “What are you going to do about this girl, now you’ve got her?”

  “You leave her to me. I have plans for Miss Kelly Hartly.”

  Kelly shivered. An instant later, there was the macabre sound of cheerful resignation in the other man’s tone as he replied, “You’re the boss!”

  “In that capacity, I suggest you get back over there before the senator gives you the slip.”

  “You’d think he would have sense enough to be scared.”

  “Brave men are sometimes foolish men,” Charles answered.

  “On second thought,” the guard said, his tone wheedling, “How about trading jobs with me? I wouldn’t mind watching the one you got cornered at all. Must be a lot more fun keeping a pretty girl under wraps than an old geezer.”

  There was distaste in Charles’s voice as he replied, “Thank you, no. You would be better to keep your mind on what you’re doing.”

  “Don’t get riled. It was just an idea. See you later.”

  At the sound of retreating footsteps, Kelly jerked to attention, moving as quickly as she could from her place beside the door. She circled toward the kitchen in clumsy haste. There, she held to the cabinet, taking several deep breaths, trying to still the trembling that seized her.

  No matter what she had thought, or what she had told herself, she had not really believed the situation to be as bad as she had imagined. The hint that it was even more so, that death might be in store for the man they were holding, that Charles had definite plans of his own for her, left her numb and shaken. She was also very aware that a part of her sickness was caused by the fact that she had not wanted to believe it.

  It was some minutes before Charles came into the kitchen. By that time, Kelly had regained some semblance of composure. She looked up from peeling slices of bacon apart and dropping them into the electric skillet to return his greeting with a cool good morning.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  “You didn’t have to bring me coffee this morning either, but you did.” It was odd how normal he looked, not at all as if he had been discussing the death of a human being.

  “As a peace offering it seems to have been a failure.”

  “Next time, try leaving it outside the door.” Where the courage came from to speak so boldly to him she did not know, but she could not bring herself to look at him while she spoke.

  “You couldn’t have reached it from there. Besides, wouldn’t that have been a little ridiculous when the door was open already?”

  “Not from choice.”

  “Is that what this is all about, offended modesty?”

  “That’s the least of it,” she told him, “but if you want to start a list, you can put that on it somewhere.”

  He stood watching her a moment, his gaze on her slim fingers as she picked up a fork and began to line up the slices of bacon in the pan. Moving to the sink, he washed his hands, then found bread, butter, and a cookie sheet. As with a liberal hand he applied butter to the bread to be toasted under the broiler he said, “I am assuming it’s the pain in your foot that’s making you so waspish this morning.”

  “You assume wrong.”

  “Then it doesn’t hurt? That’s good.”

  It might be better to let him think that the injury was worse than it was. If he saw her having difficulty getting around, then he might be less watchful, less on his guard. “I didn’t say that.”

  “I’ll look at it after breakfast.”

  “That — won’t be necessary.”

  “Kelly, my sweet,” he said pausing, “are we going to have to go through all this again?”

  “Not if you don’t try to force me to do things I don’t want. And I am not your sweet,” she answered with a lift of her chin and a quick glance at him from the corner of her eye.

  He ignored the last “Even if it’s for your own good? For the next few days, we are going to have to stay here together. If you will accept that, and stop fighting me, you can still rest and relax, enjoy your vacation.”

  “Relax? After what you have said to me, and done?”

  The incredulity in her voice was not feigned. He frowned. “I could say you brought it on yourself, but I won’t. I can promise that you will be completely safe if you will agree to a truce.”

  She sent him a look of scorn. “And I’m to take your word for that?”

  “I assure you,” he said softly, his grip tightening on the knife he held until his knuckles gleamed white, “that you need nothing more.”

  Kelly felt her nerves tighten as she recognized the thread of danger in his tone. Once before she had dared to doubt his word. It seemed he did not take such slurs lightly. “For how long?”

  “Until the end of the week.”

  “Couldn’t you wind up whatever it is that you are doing before then, and let me have the last few days of my time off in peace?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  She should have known. Despite the firm sound of his voice just now, he had mentioned, when he was talking to the guard, the possibility of it being as much as two weeks before the payoff came. A frown between her eyes, she took up the bacon and set it to drain on the paper towel. Cracking eggs into the hot fat, she said, “There’re still a
few things I don’t understand.”

  “Is it necessary that you should?”

  “You would prefer that I take things on faith, as if you were God?”

  He let his breath out slowly. “I’m sure it’s too much to expect, but it would be convenient.”

  He stepped to slide the toast under the broiler. As he straightened, the light from the window over the sink slanted across the planes of his face with sharp clarity, highlighting the small split in the smooth line of his upper lip, and the long, raw-looking mark of a nail burn down his neck. The sight of the damage she had inflicted gave her no joy, though it did have the effect of making her lose track, temporarily, of what she had been saying.

  She did not speak again until they were seated at the breakfast table. The savory smell of the bacon and hot buttered toast was usually enough to spark her appetite, but this morning all she could do was push the food around on her plate. Charles’s appreciation of his breakfast was unimpaired. He ate the two eggs she had cooked him with every sign of enjoyment, then spread grape jelly on the remaining pieces of toast, topping them off with another cup of hot coffee.

  She shot him a quick look from under her lashes. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “If you won’t tell me who you are, can you at least tell me where you come from?”

  “There’s nothing mysterious about that,” he said after a moment. “I’m from south Louisiana, just above New Orleans to be exact.”

  She had thought as much. “Your accent, then, is —”

  “French Creole, which means —”

  “I know. Of French descent born in a foreign country, foreign to France, that is.”

  “Good for you. Most people seem to think it has something to do with mixed heritage, mixed blood. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

  His praise was oddly satisfying. “I’ve never traveled much in south Louisiana, never met many true French-speaking people from that region, but I’ve read a great deal about it.” Before the words had left her mouth, she recalled one important fact. New Orleans was the center for one of the best-organized, best-known Mafia families in the nation. A cold feeling moved over her, and she suppressed a shiver that left gooseflesh along her arms.