The Blackmailed Bride (4 page)

‘You should know. It's your business, not mine.'

He went rigid. Not a muscle in his face moved, but his eyes blazed like twin points of fury. ‘Women like you are incomprehensible! Why do you protect him?' he demanded. ‘Is it fear, or some misplaced sense of loyalty? A man like that will pull you down to his level, and when you get there he'll leave you…'

Without any warning he grabbed her arm and, swiftly rolling up the sleeve of her top, ran one long finger softly over the blue-veined inner aspect of her left wrist and forearm. Under the light his accessory helpfully directed over
the area, his keen eyes searched her fair blemishless skin for tell-tale marks.

Kate shivered helplessly as tingling arrows of electricity shot up her arm. Instinctively she started to pull back and then stopped as a strange heavy lethargy stole over her. Her leaden-lidded eyes were riveted on the image of his dark fingers on her skin; heat travelled like a flash-flood, bathing her entire body; the distant buzzing in her head got closer.

She only started breathing again when he released her.

‘Satisfied now?' With dignity she rolled down her sleeve.

‘Not quite.'

Her stomach muscles clenched as she saw his intention. Her angry dark eyes clashed with his emotionless gaze for several seconds before she conceded defeat.

‘Let me,' she said sarcastically as she turned back the sleeve that covered her right arm. Chin lifted defiantly, she thrust out her arm in front of him.

She waited for him to look away, embarrassed, shocked or maybe repelled—she'd seen all the reactions which, to her mind, were wildly out of proportion to the small puckered area of skin, pinker than the rest of her skin, that lay along the inside of her arm, just above her elbow joint—there was another, smaller and less prominent area on her shoulderblade which the plastic surgery had not quite been able to conceal.

It was amazing how such a small blemish could throw some people and make them look at you differently. Kate had decided a long time ago that other people's squeamishness was their problem, not hers, and she didn't go out of her way to conceal or reveal the childhood scars she still bore from a domestic accident.

This man wasn't thrown. Neither did he fall into the category of those who politely pretended not to notice the marks. Seb had been one of those—Seb who, despite his protests that it really didn't matter to him, had never been able to bring himself to touch the scarred area.

This man had no such qualms. He took the arm she defiantly offered between his big hands and turned it slightly sideways, rubbing his thumb lightly over the shiny scar tissue as he did so. Kate shivered and the blue eyes lifted momentarily.

‘A burn?' There was not a shred of pity in his expression and over the years Kate had become something of an expert at detecting it.

She cleared her throat, it felt raw and achey. ‘Are you always this morbidly curious…?'

‘You are not comfortable discussing it?'

Not just mad, bad and indisputably dangerous, he had to turn out to be into amateur psychology—this just got better and better! ‘Not with homicidal maniacs.'

‘Do you know many homicidal maniacs?'

Kate shook her head. ‘Most murders are domestic,' she announced authoritatively. ‘If you've seen enough…do you mind…?' she added, with a cool nod to her arm. It was hard to project cool when this man's touch made her shiver.

He straightened up and their eyes met again. Kate had the impression he saw through her bravado, saw right through to the insecure teenager she'd once been, still learning to cope with the occasional stare or rude comment. Disliking the feeling of vulnerability, she shook her head to dispel the scary illusion as she pulled the fabric back down over her arm.

‘I hope,' he remonstrated severely, touching the stretchy cotton fabric of her top, ‘you do not cover yourself all the time.'

This whole situation, she decided, was getting distinctly surreal. She was getting personal advice from someone who waited in dark rooms for blackmailing drug-dealers. Perhaps working with the criminals had given her a unique rapport with the fraternity; if her mother was to be believed, it had given her a twisted and cynical outlook on life.

‘Only when I'm doing a spot of breaking and entering.'
She bit her lip. Irony was a luxury a person in her position could not afford. Then, emboldened by the unexpected gleam of amusement in his eyes, she nodded towards the photos. ‘Listen,' she continued in her most persuasive tone—there was no point dismissing out of hand the slim possibility that he was human, after all. ‘I honestly don't know your friend, so why don't I just leave and forget I ever saw you?'

‘Friend? Por Dios…!'

Kate backed away from the lash of contemptuous fury in his voice and carried on backing nervously until the sound of the heavy-set second thug clearing his throat significantly brought her to an abrupt halt. She looked over her shoulder and discovered he was positioned, arms folded across his massive chest, in front of the only exit.

‘I tell you, I don't know him. I'm just a guest here. I only arrived today…'

As she'd appealed to his partner, the second man sauntered up to join him—Kate had almost forgotten his silent presence. She turned her head as the flashlight he carried shone momentarily in her eyes. ‘If we let her go, she could warn him we're on to him.'

The sinister significance of this observation was not lost on Kate, who paled with alarm.
‘If,'
she exclaimed shrilly. ‘What do you mean, if? You lay a finger or try and stop me leaving and I'll make so much noise…'

The one in command winced at her shrill tone. ‘Make any more noise than you already are and a concerned guest or member of staff might call the police.'

The best news she'd heard all day—and a long,
long
day it had been. Had it only been this morning she'd boarded the flight to Palma…? Somehow this wasn't quite the Sangria and sunset sort of end to the day she'd anticipated.

‘Let's cut out the middle man,' she suggested tartly, reaching for the phone and holding it out to him. Her scars might not have fazed him but Kate could tell her response
had taken him aback, and maybe he was right. Maybe she was acting foolishly—somehow, though, she didn't think tears and pleas were going to get her very far.

‘And I would naturally feel obligated to hand over these,' he tauntingly wafted the pack of photos in front of her nose.

‘And they'd believe your story? I think I might have a little more credibility with the police than you,' she countered calling his bluff.

For some reason, this claim caused his companion to laugh, though he did sober up fast enough when he was on the receiving end of a silencing glare.

‘You think so?'

He wasn't to her mind displaying the sort of dismay a shady character like him ought to when threatened with the forces of law. Perhaps he hid his illicit dealings behind a legitimate front, she speculated uneasily.

‘I'm a very respectable person.'

‘Now, I might be swayed by the throbbing note of conviction and the big brown eyes…but the police, they generally like more concrete proof…'

‘You want proof…right.' With a triumphant smile of pure relief she remembered the card in her pocket. ‘That's me, K. M. Anderson.' She shoved her credit card under his nose. ‘I'm sharing one of the bungalows with my—with a friend…' No need, she decided, to involve Susie.

‘You could have stolen it,' he replied glancing without interest at her gold card. ‘In fact, under the circumstances, I'd say that's highly likely.'

Kate's chest swelled with indignation, a fact that didn't escape her tormentor's notice. Kate's eyes began to sparkle angrily as his eyes dropped with unabashed interest on the heaving contours. To her horror, she felt her nipples harden and peak.

Lecherous creep, she thought, her anger intensified by the treacherous reactions of her body and the accelerated rate of her heartbeat.

‘One of the things I hate most in this world is men who can't keep their eyes on a woman's face when they're talking to her!' she announced with scornful defiance.

That refocused his attention all right; the astonished blue gaze instantly zoomed in on her face.

The startled gasp, followed by a low chuckle, didn't come from the man whose enigmatic scrutiny was making her wish like mad she'd kept quiet on the subject, but from his partner.

‘As I was saying,' she began doggedly, ‘I didn't steal the card. It's mine. I brought it along in case the door was…' She stopped abruptly, her eyes growing round in dismay as she bit back the incriminating explanation.

‘Locked…?' The fascinating network of fine lines around his cerulean eyes deepened.

Kate felt her guilty blush deepen.

‘What a resourceful woman you are…. You still haven't told me what you're doing here.'

‘Why should I? You haven't told me why you're here and I'm pretty sure it's not by invitation,' she murmured stroppily.

‘Hush!' he admonished, cutting her off with abrupt urgency before turning to his companion. ‘Serge, did you hear that?'

The hot flare of anticipation Kate glimpsed in his blue eyes suggested to her that she was dealing with an adrenaline junkie, the type who got high on danger, she speculated. The sort that took risks and got a kick out of doing so. She'd often noted these two qualities, allied with a callous disregard for the law, in some of her clients—men who, had they channelled their talents into less anti-social endeavours, would probably have made very successful businessmen, or even for that matter lawyers like herself.

The other man nodded and replied softly. ‘It could be Gonzalez?'

The light was suddenly doused and Kate's hopeful ears
were rewarded by the sound of footsteps on the paved area outside the window. She didn't care who it was, it was the chance she'd been waiting for. She opened her mouth to cry for help.

Before she had a chance to raise the alarm, a large hand clamped down hard over her parted lips whilst another twisted her arm behind her back. ‘You want to warn your lover?' a cold, hateful voice rasped mockingly in her ear, Kate tried to turn her head, hating his contempt, hating the sensation of his warm breath on her neck, and fearing the confusing ripples of sensation it created. ‘I don't think so…'

Biting his hand as hard as she could was not the most subtle response, but Kate was desperate by this point.

He didn't cry out, even though she felt the salty tang of blood on her tongue, but his grip did slacken—only slightly, but it was the moment Kate had been tensely waiting for. It was enough to allow her to break free. With a determined, sinuous wriggle, she twisted away from him and even before she was upright began to run. Head down, she hit the floor, running like a sprinter ducking desperately for the winning line.

K
ATE
opened her eyes and moaned. She looked around groggily. This was new—waking up in a strange bed, in a strange bedroom. Not all new experiences were good ones and actually this was one she could well have lived without!

She couldn't have amnesia. She knew her name; she could even recite her pin number and other personal details. She just didn't recall the events that had culminated in her being in this bed—maybe this was an occurrence some girls could take in their stride, but not her. Don't panic, Kate, she told herself, there has to be a perfectly simple explanation for this.

The problem was, try as she might, she couldn't come up with it. She attacked the problem with her usual vigour and all she got for her troubles was a brain ache.

The last thing she remembered was getting on the flight for Palma; her memories of that were perfectly clear. She'd ended up holding a baby all the way for the harassed young mother travelling alone with two active toddlers and a fretful six-month-old. The mother had been grateful; the baby had expressed his gratitude by throwing up all over her cream linen designer suit.

The unthinkable suddenly occurred to her. What if she wasn't alone in the strange bed? Holding her breath, she reached behind her, a relieved sigh escaped her lips as the search came up empty.

Javier entered the room just as she was blindly patting the pillow, her eyes screwed tightly shut. He heard her hoarse sigh from the other side of the room. A spasm of
amusement lightened the severity of his lean, dark features as he approached, a nightdress folded over one arm.

It wasn't too hard to interpret his guest's actions. Ms K. M. Anderson—it hadn't taken long to discover that they did indeed have a K. M. Anderson staying—was wondering if she'd woken up beside a stranger. From her reactions, it seemed safe to assume this wasn't an everyday occurrence for her.

Javier found himself idly wondering what her response would have been if her hand had encountered his own body instead of the pillow lying there beside her. For a brief moment he imagined her turning, arms outstretched, a smile of invitation on those full sexy lips. Reality intervened; it was much more likely, considering her reckless streak, she'd have picked up the nearest heavy blunt object and knocked him senseless with it. All the same, even his remarkable will power could not totally banish the lingering image of warm, welcoming arms.

Frowning, Kate rolled onto her back. The large fans swooshing silently overhead seemed in keeping with the tasteful and expensive Colonial-style furnishings in the room around her. Her parents' beachfront bungalow had similar furnishing, though it wasn't nearly as spacious.

Of course! She was on holiday. She was in bed at the hotel in the room she shared with Susie… Her relieved expression faded—this theory only worked to a point. This lavishly appointed space wasn't their much more modest bedroom with its twin beds, rattan furniture and a nice view of one of the pools from the dinky veranda.

‘My head hurts,' she complained out loud.

‘I'm not surprised.'

‘You!'
Kate shrieked in loathing.

She shot bolt upright, bristling with antipathy. The mystery of her brain blanking out the last few hours was a
mystery no longer; it had merely been a protective reflex. Protecting her from the worst day of her life.

‘How did I get here?' Not under her own steam, that much she knew, and where was ‘here'? ‘Kidnapping is a very serious offence.' It was in England, and she had no reason to believe the Spanish treated this offence any differently.

One slanted brow rose politely. ‘So I believe.'

It was frustratingly apparent her stern warning hadn't had any effect on his bone-deep air of assurance—other than to infuse it with a slight edge of infuriating, indulgent amusement—but then why would it…? She was talking to a hardened, desperate criminal. There was every likelihood he had probably done a lot worse than kidnapping! Perhaps he still thought she was some junkie who nobody would miss?

‘And there are people who will miss me…
lots
of people…' She broke off abruptly clutching her head as an arrow of agony shot through her temple.

Through a miasma of pain, Kate felt the mattress give as he came to sit on the edge; her nose quivered as she encountered the attractive male fragrance emanating from his warm body—any closer and she might feel the warmth too. Kate tensed at the thought. This was getting way too intimate for her liking! With a muffled cry of protest that hurt her head, she tried to shuffle blindly away, but a firm hand on her elbow prevented her.

‘I won't hurt you.' Kate was mad with herself for instinctively believing him, despite all the evidence to the contrary. ‘You should lie down; you took quite a knock.'

‘You should know, you probably delivered it,' she retorted through gritted teeth.

‘Actually you ran full pelt into the wardrobe—solid mahogany. Renewable sources of course; the owners have a very green policy…'

This information did actually correspond with Kate's
own hazy recollection of the incident. ‘You make it sound as if I did it on purpose,' she muttered truculently. ‘Actually, I had my eyes closed.' Like now.

Her blue-veined eyelids flickered as she felt the pad of one fingertip brush aside a strand of hair from her forehead. Her mind supplied a vivid lifelike image—possibly aided by the fact she could still smell his elusive male scent—to go with the action. The image of long, sensitive, tapering fingers, very dark in dramatic contrast to her fair creamy skin, lingered in her mind as her stomach muscles began to quiver uncomfortably.

Keeping her eyes closed, she told herself, had nothing to do with being afraid of seeing his raw sex appeal up close. The light hurt her eyes—that was all.

‘From the look of your spectacle lenses, it wouldn't have made much difference if you'd had them open,' he murmured, his deep voice laced with disparaging amusement. ‘Does the light hurt your eyes?'

‘A little.' Kate was willing to ignore this insulting slur on her eyesight. He had her glasses—she needed them, and much as it went against the grain it was time for a bit of pleading. ‘You've got my glasses? Give them to me.' She opened her eyes.
‘Please,'
she added gruffly. ‘Being without them is like…like being naked.' It was hard enough to explain the vulnerability of being short-sighted to anyone not similarly afflicted, but to someone as genetically perfect as this man it was probably a waste of breath.

His perfection was hard to miss this close too. She didn't need her specs to assimilate the dark, brooding magnificence of his strong-boned features—looking at them alarmingly intensified the dizziness she was experiencing.

‘I'm afraid I stepped on them in the dark.'

‘You did it deliberately!' she heard herself wail childishly.

‘They say your other senses compensate…'

Kate watched with total fascination as his long fingers made a stroking sensation a hair's breath away from the pale skin of her forearm. As if those well manicured fingertips were electrified, the fine hairs on her skin became erect.

Was this the unnatural affinity she'd heard abductees developed with their kidnappers? she wondered hazily as her insides dissolved in the flood of scalding liquid heat which cascaded through her body. Like hell it is, Kate! Face facts! This is lust, sexual attraction—at least, on my side—plain and simple. His motivation for playing cat and mouse games were less immediately obvious.

‘…when one sense is compromised,' the insidiously sexy drawl continued. ‘In my experience, closing my eyes often enhances and heightens tactile sensations…'

Her shameless brain immediately provided several steamy images of situations where he might feel obliged to close his eyes. The situations revealed in those fragmented images uniformly necessitated him being naked, his golden skin gleaming beneath a layer of sweat. The hoarse groan of pleasure she imagined being ripped from his throat was so realistic that a swiftly subdued whimper emerged from her own throat—this was getting out of hand.

So the man was incredibly good-looking, sinfully sexy and packed more masculinity into his little finger than most men did in their entire bodies… That was no excuse to lose the plot, Kate told herself sternly.

‘This might help that naked feeling you were talking about.'

Kate looked blankly from his enigmatic face to the creamy cotton scoop-necked nightdress he handed her. Her brain made the link between his words and the garment and she bit her lip. She wasn't—was she?

She hardly dared, but she forced herself to look downwards at her own body—it could have been worse, but not
much. Her skin looked dramatically pale against the black of the simple bra she wore; she couldn't see them but she knew her matching pants would afford an equally stark contrast.

‘You took my clothes off!' she choked, her voice shaking with outrage and suspicion. Was that all he'd done…?

‘I did,' he confirmed, coolly unapologetic. ‘It seemed the most sensible thing to do under the circumstances. You were burning up.'

If she hadn't been, she was now! With a fraught squawk of dismay, she belatedly slid beneath the duvet, leaving only her face and tousled ash-blonde hair peeking out.

One dark brow rose expressively. ‘There is really no need for a display of false modesty; women on the beach wear less than you are.' One corner of his mouth lifted as a devilish gleam appeared in his eyes. ‘Considerably less, actually,' he added drily. ‘Or are you afraid you'll inflame my lust? Don't…I have strong control.'

In other words, he wasn't that desperate!

His languid drawl sent an extra-sharp stab of pain through Kate's pounding skull. Though she never normally envied Susie her looks, at that moment she wouldn't have minded having the equipment to make this man eat his contemptuous words.

‘Oh, yes, you struck me right off as someone
oozing
strong moral fibre,' she sneered, oozing hostility. ‘And as for women on the beach,
they
haven't been interfered with by a raving lunatic.'

‘Do you always have such lurid fantasies?'

Kate's cheeks flamed. With one quirk of an eyebrow he'd managed to give the distinct impression he wouldn't touch her with a ten foot barge pole. ‘None involving you!'

An honest girl, Kate knew she would in the future. It was inevitable; he was the sort of male that made the female unconscious run riot. She just hoped her fantasies
would wait until she was safe in the bosom of her family—she refused to allow herself to contemplate
if.
She was going to get away from this man.

Javier saw her wince. ‘You really should not shout or get agitated,' he remonstrated.

‘Advice from you I can do without.'

He gave a shrug. ‘I removed your clothes because you were dressed inappropriately for the weather conditions. Though ideally for a spot of larceny,' he added slyly.

‘Are you calling me a thief?' she gritted.

‘If the cap fits…?'

‘Takes one to know one…' she countered childishly.

‘Takes a thief to catch a thief,' he riposted without a pause.

‘Gosh, your colloquial English is really very good.' I can't believe I just said that…! I've been knocked unconscious, kidnapped, I'm lying as good as naked in a strange bed in the company of an indisputably dangerous man who could do anything at any moment and all I can do is admire his grammar…!

His heavy lids drooped hiding the expression in his deep set eyes momentarily from Kate. ‘The British, they're just priceless.'

‘Pardon?'

Those lush dark lashes lifted off his cheekbones revealing cynical blue. ‘Shades of the empire; you refuse to learn another language and delight in commenting on foreigners'
funny
accents.'

Kate, who was mortified by this interpretation of her unthinking observation, couldn't help but observe that his deep velvety drawl could be classified as many things, including dangerously seductive, but
funny
wasn't one of them!

‘I didn't mean it like that!' she exclaimed, horrified to have him lump her together with an unpleasant, ignorant
minority she had nothing whatever in common with. ‘Anyhow, it's an absurd generalisation, and I was
not
being patronising.' Why am I making such a fuss? she wondered eyeing the good-looking cause of her discomfort resentfully. His good opinion is not something I'm going to lie awake at nights thinking about—now his mouth, that was another matter, her wilful thoughts added naughtily.

‘You look feverish.'

Kate stiffened as a cool hand touched her perspiring forehead—she could hardly explain the likely reason for her sweaty state. The hand lifted and she sighed.

‘I'm prepared to give the benefit of the doubt,' he announced abruptly. Their eyes met and something indefinable passed between them that made Kate's breathing quicken perceptibly. ‘Actually, I went to school in England,' he added casually.

Kate frowned. ‘Boarding school?' That suggested a privileged background, as did his autocratic manner. Had he chosen crime out of choice or had circumstances forced him down that road? It seemed a wicked shame that someone she sensed had so much potential should waste his talents.

‘Do I detect a hint of disapproval?'

The edge of indulgent amusement in his voice made Kate bristle. ‘Well, if I had children I wouldn't ship them away…' She encountered the interested glint in his eyes and bit her lip. Like he's
really
interested in what you'd do with your children, Kate… A sane person didn't enter into a debate on private versus state education with her abductor.

‘It didn't do me any harm.'

Kate couldn't stop herself snorting derisively when he wheeled out the tired old line.