The Hostage Bride (12 page)

‘Please.'

For a long tense moment she thought he was going to refuse and her already bruised brain whirled in panic, trying desperately to think of some further argument she could offer to persuade him. Anything other than the truth.

‘Please,' she said again, her voice wobbling revealingly.

Rico raked both hands through the black silk of his hair, expelling his breath on a long, harsh sigh that hissed through tightly clenched teeth.

‘Very well,' he said roughly. ‘I will leave you in peace.'

He thought she hadn't forgiven him, Felicity realised miserably. The sense of rejection and hurt pride was stamped into every stiff line of his body; it was there in his brusque movement as he stalked from the room. He believed she hadn't accepted his apology and it was all she could do not to call him back to reassure him.

But if she did that, it would not be all she would do. If she told him she forgave him, she wouldn't be able to stop there. She would have to go on, must inevitably tell him something else, something she had only just discovered for herself. Something so new and devastating that it had blasted her world into a myriad tiny pieces and she hadn't had a chance to collect them up again, never mind try to fit them back together.

‘When he died, I really believed I would never love anyone ever again.'

Her own words, spoken so rashly, so intensely only a few moments before, came back to haunt her like a reproach.

She could only pray that Rico hadn't caught the momentary hesitation, the catch in her voice, that would have given away the second when her heart seemed to stop dead
in shock. That he hadn't heard the break in her words as her thoughts had made her stutter, driving her to hide behind her hands, but not, as he had thought, to conceal her tears.

‘I really believed I would never love anyone
ever again
.'

And in that moment she had realised just why Rico had the effect he had. Why he had hurt her so badly when he had offered her nothing but a sexual affair, which was, after all, only what Edward had offered her too.

But Edward's offer hadn't touched her emotions. She had seen his offer as an escape route, a way out of a terrible impasse, nothing more. It hadn't affected her feelings, hadn't made her
care
.

Rico made her care. He did more than make her care. He made her feel, made her hurt, made her heart sing up to the highest skies and drop down to the lowest depths of pain. And the reason why was as simple and as complicated as the reason for existing. It was all enclosed in one single, very simple word.

Love.

She loved him.

In the space of a couple of days, Rico had taken her captive physically. He had held her prisoner for his own ends, used her as a hostage in order to win whatever gains he had planned on, and by doing so he had turned her world upside down, shattering the future she had thought lay ahead of her.

But he had done so much more. He had taken her heart hostage too, and no deal, no ransom, could ever win it back for her. Even though she was no longer his prisoner but could leave whenever she pleased, she knew deep inside that she would never, ever be truly free again. Because escaping meant leaving Rico behind and if he stayed then her heart would stay with him too. And without her heart she would ever only be half the person she truly was.

‘I
THINK
there could be thunder and lightning tonight. The atmosphere is heavy and close as if a storm is already gathering.'

Rico meant only the physical environment, Felicity reflected. He was referring to the build-up of clouds, the deepening pressure in the air. But he might as well have been talking about the emotional atmosphere between them. For days now, ever since the scene in her bedroom, the mood had been uncomfortable and tense, putting an unbearable strain on her nerves.

‘A thunderstorm would certainly ease things,' she murmured, painfully conscious of the double meaning to her words. ‘It's sticky and oppressive like this. Not exactly the weather for sightseeing.'

But she knew why Rico had suggested the trip into Buenos Aires. If he had come right out with it and announced that he was using the visit to Argentina's capital as a deliberate distraction and a scheme to keep them from being confined in the house together then it would have been more honest than the pretence that it was simply a sightseeing jaunt.

Honesty was something that was no longer a part of their relationship. Or, rather, the overdose of honesty that had resulted from their confrontation on her arrival at the
estancia
had driven both of them into their separate corners, away from each other. What conversation they had was stilted and awkward, overly polite. They were like two complete strangers who had only just been introduced and who didn't get on with each other at all.

Strangely enough they had communicated better when they had known each other less, she reflected. When her mind threw at her the brutally uncomfortable reminder that the sort of ‘communication' she and Rico had shared within the first day of their meeting had been in the heat and hunger of her bed, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying desperately to blank off her thoughts.

But her memories wouldn't be shut away. Instead they replayed over and over inside her head, bright and clear, and shockingly vivid in their sensuality. Images of kisses and caresses, of hearts beating in doublequick time, of ragged breathing and entwined, naked limbs, slick with the sweat of passion bombarded her senses until she moved restlessly on the soft leather seat, unable to escape them.

‘Are you okay?' Rico had caught her uneasy movement and slanted a swift, enquiring glance in her direction.

‘Fine,' Felicity managed. ‘Just warm. This weather is unsettling.'

It had nothing to do with the weather. What was really unsettling her was the newly sharpened awareness of the man sitting next to her. With the remembered eroticism of her thoughts still clear in her head, she had never been so intensely aware of every tiny thing about the man who sat beside her, dark and devastating, in a black shirt and trousers, controlling the powerful car with practised ease.

If he changed gear, the muscles in his thigh bunched and flexed disturbingly. The sleeves of his shirt had been pushed back to reveal the long, bronzed forearms that tautened with every adjustment needed on the slightly bumpy road. A breeze from the partly open window tossed the silky black hair around his high forehead and blew the clean scent of his body unerringly towards her. Today he wore some faintly tangy cologne that made her think of lemons and herbs as she inhaled greedily then stopped in
a flurry of embarrassment as once more she saw Rico's dark eyes slide towards her.

‘What are those trees?' she covered herself by asking hastily, thankful for the fact that they were actually passing one of the clumps of dark-leaved trees that edged the road, momentarily blotting out the sun. ‘The scent is familiar but I just can't place it.'

‘Eucalyptus,' Rico supplied, pressing the button that controlled the electric windows to let more of the fresh scent into the car. ‘It grows everywhere here. Would you like to stop somewhere and have a drink?'

‘No, no, I'm fine,' she assured him hastily. ‘If you really think there's a storm coming, we probably should make sure we get h—get back to La Estrella before it breaks.'

Hastily she covered her slip of the tongue, praying that Rico hadn't caught it. She had been about to say that they should get home but La Estrella would never be home to her. Her grey eyes clouded as she stared unseeingly out of the window, forcing herself to face facts.

She had fallen in love with the beautiful
estancia
as well as with its handsome owner, but it was only a temporary sanctuary, a haven where she could hide away for a short time. Very soon now she would have to leave and go back to London. She would have to face reality once again—a reality that included the terrible debts her father still owed. And with no possible way of paying them off.

‘Why the deep sigh?' Once again Rico proved himself unnervingly sensitive to her mood.

‘I—I was thinking about going home,' she stammered, flustered into unthinking honesty by his question. ‘Do you think those reporters have grown tired of waiting by now?'

So already she was itching to get back. Rico's hands tightened on the wheel so that for a moment the knuckles of his fingers showed white under the tanned skin. He sup
posed it had to come some time. She had clearly been restless for the past couple of days.

‘I think that after a couple of days with no activity and no sign of their quarry they have become pretty bored.'

He was quite pleased with the ruthless control that kept his answer even and indifferent in spite of the fact that his thoughts were on a totally different subject altogether.

‘But if you reappear too soon then you'll only revive their interest, especially if you go back on your own.'

‘Without you, you mean?'

‘Yes, without the millionaire you supposedly threw your fiancé over for. Then they'll really want to know what's happening.'

What was he doing? Was he trying to convince her that she should stay? Did he really want to lay himself open to having her spurn his advances all over again? Rico berated himself. Didn't he ever learn?

Could she have made her opinion of him plainer than when she'd tossed her rejection straight into his face, declaring that she'd rather choose to be with the bloodless Edward Venables than him? And still he'd rescued her from the reporters, brought her here, in the foolish hope that if they spent some time together she might actually change her mind.

What had he said? That it had to be her choice. She had to come of her own free will—even say that she wanted it too.

Hah!

The car swerved sharply as once again his hands tightened convulsively on the wheel and he had to force himself back under control before he gave himself away completely. It would be a long, cold day in hell before this lady came to him of her own free will. And if there had been any chance of it being otherwise, then he'd trampled them
into the dirt with his crass behaviour when she'd spoken of her young fiancé.

Any advantage he had earned by rescuing her from the attentions of the paparazzi had been lost then and there. Any doors that she might have opened had been slammed shut straight away and had stayed tightly closed ever since. He didn't know why he didn't just give up and let her go.

Because he couldn't. That was the simple answer. He had never felt this way about a woman before. This Felicity had wormed her way into his mind and he couldn't get her out.

‘…don't you think?'

Belatedly he became aware of the fact that Felicity had spoken and, absorbed in his own thoughts, he hadn't heard her.

‘
Perdón?
I'm sorry—what did you say?'

‘That surely Edward would have come back by now. Won't he have explained things?'

‘I doubt it. As I understand it, he has other things to occupy his mind.'

‘Such as?'

‘Such as his new wife.'

‘His
wife
!' Felicity couldn't believe what she was hearing. ‘How could that have happened?'

But Rico seemed disinclined to answer her question, instead posing one of his own.

‘Tell me,
mi belleza
,' he said, apparently concentrating on negotiating a particularly uneven stretch of road. ‘Were you ever going to ask me just why you're here at all?'

‘I know why I'm here! The reporters… No?' she questioned as he shook his dark head.

‘Before that. Didn't you ever think to wonder why I kidnapped you in the first place?'

‘Hundreds of times.'

But never once had she had the nerve to ask. She'd been
too afraid of what she might have heard if she did. And as she'd come to realise what she felt about Rico that fear had grown so much worse.

‘But you can't expect me to believe that if I'd questioned you about it then you'd simply have told me.'

They had arrived at the wide, wrought iron gates at the main entrance to La Estrella, heading up the long winding drive to the ranch house and Rico concentrated on the awkward turning before he answered.

‘You had a right to know. You still do.'

The glance she shot him was frankly sceptical.

‘You expect me to believe this?'

Rico's mouth twisted but he said nothing until they reached the top of the drive where he parked the car sharply, pulling on the brake and switching off the engine. Then he turned to face her.

‘Ask,' he commanded.

Felicity swallowed hard, hunted for the words. Nothing would come. Just a single syllable.

‘Why?' she croaked.

‘Maria.'

It made no sense.

‘Maria who? You can't mean Maria Llewellyn.'

‘Who else?'

‘But—what is she to you?'

Rico's lean, tanned fingers drummed for a moment on the steering wheel then stilled sharply.

‘She's my sister.'

She should have known that he would never tell her the truth. Not giving the pain at his deception time to reach her, she wrenched at the door, pushed it open and scrambled out inelegantly.

‘Felicity…'

Rico wasn't far behind her. Catching hold of her arm
when she would have stalked away, he swung her round to face him, looking down into her furious grey eyes.

‘Oh, yes, very funny!' Felicity snapped, hating him and hating herself for the fact that it mattered so much. ‘You expect me to believe that Maria
Llewellyn
who I know is very definitely Welsh is in fact the sister of Ricardo Valeron—who is very definitely not!'

‘Why not?' Rico asked quietly. ‘It's the truth.'

‘Oh, come on…' Felicity began but then she remembered something she had learned in Buenos Aires only that afternoon.

Browsing in a bookshop, she had come across a history of Argentina and had been stunned to learn that the country had had a large number of Welsh immigrants who had stayed and founded families.

‘Your
sister
?'

‘Okay, my half-sister,' Rico corrected. ‘My mother married Richard Llewellyn after she and my father divorced. Maria is ten years younger than me—barely twenty-one. Her father died when she was only three and our mother spoilt her rotten to compensate.'

‘Edward said much the same,' Felicity managed stiffly. ‘But he was less polite. “A little madam” were the words he used.'

‘Yes.'

Rico's lopsided smile was dreadfully appealing, tugging sharply at Felicity's heart, but she refused to let herself weaken. As he had said, she was owed this explanation, and she wasn't going to help him give it.

‘She met Edward on holiday—fell heavily for him straight away but, being Maria, she never said so. She knew he and I were business rivals—I think that added a certain piquancy to the whole thing. Maria was perfectly capable of seeing herself as one half of Romeo and Juliet with big
brother cast in the role of villain if she wanted. That's probably why she didn't want to tell me she was pregnant.'

‘Pregnant?' Felicity hadn't expected that. ‘It was Edward's?'

Rico nodded, his expression grim.

‘By then they'd quarrelled—split up. She said she wouldn't have anything more to do with him, but that was before she found out she was pregnant. She didn't tell anyone for months and, by the time she did, Venables had already announced his marriage to you.'

‘It was rather a rushed arrangement,' Felicity recalled with a shiver at the way Edward had ruthlessly turned the situation to his own ends.

‘The wind's getting up.' Rico had misinterpreted the reason for her reaction. ‘I think the rain's on its way. We'd better go inside.'

He tried to take her arm but Felicity flinched away, unable to bear being touched. She had been nothing but a pawn to Edward, and now it seemed to Rico too. But what else had she expected? She meant nothing to him, never had and never would.

Wrapping her arms tight around her body as if to hold herself together, she marched fiercely ahead of him, unable even to look in his direction. In the large, stone-flagged hallway of the house, she stopped dead and swung round to face him.

‘Are you telling me that you kidnapped me—took me hostage—for Maria's sake?'

He met her accusing eyes with amazing composure but she couldn't miss the way his sensual mouth compressed to a thin hard line before he nodded brusquely.

‘Edward wouldn't listen to her—he said he was set on marrying you. I think they were both trying to score points off each other, neither of them realising how serious it had got. When it looked as if the marriage was actually going
to go ahead, Maria came close to a breakdown. She was depressed, hysterical, talking about suicide. Mother begged me to help.'

‘Oh, I'll just bet she did!'

It was impossible to hold the pain in any longer and it spilled out in the harsh, bitter words, the savage tone.

‘And you thought that you'd do anything for little Maria. You'd march right in and screw up someone else's life instead. After all, the person involved was only some complete stranger—some silly English girl who didn't matter! Someone who for all you knew might just have been madly in love with Edward!'