Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense) (18 page)

“Go ahead.” She folded her arms, tilting her head to one side as she waited. “I’m dying to hear all about your babe-magnetism.”

“Snark doesn’t become you, Tinkerbelle,” he growled.

“Totally losing my identity after marrying you has brought out the worst in me, it seems. Gosh, where could that have come from?”

“You’re not losing your identity. You are my no-shit-taking Tinkerbelle, and you will remain so,
and mine
, as long as I have breath in my body.” The fierce possessive light blazing in his eyes momentarily robbed her of speech. Her brain scrambled until she managed to pick up the thread of their conversation.

“Put your rings back on. Be the woman I married.” He wasn’t asking, she noted. In his usual autocratic manner, he was demanding his right to be her husband again.

She slowly opened her hand, offering the rings up, making the only decision she could make—at least until she understood what his motivation was behind his driving need for a reconciliation. “No, the woman you married is gone, Nick. I want more, I want something different.”

A determined light gleamed in his eyes. “I won’t let you go.”

“I don’t want you to let me go. I’ll put them back on when we solve the issues in our marriage.”

His face clenched in sharp rejection of her words. With hard fingers, he folded her hand over the rings.

“I won’t take them back.”

“And I won’t put them back on.”

He exhaled in a harsh burst of frustration and more than a little agitation. When he looked into her eyes, she glimpsed a raw vulnerability in his that made her heart lurch.

“Whatever you do, don’t walk way from me again, Tinkerbelle.”

“I promise, I won’t walk away. Not unless you give me a very good reason to,” she replied. “We need more time to sort things out.”

He looked down at the rings for a long moment. Then he stood and tugged her to the wall opposite his desk.

Stopping in front of a large seascape painting, he pressed a secret lever behind the bottom left corner. It sprang back to reveal a hidden safe tucked behind it. He entered a combination, opened it, and pulled out a long, thin box. Letting go of her arm, he flicked the small catch to reveal a thin platinum chain. He picked it up and held out to her.

“Put the rings on here. Wear them next to your heart until you’re ready to put them on your finger, where they belong. Will you do that? For me?”

The emotive words caught her on the raw, and even with the pressure he was piling on her by placing the ball firmly back in her court, her heart soared. She managed a nod, and held her breath as he threaded the rings onto the chain, turned her around, and fastened it around her neck. When he placed a kiss on the spot where the clasp lay, she sighed, and leaned back into his warm body. He emitted a faint groan and pulled away, coming round to face her.

“Let’s go eat before my good intentions desert me, and I ravish you on my desk.”

She looked up in surprise. “You still have energy after last night?”

“
Glikia mou
, I may be going against my better judgment about not pressing you for an immediate answer regarding our marriage, but I have six months of celibacy to make up for. I’m only giving you a brief reprieve because of our… exertions last night. But I fully intend to resume bedroom activity come tonight. And trust me, I also foresee desk sex in our very near future. Unless you have any objections?”

Blood surged into her cheeks. “No, I have no objections.”

Arousal flared in his eyes, and his gaze dropped to devour her mouth before coming back up.

“Good,” he murmured huskily. “Now, lunch, before I change my mind.”

…

An hour later, Nick repositioned the umbrella as they lounged by the pool, fully sated from food and enjoying the shaded heat of the early afternoon sun.

Then he grabbed the sun protection oil. Rubbing some in his hands, he massaged it into her back.

“
Mmm
. I need oiling again, so soon?” Faint amusement tinged husky arousal in her voice as she turned her head toward him. He used the opportunity to take off her sunglasses so he could see her eyes. In the shades of blue, he saw heat matching his own blaze in their depths and arousal throbbed deep inside him.

The terror from Mwana’s intrusion into their morning had faded, although it had not totally disappeared, and he was grateful for the reprieve.

Watching her near collapse had torn him apart. The time was coming when he’d have to take matters into his own hands. For now, he intended to do everything he could to comfort his wife.

“Unless you want to burn badly?”

“Funny, the instructions on the bottle said to apply hourly, not every twenty minutes.”

“Ah, but the Greek sun can be quite harsh, and your skin is too precious to endanger.”

“Well, my
skin
is grateful for your stalwart efforts.” She raised her head and smiled at him.

His breath caught as her dimples flashed into sight.
Thee mou
, he’d missed seeing them. In other women, dimples seemed almost childish, but on Tinkerbelle, they were one of the sexiest things about her. He would die before he let the light of that smile dim.

As if cottoning onto his thoughts, she turned over completely. “What time is this reporter arriving?”

“He lands in Mykonos at seven this evening. Jameson will bring him over on the boat at nine.”

“I want to be there,” she said, her gaze serious and determined.

Everything inside him rebelled at the thought. But, he’d agreed to change, to find a middle ground.

His hand drifted slick with oil down her midriff and stopped above the waistline of her bikini bottoms. She gave a little shiver that made him almost lose his train of thought. “If I agree, you must stay by my side at all times. And if I ask you to do something, you do it. And no, I’m not trying to control you, but if I think, for any reason, you’re in danger I might have to act fast, understood?”

She frowned. “I thought you said he was just a reporter?”

“That’s what he claims to be. But he got my attention by mentioning Mwana, so I intend to proceed with extreme caution. If it turns out he just wants a scoop, then we don’t have a problem. If things go south, I won’t hesitate to do what it takes to keep you safe. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Her mock salute lifted the swell of her right breast. His mouth watered.

“Mmm, I’ll have to get you to do that more often.” Bending forward, he trailed his lips over her cleavage.

“Oh, yes, sir…”

This time when he lost his train of thought, he didn’t try and regain it.

…

They stood at the end of the garden just before nine and watched the approaching boat’s light reflect off the water. Nick’s tension increased the closer the vessel got to the dock.

Beside him, Belle’s hair fluttered in the breeze. She pulled it off her face, and he saw the trepidation coiling through him mirrored in her eyes.

He grasped her hand in his and squeezed. She squeezed back, and a little ache throbbed in his chest. The feeling was so curious, so alien, he sucked in a short breath.

She looked up at him, gave a little smile, and returned her attention to the boat.

Four men were stepping off onto the wooden jetty—Jameson, two security guards, and Richard Francis. One guard secured the boat while Jameson escorted their visitor up the steps.

The first glimpse of Francis didn’t ease Nick’s tension. Not that the guy was a physical threat. Francis was short and rotund, although the mousy brown hair in his newspaper photo was now worn shaggier, along with a longer beard. He looked every bit the harried reporter. Or had been carefully groomed to look like one. Nick hadn’t quite made up his mind which yet.

No, what put Nick’s back up was the way the other man’s eyes darted to Belle. And stayed.

Nick deliberately stepped forward and made quick introductions. “Welcome to Althea. I hope your visit isn’t a complete waste of time.”

The shorter man’s gaze swung back to his. “I doubt it will be. I’m sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, but I’ve been in this business for too long and know how easily a reporter can get scooped.”

“That depends entirely on what you’re hoping to scoop, and why you think you’re going to find that scoop here.”

Francis looked taken aback for a second. Then he rallied. He looked around and gave a tense smile when he saw the security guards behind him. “Perhaps we can talk in private?”

Nick raised a brow at Jameson and got the nod. Richard Francis had been frisked and confirmed weapon-free. Even still, the loaded Glock Nick had tucked out of sight at the small of his back was a reassurance.

Making sure to keep himself between Belle and the reporter, Nick turned and headed toward the villa. The maid was hovering nearby, as instructed, and quickly served drinks. He wanted the visit to be as short as possible.

He went straight to the point after they were seated on the terrace. “What can I do for you?”

Richard Francis’s eyes darted back to Belle. “I have it on good authority that your wife was kidnapped and held by a certain rebel soldier. I want the opportunity to tell her story.”

“How—how do you know this?” Belle asked. Her hand, still captured in Nick’s, trembled. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Francis’s smile held a hint of self-importance. “Oh, I’m afraid I never reveal my sources. But I can offer some help in hunting down the man you seek.” Francis glanced back at him.

Nick tensed. “This is how it’s going to work. First of all, I want to know everything you know about Mwana, specifically where his hideouts are outside of Nawaka. I want to know how he funds his organization and how many soldiers are under his command—”

The reporter held up a feeble, stalling hand. “No…well, my information isn’t that detailed, I’m afraid.”

Nick stood. “Then I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here.”

“Wait. I have one piece of information that I’m sure you’ll appreciate in return for three questions.”

He sat back down. “No deal. Tell me what you have first, and I’ll tell you if it’s anywhere near what I want from you. Unfortunately, you don’t hold the cards here, Francis. We do. Cooperate, or you can leave.”

His gaze swung between them, then he nodded. “Okay. I have it on good authority—and yes, I have the evidence to prove it—that the man you’re looking for landed in Venezuela yesterday with a full contingent of soldiers. He’s meeting with a certain drug lord in hopes of hammering out a deal that will see his…um, political interest…grow in the Central African region.”

Anger roiled through Nick. “You mean that bastard isn’t content with blood diamond mining and despotism? He’s now seeking to expand into drugs?”

Francis shrugged. “Commerce is a funny thing. Even cave-dwelling thugs can buy shares these days.” He reached carefully into his coat pocket and brought out a piece of paper. He slid it across the table toward Nick. “The address in Venezuela.” He sat back and looked expectantly at Belle.

“Thank you for the information,” Belle said. Francis was reaching for his recorder when she stopped him. “You can have a full interview if you’re willing to contact your source and get us more. Perhaps Mr. Mwana’s travel itinerary?”

Francis froze, and then he laughed. Nick’s hackles rose once more.

“I don’t know if I can reach my contact anytime soon, so I’ll take the three questions now if I may?” He set the recorder on the table.

Nick glanced at Belle. She nodded.

Francis cleared his throat. “Why did you go to Nawaka in the first place?”

“I was a volunteer at a mission school. I’m a primary grade teacher. I taught a small group of children.”

“How was the political climate when you got there?”

Unease coiled through Nick. He glanced closely at Francis, but the older man appeared calm. His gaze swung to Belle as she answered his question.

“Did you suffer in any way when you were rescued?” Francis asked.

Belle started in surprise. “No, I didn’t.”

“That’s it?” Nick barked. “You flew all this way here to ask
those
three questions?”

Richard Francis shrugged. “I’m compiling a feature story on kidnappings in Africa and Asia and wanted your wife’s experience to be included. Not all reporters are leeches, Mr. Andreakos. If I help in any way to capture this person you’re looking for, then I’m glad.” He stood and held out his hand to Belle. “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Andreakos.”

Nick breathed easier when Belle let go of the man’s hand. “Jameson will organize the boat to take you back to Mykonos.”

“Thank you.”

They stepped outside into the warm night air. As they walked down to the jetty, Nick conceded that perhaps he’d been hasty in judging the reporter. Maybe he did only want a chance at a brief interview with Belle.

“Thanks for the intel. We appreciate it,” he said.

Again Francis’s gaze skimmed past Nick to rest on Belle. “I hope we meet again.”

She gave a small smile but didn’t respond. The small-statured man headed toward the boat he’d alighted from less than half an hour earlier. Jameson and the two security guards jumped on board, and it headed back out to sea. They stood watching the light until it was barely visible on the horizon. Beside him, Belle shuddered.

“Nick, something’s not right,” she said, her voice firm but filled with unease.

His own apprehension shot to the fore. “You think? I thought I was imagin—”

The first shot whistled past his ear, the crack of the rifle sounding a moment later.

“Shit, that’s why he came!
The bastard brought them here!
Get down!
” Terror slammed through him the same time he grabbed Belle by the waist and threw her onto the grass.

The second bullet struck the grass half a foot away from them, showering them with dirt.

“Nick!” she screamed.

“Stay down, baby.” He covered her body with his, not caring that he was making himself a bigger target. “Whatever you do, don’t get up until I tell you. Got it?”

“O-ok-kay.” More bullets rang out, sounding near but not touching them. It took a full minute to realize the shots weren’t meant to kill. Or they weren’t meant to kill Belle. Whoever was shooting—and he would guess his last euro it was Mwana or his men—wanted Belle alive. Which meant he had time—not much, but at least a full minute before the assailants got up the beach—to make it inside. He reached behind his back and grasped his gun.