Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense) (20 page)

He deposited the basket on the rock, then took something else out of his pocket—a lethal-looking gun—which he placed on the other side of the basket.

Seeing her gaze on it, his lips tightened. “A necessary precaution. Okay?”

She suppressed her shiver. “Okay.”

“Swim first and then lunch?” he asked.

“Yes, please.” She stood for a moment, lost in the stunning beauty of her surroundings. She helped spread the blanket on the rock before following Nick’s lead, stepping out of her sandals and slipping off her yellow sundress. At his blatant appraisal, another blush crept up her flushed body.

“Any chance I can convince you to swim in the nude like you did the last time we were here? The guards are under orders not to disturb us.” His fingers hooked suggestively into the waistband of his trunks, ready to shuck them off at her word.

“You mean when you convinced me no one would find me sunbathing in the buff, only to have Alex pay us an impromptu visit in his helicopter and catch me
in flagrante
?” she asked wryly.

“Hardly. His chopper passed on the other side of the hill, and you were decent by the time Yannis arrived to tell us Alex was here.”

“Nevertheless, I’ll err on the side of caution and keep my suit on, thanks,” she said, laughing when he adopted a crestfallen expression. “And with my luck, the next time it’ll be a police chopper.”

“Spoilsport. But, never fear, I’ll get it off one way or the other.” With that sensual promise, he turned and said over his shoulder, “Last one in gets to play waiter during lunch.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he executed a clean dive into the warm pool.

Her outraged gasp went unheard as she dropped her hat and dove in after him. The playful fight that ensued continued all the way to the waterfall, until play transmuted into passion and gentle nips and soft cuddling became demanding kisses and urgent caresses.

“God, I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered, his mouth hot against her skin. “The thought of that asshole thinking he has any rights to you makes me see red.”

“Kiss me, and don’t think about him,” she urged, smoothing her hands through his wet hair.

He groaned, his hands almost rough as he disposed of her swimsuit, tossing it to the side of the pool before taking her in his arms. He took her standing up behind the intimate curtain of the waterfall. Her cries of ecstasy at the sensational, mind-melting power of his lovemaking blended into the rush of the water as she lost herself in her husband’s arms.

Afterward, with just enough strength to swim at Nick’s side back to where their picnic waited in the shade of a eucalyptus tree, she started to climb back into her swimsuit.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering. I’ll only get it off again after lunch,” he stated with pure male arrogance, watching as she smoothed sunblock on her exposed skin.

She looked over to where he lay stretched out on the large blanket, naked as the day he was born—well, not quite; he’d grown considerably since. Her mouth dried at the display of his bronzed perfection.

She’d never met a man so confident, so at home in his own skin as Nick. She was sure if it weren’t for the staff living on the island, he’d be perfectly happy always parading around in the buff. The few times he’d managed to convince her to swim naked with him, they’d been alone on the island, or it had been at night after Demetra and the rest of the staff had retired for the evening.

Her gaze shifted to the corded muscles of his thighs as he eased to his side and rested his head on his bent arm. Helplessly, her eyes traveled upward to the semi-turgid cock nestled in jet-black curls, and her breath caught in her throat. Her nipples peaked in response to his virile masculinity. She was so lost in him, she jumped when he spoke.

“If you carry on looking at me like that, lunch will be postponed,
glikia mou,”
he warned, his voice husky and aroused.

“Then maybe you should put some clothes on.” She managed to drag her reluctant gaze with away from him.

“Why, does my nudity bother you?” he challenged.

Determined not to give in, she shook her head. “Not at all,” she lied through her teeth. To give herself the best defense, she moved away to the other side of the blanket.

“In that case, you wouldn’t mind applying sunscreen to my back, would you?” He held out the small bottle to her. “I don’t want to burn,” he added.

Wondering what game he was playing since his Mediterranean skin only darkened, she hesitated.

“What’s the matter? Scared?”

She rolled her eyes. “You never burn, Nick. So I’m guessing you’re just trying to torture me.”

His grin was unapologetic. “I prefer to think of it as a mutually enjoyable experience.”

Pure lust flowed through her belly, the power of it making her shake her head. “We’ve made love—a lot—in the last few days, and yet I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

His smile disappeared. “Does it bother you, the strength of our chemistry?”

She shrugged. “Not bother, exactly. I just feel out of sorts, unbalanced.”

“It’s always been like that between us. You need to get used to it.”

Her gaze slid over him, and she attempted to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere. “Or you need to not be lying butt naked in broad daylight on a hillside, with police and security guards swarming around. It doesn’t help.”

The bottle in his hand remained where it was, extended in silent demand, his gaze steady and serious.

Was he testing her to see how far she could resist him? But that was ridiculous. They’d made love only a few minutes ago.

Whatever his reason, she wasn’t about to back down.

“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Returning to his side, she took the bottle from him, ignored his barely hidden smile of triumph, and squeezed the oil into her hands. She waited until he turned over, and smoothed it across his shoulders.

Her agitation grew as her hands eased between his shoulder blades and down his back. The man was spectacularly built. Beneath smooth skin, packed muscles moved with sinuous grace as he arranged himself more comfortably on the blanket. Her fingers tingled at the feel of his warm flesh under her gliding palms. When she reached his buttocks, she slid her hands over the firm, supple flesh. He tensed, and she hid a smile of her own, even though he couldn’t see it from his facedown position.

Emboldened by the sudden shift of the power balance, her touch became more confident as she moved down over hard thighs and calves, glorying in his harsh intake of breath when she touched the hitherto unknown sensitive skin behind his knees. She continued until every inch of his back and legs were adequately protected. Then, feeling cheeky and triumphant that she hadn’t dissolved into a puddle of wanton need, she slapped a palm on his backside and announced, “There, all done.”

The look he leveled at her when he raised his head could’ve boiled the water in the pool all over again. From feeling triumphant, she was plunged into turbulent need again as his eyes promised all manner of erotic retribution. Her body zinged with painful anticipation, and urgent pounding started within. But he stayed where he was, a smile of pure devilment on his face as he regarded her.

“First, we shall eat. Then I’ll repay your…kindness.” He turned over, and her eyes bulged at his fierce arousal. His husky chuckle warmed her face. She scurried to her part of the blanket and busied herself laying out their lunch. When she raised her head, she breathed a shaky sigh of relief to see he’d donned his almost dry swim shorts.

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

His shameless laugh told her he’d heard her. Just before he snapped the waistband into place, she noticed two sickle-shaped scars on his hip.

She’d seen them many times before and had once even dared to ask him how he’d gotten them. At the time, he’d just shrugged and given her a non-committal answer, and she’d logged the subject as one of the many
no-go
areas of their marriage.

She firmed her lips.
Well, not this time
, she vowed, setting out plates and cutlery before lifting out the chilled bottle of wine. They’d agreed to reach for middle ground, and that included learning as much as possible about him.

Starting now.

Chapter Eleven

“How did you get those scars on your hip?” Belle asked.

Nick froze. His face grew hard, his eyes shuttered. His shoulders shifted, and certain another of those shrugs was imminent, she hastened to pre-empt him.

“Nick, we were married for six months. And in all that time, you never talked about your life before you met me, aside from the barest of details. If you want this relationship to work, you’re going to have to share more than just the bare bones of your previous life with me.”

He stared at her with a steady, expressionless look. Just when she thought she’d shatter from the taut silence, he released a harsh breath and folded himself back onto the blanket. He picked up their wine and busied himself uncorking it. Her heart thumped with trepidation, but with calm hands, she opened tubs of salad and olives and laid out warm, crusty bread.

“It happened when I was in the Marines. Stationed in southern Afghanistan.” He paused.

She nodded in encouragement.

“One of my assignments was to infiltrate a trafficking gang charging astronomical sums to smuggle people—mostly children—out of the country, most often to be sold into prostitution. It went wrong. I was captured.”

She gasped, her hands pausing in the act of forking chicken salad onto his plate. “Were you tortured?”

He looked at her, his jaw taut but his expression steady and calm, as if reassuring her. “I went in knowing what might happen, but I took the risk anyway. I was only held for a day before I was extracted. But my captors used their time wisely.” He gave a mirthless smile, reaching over to take the plate from her frozen fingers. Setting it down, he poured wine into a crystal glass and passed it to her.

“Was anyone else with you? Other Marines?” she asked in hushed tones, fear for him churning through her while, at the same time, she felt a strange kindred bond with him from knowing they’d shared a similar experience. For her, looking after Father Tom and helping the Dutch couple had helped keep the gut-clawing fear bottled up. If she’d been on her own, she didn’t know what she would have done.

He shook his head and helped himself to the bread. A shaft of sunlight through the branches of the trees glinted in his hair and played over his face as he chewed before answering.

“I asked to go in alone. It’s better to do these things solo when undercover. Less risk of slip-ups that way. My CO agreed that to take anyone, even a fellow trained Marine, would’ve meant risking more lives.”

She nodded and took a sip of the crisp white wine, more to wet a mouth dry with fear for him than with enjoyment in mind. “And the traffickers? What happened to them?”

“They got what was coming to them,” was all he said, but it didn’t stop a chilled shiver from slithering down her spine. Unbidden, the image of the cave in Nawaka and the messy end to her captors rose in her mind, and she shuddered.

“Apart from those scars, did they do anything else to you?” she probed, not really wanting to know that he’d suffered further but unable to bear not knowing.

This time the shrug manifested itself. “I was a Marine, Tinkerbelle, so yes, I’ve collected my share of battle scars along the way, both inside and out. But before you go torturing yourself on my behalf, remember, I was trained for this sort of thing, so I knew what I was doing, okay?” he answered, his voice detached and almost carefree, as if his experience had been water off a duck’s back.

But looking into his eyes, she knew different. There were shadows of memories lurking there. No one could live through an experience like that and not be changed, be affected somehow by it. She knew she had.

As if reading her thoughts, he focused hard-glinting, gunmetal eyes on her. “Whereas you
weren’t
trained. I think this would be a good time to tell me what you were thinking of, throwing yourself into the middle of a war zone so far away from home?”

She’d known this day would come, that it was only a matter of time before he got around to interrogating her as to why she’d gone to Nawaka. And with his unbending focus on her, she knew he wouldn’t rest until he had an answer.

Her appetite long-vanished, she put her untouched plate down and stood up, gazing out at the sea.

“After I left you, I tried to get back my full-time position at the school in Brighton where I taught before we got married. It wasn’t available, so I took a part-time position, two days a week. And after term ended, they decided not to renew my contract—cost cutting and all that. So I needed something to fill my time. The opportunity with Nawaka came and I took it. End of story.”

…

Nick frowned as Belle walked toward the edge of the water, her expression fraught tension.

He leapt up, and in three quick strides, he caught her arm and forced her to stand still. “So you saw an opportunity and you thought embarking on a holy crusade with little thought to your own personal safety was just what you needed to relieve your boredom?”

He knew he was being unfair, but knowing just how brazen Mwana had become in trying to recapture Belle threatened to flip him over the edge. It was inevitable some of the fallout should spill onto her.

But with the memory of the dark fear he’d known when she’d been in danger refreshed in his mind, he couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I hadn’t reached you in time?’ He raked a hand through his hair. “You put yourself in senseless danger, Tinkerbelle.”

That she remained in danger only served to escalate his fury. Mwana would know by now that the men he’d sent to Althea were all dead, but Nick knew that wouldn’t stop him.

His contacts had confirmed that the Venezuela address Richard Francis had supplied had indeed belonged to the rebel leader, but, unsurprisingly, he hadn’t been there in years. Or if he had been in the country, he hadn’t stayed at that property. Which meant they were back to zero in determining where Mwana had secreted himself.