Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense) (6 page)

He recalled the first time he’d heard her full name. The venom with which she’d spat it out after he dared her to, and the furious glare she’d directed at him when his initial shock had turned to foot-stomping laughter still amused him every time he recollected the memory.

But the laughter hadn’t lasted even a year
. He wasn’t naïve enough to wish for the happily-ever-after expounded by fairytales, but he hadn’t expected the relative contentment and incredible chemistry they’d shared to disappear so quickly either.

The cargo plane bounced through turbulence. His arms tightened around his wife’s slender form and pulled her closer. She was here now, safe where she belonged. And this time he’d keep her there. No matter what.

The vows they’d taken had to matter for something. He would not accept that his marriage had failed before it had barely begun. Neither would he permit the unique compatibility they’d found—in and out of bed—to be so easily dismissed. He’d been around long enough to know that was very rare.

His time as a Marine had also taught him that a hostage rescue such as the one they’d pulled off rarely came without casualties on both sides. Mwana’s side had suffered in this skirmish, and he was more than all right with that.

He shifted as his gut churned with residual adrenaline. What he wasn’t all right with was the fact that Belle has been so stunned to see him. Had she really dismissed him so completely from her mind? Had she so condemned her husband and her marriage to some distant metaphorical trash heap that she’d never dreamed he’d come and find her? Well, too damned bad.

If nothing else, she owed him a long, detailed explanation, preferably one riddled with apology.

She’d deserted their marriage without so much as a
Dear John
letter, but he had her back now, and he intended for her to deal with him being around longer than a mere six months or give him a damned good reason why not.

She gave a sharp cry in her fitful sleep. He drew her even closer, unable to resist the familiar feel of her in his arms despite the anger tightening his chest, and brushed his lips over her temple until she calmed. His gut churned harder until he feared for his insides. Long-unused breathing exercises finally forced relaxation into his muscles.

The discomfort of the plane forgotten, his mind slid to more pleasant memories, to the first time he’d met Belle.

All through the sixth and final round of the charity polo match at Edenhall, he’d felt a gaze, a watchful presence following him—so intense, his lack of concentration had nearly lost them the match. Nearly.

He wasn’t a man who took failure lightly, so even with the powerful awareness raising the hairs at the back of his neck, he’d ridden his horse hard, struck his mallet with relentless force against the ball, until the game was won.

Dismounting, he’d zeroed in on the shaded terrace where the guests sat. His eyes had probed, hunted, ignoring the shouts of congratulations and the avid looks of skimpily clad socialites vying for his attention as he’d searched, his gaze slashing back and forth.

Until at last he’d seen her, standing back and apart from the rest, the drink in her hand full and untouched. Her own gaze riveted on him.

She’d remained watchful as he’d taken off his helmet and approached, his pulse hammering through his veins at her glorious beauty. With the sunlight from the back of the terrace streaming onto her lightly tanned skin, she’d been bathed in an angel-like halo.

Everything had taken on a surreal quality. The guests on the terrace had receded beyond his periphery, like shadowy figures in the background of a painting. The only thing he could focus on, think about, was the need to reach her, talk to her,
touch
her. He hadn’t dared to blink, fearing she might disappear, a figment of his imagination.

At last he’d reached her, and with a single shaky breath he’d known he had to have her. From the start, the chemistry had sizzled red-hot, and he, well, he was no monk. But apart from the familiar sexual tug, he’d sensed something else. In her eyes a deeper knowledge had probed, touching a deep, dark place within him he didn’t like to explore too often, if at all. It had disturbed him a little, but not enough to curb the spark of intense interest. He’d wanted to know her, find out what made her happy, what made her sad. Simply put, he’d
wanted
her.

Before he knew it, he’d opened his mouth.

“There you are.”

She’d blinked, as if awakened from a trance, her stunning blue eyes widening a touch. “Yes. Here I am.” Her voice held a soft, draping huskiness that warmed his senses and kicked his pulse up another notch. No, he was most certainly
not
a monk, he’d acknowledged as his blood rushed south.

Her gaze had left his and journeyed slowly down his body. Just in time, he’d lowered his helmet, knowing his excitement would be evident courtesy of his tight white jodhpurs. A look of amusement crossed her face, and she looked up.

“Don’t you need to change?” The corners of her pink lips tilted up, awareness of her effect on him gleaming in her eyes.

“Not until you tell me your name.” He’d go nowhere until he had that information, even if it meant shocking her with his rampant erection.

She’d tilted her head to one side, her golden hair falling in a heavy curtain over one slender, creamy shoulder.

“My name is Belle Winkworth-Jones.” She’d said it in a rush, as if to get it over and done with.

“Belle.” He’d loved the silky taste of her name on his lips. “Is that short for Isabelle?”

“No.”

“Annabelle?”

“No. It’s just Belle.” Her irritation had amused and intrigued him. His normally astute brain had been fruitlessly searching out other variations of her name when her lilting voice had interrupted his thoughts.

“Shouldn’t you be thinking of a shower?” She’d wrinkled her cute straight nose, reminding him he smelled of horse and sweat.

He’d curbed his desire to invite her to join him. No, they had all the time in the world for that.

“All right, Just Belle. I’ll go. But only if you promise to be here when I get back.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort. I don’t even know who you are. I’ve told you my name, but I don’t know yours.” The tilt returned and exposed her slender throat and the pulse beating there, which his fingers had itched to explore. He’d fought the urge and held out his hand instead.

“I’m Nikolaos Andreakos. You can call me Nick.”

She’d paused before placing her hand in his, and when she did, he knew why she’d hesitated. The sizzle that went up his arm at the touch of her warm skin had stunned him. The instant darkening of her eyes told him she’d experienced it, too.

From that moment, he’d been hooked.

And even after their problems began, he’d thought the bond between them couldn’t be broken.

How wrong he’d been!

The strong, courageous woman he’d believed he married had turned out to be a deserter, a woman capable of abandoning her marriage when the going got a little turbulent. He’d given her ample time to return, to realize the futility of trying to live without each other. What he should’ve done was followed his instincts and gone after her immediately.

He’d come too damned close to losing her.

But he was nothing if not determined when he wanted something.
Or
someone
. And once he possessed what he wanted, he never let it go. He had given her enough space, and she’d gotten herself captured and almost killed in the process. The time had come to figuratively knock some sense into his wife.

With a grunt of firm intent, he gathered her closer, laid his head back against the side of the plane, and finally felt the adrenaline drain from his body.

…

The pressure of strong, protective arms around her brought Belle awake. For a moment, she remained disoriented. Then the aircraft dipped and her stomach hollowed as memories flooded in.

Nawaka…Mwana…the fireball in the cave…

She jerked upright.

“
Shhh
,” Nick murmured in her ear. “Get ready,
pethi mou
. We’re about to land. You need to take a seat and put your seatbelt on.” His voice was a husky whisper, a vivid reminder her of how he sounded first thing in the morning. As a newlywed, she’d blissfully lapped up the enchanting endearments he’d showered on her, like
pethi mou
—my little one—or
glikia mou
—my sweetheart. He’d proven she was none of those things to him. She needed to remember that memories like those were dangerous to her peace of mind.

“Where are we?” she asked, trying to think through the sleepy fog and encroaching visions of the past.

“Morocco,” he replied, kissing her temple softly.

Averting her face to hide her body’s thrilled reaction at the touch of his lips, she murmured, “Okay.” She tried to pull away from his warmth, but her weakness prevented her from moving very far and stifled her protest as he carried her to a jump seat and buckled her in. Then, bunching up the blankets they’d used on the floor, he repositioned them so she could rest her ravaged feet on them.

He took the seat next to her and put his arm round her shoulders, his chin nuzzling the top of her head.

A few minutes later, the plane bounced once and settled on touch down.

Tears prickled her eyes, and she blinked them away.
She was safe. They were all safe
.

When the plane came to a halt, Nick gently removed his arm from around her.

“Stay here for a minute. I need to talk to Alex and the men before we leave.”

She nodded, too drained to wonder what he needed to speak to the men about. He returned a few minutes later and helped her up, just as two of the men came toward the door, carrying a pale Father Tom on a stretcher.

“There you are, lass. I told you we’d be saved, didn’t I?” He took her hand and held on tight.

“Yes, you did, Father, and you were right.” Tears gathered once more, and she swallowed them back.

“I’m always right, lass,” he responded, prompting choked laughter from her. “Ah, no need for tears now, lassie. You’re almost home.” His eyes went from hers to Nick’s, and his expression turned serious. “Take care of her, you hear?”

“I will.” Nick responded in a deep, resolute voice, and another shaft of pain speared through her. He’d said similar words on their wedding day, when he’d vowed to love and cherish her.

But he hadn’t
. Instead he’d tried to control her, to mold her into something she’d hated. The realization that she would’ve given in had he given her what she wanted—children—shamed her.

She was stronger now. The scales had fallen from her eyes. There was no denying the skin-sizzling chemistry between them, but it would never be enough for her to give up what she’d fought so hard to achieve.

The scent of spices and incense hit her nostrils when she descended the cargo plane, evoking thoughts of warm, sultry nights and lazy meals taken in secluded Bedouin tents.

Oh, God! Would memories of her time with Nick ever cease?

“You remember when we stopped over here on the way to South Africa last year? You wanted to see a camel up close, and I, of course, couldn’t convince you that they were best admired from afar unless you wanted to be spat on.” The warmth in his voice began to melt her insides.

Did she remember? The three days they’d spent in the opulent tent in the middle of the Moroccan desert had been one of the most intense experiences of her life.

“I remember it…vaguely,” she lied.

Fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, she drew away from him and concentrated on saying goodbye to the old man and Hendrik and Edda.

She watched as all three were escorted to Alex’s jet, which stood beside Nick’s on the tarmac.

With the same enigmatic look his cousin wore, Alex came toward them and spoke to Nick in Greek. At Nick’s response, Alex turned to her and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Remember what I said about ass-kicking,
glikia mou
. Just say the word.”

Belle could only summon a smile. She watched the men embrace and Alex stride to his waiting jet.

After their plane took off, Nick turned to her. “Ready to go home?” The almost tender look in his eyes sharpened rather than lessened her pain. She’d let herself be fooled by him once. Her sanity…her very heart depended on her not making the same mistake twice.

“Yes, I am,” she said.

As he swung her up in his arms and carried her toward their waiting plane, she glanced over his shoulder, trying to catch one last glimpse of Morocco.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be back soon,” he said.

Her lips twisted. “I highly doubt that.”

He gave her a sharp look but didn’t alter his stride as he climbed into his plane.

…

In the hollowed-out trunk of a baobab tree at the edge of the Nawakan jungle, where the dense green gave way to the savannah, Charles Mwana stared at the cutout picture of the woman he’d poured his heart out to. The woman who now knew all of his plans for Nawaka.

His gaze didn’t stray from her perfection of her face, but his throat moved. The rumble emerged from his very soul, growing louder with each second.

Outside his hideout, a family of impala froze in unison, their doe eyes wide and watchful. At the frightening, unholy roar, they scattered into the golden dusk.

Before the echo had died, he was reaching for his satellite phone.

Chapter Four

A
LTHEA, THE
G
REEK
I
SLES

“Why the hell have you brought me here?” Belle twisted in her seat to face Nick, her freshly washed and dried hair whipping about her face.

After taking a much-needed shower in Nick’s G550 Gulfstream’s lavish bathroom, she’d entered the bedroom of the large cabin and found a pair of cream linen trousers with a matching jade camisole and sweater set laid out on the bed. They looked new, but she hadn’t summoned the courage to ask Nick who they’d belonged to. She’d also found an abundance of expensive female toiletries, which only pressed home the reminder that Nick was very much a red-blooded male, who likely hadn’t been without female company in the time they’d been apart.