KIM LAWRENCE - The Blackmailed Bride

‘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.

KATE 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.’