Cursed Kiss (Paranormal Romance) (14 page)

Cold sweat clung to her body as memories tumbled back. Edward's hand on her throat. The hard, smooth place where he'd pressed her fingers. What was he? What had he done to her after she passed out?

Clare touched her neck gingerly. "I think…" She winced at the clawing, dry pain in her throat. Everything that had happened almost overwhelmed her.

Pablo lay beside her on the narrow bed and wrapped her in his arms. "Shh, now, shh. Take your time."

He stroked her hair as she clung to him. Now they were away from Monique, Pablo seemed like a different man, more sure of himself.

After a while, her strength returned enough for her to sit up. Pablo supported her as she turned her sore neck and flexed her shoulders. Gradually, the stiffness eased and the pain became bearable.

She glanced around the small cell, noting the gray light of a cloudy day beyond the window bars. "How long have we been here?"

"You were unconscious for nearly three hours." Pablo tucked her hair behind her ears. "Did the lowlife in the office do this to you?"

Clare looked down to see the front of a large Moray promotional T-shirt. What had happened to her dress? Memories filtered back until the image of her gaping bodice and exposed bra filled her head. Sickness swam into her belly.

"That was Edward Gregore, the guy who works with me. Or should I say, used to work with me. I'll make damn sure he's kicked out of Moray. Damn perverted jerk."

The thought that Edward had touched her body made her stomach heave. "Let's get out of this rat hole and back to Luka."

The first step in her plan had been to find out where they were holding Pablo. She'd succeeded. Not quite in the way she'd hoped, but she was here.

Leaning on Pablo's arm, Clare struggled to her feet. She felt as though she'd been run over by a truck. Every muscle in her body ached. The oversized white T-shirt hung to mid-thigh level like a sack. Ironically, it was decorated with a picture of her own face and the words, "Faceglo, it must be magic." The only part of her original outfit she had left was the silk pumps.

"Do you know where we are?"

"They brought me here in a van. The building's on the same industrial estate as the Moray plant. It must belong to the security company."

Clare raised her hand to knock on the metal cell door, but the pain in her shoulder made her gasp and hug her arm.

Pablo rubbed her back. "Careful. Let me do the physical stuff." He thumped on the door with his fist.

The small hatch in the door clicked open. Dark eyes topped with bushy eyebrows appeared. Clare straightened her back and banished the pain from her face. "I need to talk to you."

Bolts snapped back, then a guard appeared in the doorway. Another guard stood close behind him, a Taser in his hand.

The man in front parted his lips, revealing stained teeth. "What you want?" Despite his question, the man's expression was disinterested. He was just doing a job. He wasn't paid to care.

She pointed at the picture of her face on her T-shirt. "My name is Clare Moray. I'm president of the Moray Corporation. I want to speak to your boss."

The man glanced at his colleague. They exchanged a few words in what she assumed was Dutch. "You wait," he said in a thick accent and walked off, leaving the Taser guy guarding the door.

After a few minutes, the guard returned accompanied by an older man with graying hair, and a paunch stretching the fabric of his jacket. One hard breath and he'd burst his buttons. He halted in front of Clare and gave her a head-to-toe scan. "What is this you say?"

She repeated who she was and pointed to her neck, assuming from the pain there must be visible bruises. "I need medical attention. Edward Gregore attacked me."

"You talk to Mr. Gregore," he said. "We take you to him."

"No." That was the last thing she wanted. "I work for Moray as well. If you take instructions from him, you take instructions from me."

The man shook his head. "You talk to Mr. Gregore."

She knew this type of man, king in his own little world. He wasn't about to take orders from an interloper, especially not a woman he'd just undressed with his eyes.

She checked out the logo on his uniform, a hand cradling a small house. The security company must be European as she didn't recognize it. "Pablo, do you know this company?"

"It's German. They're called
Sicherhand
. Luka has used them."

"Will Luka know the boss?"

"Maybe."

She faced the little jobsworth blocking her way, who puffed out his chest with irritation. How the jacket buttons hung on, she didn't know. "I want to speak to someone in charge."

The man slapped his chest. "I am the one."

"Not you. The big boss."

"No," he said and crossed his arms.

They weren't getting anywhere. "Have you heard of Mr. Vlad?"

The man's face remained blank. She didn't really expect him to read the financial pages of the newspaper, but it was worth a try. She pointed at Pablo. "This is Mr. Vlad's personal assistant."

The man glanced at Pablo's old-fashioned outfit, disbelief plain on his face.

"He tells me the company you work for handles the security at some of Mr. Vlad's businesses. Take me to a telephone right now, or when I get out of here,
Sicherhand
will lose the Moray contract and any contracts with Mr. Vlad's companies. I'll make sure the management at
Sicherhand
knows that you're to blame."

The man's English might not be perfect, but he got the message that his job might be at risk. With an angry gesture, he waved away the guard with the Taser and led Clare and Pablo to a small, smoke-filled office at the end of the corridor.

Pablo dialed the number for Château Montgatine on the dirty black phone and handed it to Clare. She looked at it with distaste, then held it to her ear. Her heart raced as the ringing continued. Then a young female voice answered in French.

"Give me Mr. Vlad, please," Clare said.

A few seconds later, Luka came on the phone. "Clare, where are you? Are you well? Is Pablo with you?" She savored the tingle of excitement that passed through her at hearing the deep smooth tone of his voice.

"We're fine." He started to speak again, but she cut him off. "Sorry, I need you to listen. We're in Amsterdam near the Moray production plant at Sloterdijk. We're being held by a German security firm called
Sicherhand
. Pablo thought you knew them."

"I do. It's owned by a British company now."

"Do you know someone in senior management?"

"Will the chairman do?"

"Can you get hold of him and arrange for someone to phone this office?" She read out the number to him. "Get them to release us."

"Of course. Do you need anything else?"

Clare laughed without humor and rolled her eyes at Pablo. "Clothes, money, and food."

"No problem. I'll arrange everything."

"Thank you."

"May I speak with Pablo?"

Clare passed the phone over and watched the emotions sweep across Pablo's face as he spoke in rapid Spanish to Luka. The intensity of his feelings vibrated around him. It was almost painful to watch, painful for her anyway, and too complicated to think about. She rubbed her eyes and lowered herself gingerly into a plastic chair.

After Pablo ended the call, he grinned. "Soon we'll be back with Luka."

Waiting for the call she hoped would gain their release seemed to take forever. Clare was sipping water from a plastic cup when the phone rang. She jumped at the sound, spilling water down her T-shirt.

The guard answered in Dutch, then switched to halting German. He stared at his desk and answered with a succession of short, sharp
jas
and
neins
.

When he finished, he raised his eyes to her, his expression now wary and respectful. "We will take you to the station. You come, please." He gestured for them to follow him through the door.

"We need some clothes and money," Pablo said.

"Yes, yes." The guard handed across some euros and led them to a room down the corridor.

Clare followed as the man led Pablo to a stock room where a number of new guards' uniforms were hung on a rack. Pablo flicked through them, found his size, and quickly changed. He donned a pale blue shirt, navy jacket and pants, and polished black boots. When he turned and held out his arms for her inspection, she had to admit he looked good in uniform.

She grabbed a sleeveless navy fleece and the smallest size men's shorts and pulled them on. She probably looked a mess, but she didn't care.

Clare bit her lip as she followed Pablo down the corridor to freedom. Would Luka be pleased to see her again? And how would she explain about leaving him behind?

***

In the early hours of the following morning, the limousine that had collected them from the Tours railway station crunched around the circular drive outside the front of Château Montgatine.

As the car engine died, a light blinked on between the massive pillars that framed the front door. Clare saw the door open and like a dark wraith, Luka stepped out into the dawn. Pablo leaped from the car without waiting for her and sprinted the few yards to the house. He threw his arms around Luka and hugged him.

Clare looked away. Her anticipation of this reunion with Luka now seemed ridiculous. Her mood flat with anticlimax, she gathered up the remnants of the food they'd bought on the journey and climbed out, wary of the pain. Every time she was inactive for a while, the stiffness returned to her muscles.

In the stillness of the early hours, the sound of Pablo and Luka's earnest reunion was impossible to miss. Feeling like an unwanted chaperone, she stared over the dark shadows of bushes and trees to the thin glow on the horizon that signaled the new day approaching. She tried to shake off her sense of isolation. She didn't belong here, and she had huge reservations about returning to Moray.

Her grandmother had appeared to want her to start with, but she'd soon realized Monique did not care for her as she'd expected she would. Now she knew her only living relative was far worse than she had ever imagined. The success of her flagship product was built on lies and deceit and Clare wanted nothing more to do with it.

God, she was tired. She shifted her position and felt as though someone pushed a knife into her neck. Squeezing her eyes closed, she fought off the wave of misery that swept through her. What was it all for? She'd spent years looking after her father and he'd resented her help. Her grandmother was a monster who didn't care about anyone but herself. It seemed ridiculous now that Clare had thought if she ran Moray successfully, her life would be complete. Without family and someone to love, none of it mattered.

"Clare," Luka said softly. "Let me look at you."

She swallowed hard and sniffed, then glanced at him, grateful for the shadows that hid her face. She'd been so busy feeling sorry for herself she hadn't heard him approach. His eyes flicked over her and settled on her neck. "You're hurt."

She hadn't looked in a mirror yet, but the bruises had to be bad if he could see them in this light. "It's nothing." Why had she said that when they ached like mad? Was she trying to prove she was Superwoman? "Actually, I feel crappy."

A slow smile spread across his face. "You do look worn out."

"Very diplomatic. You don't look too hot yourself." His hair was in wild disarray, as though the only comb it had seen in the last two days was his fingers. In the light from the porch, she could see his skin was pale, and there were dark rings beneath his eyes.

He shrugged. "I am tired. Without Pablo I lose energy quickly." She felt a spark of jealousy that he depended so much on Pablo, and she couldn't even touch him. At that moment, she wanted to feel his arms around her more than anything else in the world.

Pablo came over, linked arms with Luka, then slipped his other arm under hers. Clare snapped her gaze to Luka and saw the moment of concern on his face as they both waited to see if being joined through Pablo would affect her. Nothing happened. She was fine. But what difference did it make. She still couldn't touch Luka.

"I gather Monique is still alive," Luka said in a carefully modulated tone as they headed to the house.