Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense) (23 page)

The screen went blank. Spiros appeared, white-faced and wide eyed.

“What’s going on, sir?” he asked with a frown.

“A situation that will be taken care of very soon. I’m trusting your discretion here.”

Spiros nodded. “Of course, sir. I’ll lock everything in the safe right away.”

“Good. I’ll be in touch.” He turned off the screen and looked down at Belle.

“Why are you looking so pleased?” she asked.

“Right now, Mwana is pissed and not thinking straight. Just the way I like my enemies.”

She gave a worried frown. “Doesn’t that make him even more dangerous?

“Sure, but it also lowers his guard, and fuck if that doesn’t please me.”

“So what now?”

He sighed. “It’s only a matter of time before the press start mooring off the beach with their damned telephoto lenses. We can’t stay here forever,
matia mou
, much as I’d love to. It’s time to return to the real world.”

The thought of the media invading Althea made her shudder. But equally, the thought of returning to Athens or even London where her every step would be dogged by hungry paparazzi made her feel even sicker.

Her anguish must have communicated itself to him. His body lost some of its tension.

He cupped her face and kissed her. For a moment, his eyes dropped to the rings on the platinum chain around her neck. Without conscious thought, her fingers moved to touch them.

Time to return to the real world
.

Trying to distract herself from the path her thoughts traveled, she dropped her hand. “Can’t your PR people handle the publicity, as they always do?”

His eyes remained on the rings a while longer, the intensity in the gray depths branding the metal into her skin.

With another kiss, he stepped back. “They can, but this might be a way to bring things to a head. I also need to find out what the repercussions of this situation will be for the company—my board members will be having kittens by now.”

Almost on cue, his phone rang.

“I have to take this, then make a few arrangements. I’ll be as quick as I can, all right?” he murmured against her lips.

She knew a dismissal when she heard one.

“Okay.” Despite the horror of Mwana’s threats, she walked away without paralyzing fear gripping her. Whatever else was happening, Nick was starting to let her in, including her in his life in a way he’d never done before. And that made a world of difference to her.

The talk by the waterfall had set a solid foundation for whatever came next, and she felt a sense of quiet elation as she went upstairs to take a shower.

The next few days would be rough, but they had one last night on Althea. And she vowed to make it a night Nick would never forget.

Chapter Thirteen

Nick put the receiver down, his mind whirling with the implications of his last phone calls.

His conversation with Allen just now had brought grimmer news. In the bid to trace the rebel leader, Allen had dug deeper into the Nawakan’s background. Interpol wanted Mwana for several kidnappings, two of which had ended in deaths, the victims both female. One of them had been sexually assaulted.

Murderous rage grew at the thought of the madman coming anywhere near his wife.

His investigators had also finally come through, albeit a little too late. They’d traced one of the phone numbers Richard Francis had used to call Belle’s father. Nick had informed the police in London, and they were tracking down the address he’d supplied them with.

Nick had tightened Belle’s protection considerably, and now he had to find a way to break it to her that her security detail had been tripled. He grimaced. She would hate it, but he had no choice.

He’d also dispatched guards to patrol the waters surrounding Althea. Until Mwana was behind bars or dead, he had no intention of letting his guard down.

Lips set in a determined line, he sat back in his chair. If the bastard thought he’d get within a mile of his wife, he had another think coming. Belle was his life, his treasure, his soul.

Something sharp and painful shifted inside him, then settled as if it had finally found a comfortable resting place. The alien feeling at once frightened and soothed him.

Theos
, he was losing his mind. But the more he examined the feeling, the more unsettled he felt. He threw his phone down and jumped up, the need for Belle almost too strong to bear.

He needed to see her, to hold her.

Striding to the door, he threw it open. They had one last night before Fate decided what was in store for them. He was determined not to waste it.

…

In the dim light of a hotel bathroom, Charles Mwana stood in front of the mirror and carefully peeled away the prosthetic nose and fake moustache. Next, he used the cleanser and deep pore astringent to wash off the heavy make-up masking his scar. When his face was devoid of the trappings aiding his disguise, he rubbed his jaw, lost in thought.

His plan was unraveling. No, not unraveling…taking a different course. But he was nothing if not adaptable. His prize was close at hand, he could feel it in his bones. Thanks to the breaking news, he now knew where Belle was headed.

Hearing her voice on the phone last week—thanks to Richard coming through for him with a phone number—had brought both pleasure and a pain. The promise of seeing her again held him together. She would have a good explanation for deserting him; he knew she would. And this time he didn’t intend to let her ex-husband get in his way.

He looked around the hotel room, at the arsenal of weapons laid on the bed. Whoever had said money and sweet words greased the way through life didn’t know of a much, much more powerful tool—one that had served him well for almost twenty years. As puppets went, Richard Francis was a highly efficient one. Funny how one man’s tiny indiscretion could dictate the course of the rest of his life.

His puppet had been dispatched on another diversionary errand, one that would ensure that Mwana would triumph once and for all over his enemy.

He went back to the bedroom and picked up Belle’s passport. Opening it, he stared at the photo. Her face smiled back at him. He ran a forefinger over the image.

Soon, my love. Very soon
.

With the certainty of their union lifting his spirits, he let his forgiveness for the way she’d left him ease his pain. She would make it up to him when he found her, he was sure of it. She’d promised herself to him, and he knew she wasn’t a liar. He’d seen the truth in her eyes.

It was her
ex
-husband—he had no idea why the press referred to him as her husband—who kept her from him. When he found her, he’d free her from the bastard. He passed his fingers over Belle’s passport picture one last time, placed it over his heart, and turned off the light.

…

Belle came down after her shower to find Nick standing at the large open French doors of the living room, his back to her. He’d changed into a pair of gray tailored trousers and short-sleeved shirt. From the dampness in his hair, she guessed he’d also taken a shower. As usual, his breadth of shoulder and leanness of hip made her pulse race. Unable to resist the urge, she went up to him and slid her arms around his trim waist.

He gave a small start, then turned to hook an arm around her to bring her to face him.

A strange light she couldn’t decipher gleamed in his eyes, but it was the strained set to his mouth that caught her attention. Wondering whether anything else had happened after she’d gone upstairs, she asked, “Is everything all right?”

For a moment he didn’t answer, just continued to look into her face. Then he leaned down and brushed her nose with his.

“Kiss me first, then ask me again.”

She did, then lifted her head when he went to deepen the kiss. “What’s wrong?”

He took her hand and led her to the sofa, sitting down before pulling her onto his lap. A zing of pleasure went through her as she realized this was fast becoming her favorite place to sit. When he lifted her hand and deposited a hot kiss in her palm, she momentarily lost her ability to think. But she rallied, regarding him in silence until, resigned, he took a deep breath.

One hand caressed her back in a soothing motion. “I’ve spoken to my PR people. The only sure-fire way to avoid being hounded by the media is to give a small press conference. Give them what they want, this time. Let the world see you, assure everyone you’re okay. Then we can return to London and live in blissful anonymity.” The last words were said tongue-in-cheek, eliciting an unladylike snort from her.

“That’d be the day. Besides, don’t we have a despotic bastard to take down first?”

His smile held a hint of tension. “We do. Demetra’s packing our bags. The jet’s on its way from Athens. We leave first thing in the morning.”

“I didn’t want to come here, but now I don’t want to leave.” She couldn’t suppress her sadness. She fingered the rings on the chain, drawing Nick’s eyes to them.

Expecting him to comment, she was surprised when he just smiled.

“Come on. Demetra insists we have an early supper since neither of us did justice to the lunch she so lovingly put together this afternoon.”

Recalling the emotional rollercoaster the picnic had turned into and the passionate lovemaking that had preceded and ended it, she blushed. “Was she very upset?”

“No. I told her other things came up, so we didn’t have the appetite for food.”

She felt her color deepen. “Other things? But she’s going to think—”

“And she’d be right. Other things did come up, so to speak.”

“You’re incorrigible!”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that today. And this time you’re not going to get away with it,” he said before hauling her to him. He sealed her lips with his.

She wasn’t sure how long they were lost in the kiss, but at the sound of Demetra’s delicate cough, she sprang away. Or tried to, anyway. Nick took his time releasing her. He spoke to Demetra, then took Belle’s arm and led her to the dining room.

Suddenly ravenous, she wolfed down a bowl of creamy mushroom soup, followed by a leg of lamb served with dauphinoise potatoes and roasted zucchinis. She earned herself a beaming smile of approval from Demetra when she came to clear the plates. The older woman then served delicate pastries with delicious yogurt.

They’d almost finished their meal when one of the maids came to inform Nick he had a phone call.

Beside her, he tensed.

“Is something wrong?” she asked again, realizing she’d asked that question more times today than she had throughout their marriage.

He laid a hand over hers as he stood. “No. I’ve been expecting a call from Allen. I won’t be long. Are you staying downstairs?” he asked, a slight frown on his face.

“I suppose so—maybe I’ll read in the living room. Why?”

“I’d rather you didn’t make yourself a visible target by going outside. Stay inside, okay?”

She nodded, her stomach churning at the reminder that danger still lurked. Pushing away her plate, she picked up her wineglass and made her way to the living room. As they’d done with alarming frequency today, her fingers toyed her rings, almost of their own volition.

Nick had warned her that nothing but a yes would do. She was almost certain that was the answer she’d give. Because now when she brought the rings out to re-examine in detail, she admitted when it came to her feelings for Nick, nothing had changed.

She loved him as deeply and intensely as the day she’d promised to be his wife.

But could she live with knowing Nick might never love her in return? With knowing she might never bear his child? Would her solitary love be strong enough to sustain her through a childless marriage?

She started in surprise when the pain she’d prepared herself for rose on cue, but it wasn’t as debilitating as she’d expected. Yes, she still wanted a child with every fiber of her being. But she loved Nick more than she did the promise of a child. She just hadn’t realized it six months ago. Given time, would the hollowed emptiness of unfulfilled motherhood pass completely, or would it re-emerge at some point in the future like a specter that wouldn’t go away?

Still battling her thoughts, she placed her unfinished wine on the table and padded onto the enclosed terrace, glancing out the window. Off the coast, a small dot of light from a passing boat winked.

She stared into the reflective water of the swimming pool.

The question really was, although her experiences in the last several months had now given her the courage to walk away, did she have the courage to stay and fight for Nick’s love? Could she gamble on the uncertainty that he may—or may not—grow to love her the way she loved him, and to be able to say as much? She took a deep, sustaining breath and let it out, knowing there was only one answer.

She loved Nick. Walking away again wasn’t an option. She was strong enough to fight for what she wanted—equality in their marriage and a right to his love.

Now that she knew why Nick was afraid to be a father, her turmoil had been eased somewhat. He’d been hurt badly by his parents’ treatment of him, but Belle firmly believed that they could work through his misgivings, given time. A Marine who risked his life to save children wasn’t a lost cause. With time, he might open up even more and come around to the idea. And if he didn’t—

She sucked in a breath. If he didn’t, they would deal with that, too.

Completely at peace with her decision, she started to turn away from the window. A glance at the sea showed that the light of the boat was much closer.

A fist of fear clutched her heart before she dispelled it. No, Mwana wasn’t foolish enough to risk a second attack.

Nevertheless, they had a real threat to deal with before she and Nick could find their way fully back to each other. As she watched, the light on the boat winked out, and the sound of the motor receded until she could only hear the soothing sound of waves.

Relief pounded through her. She picked up her glass and swallowed the rest of her wine. After steadying her nerves, she made a quick detour through the kitchen, then headed upstairs.