Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense) (25 page)

His eyes widened and he finally stopped in front of her. “You think this reporter was another of Mwana’s men?”

“How else could he be quoting our conversation almost verbatim?”

Nick reached for his mobile and pressed one button. “Spiros, have the reporters left?”

His mouth tightened at the answer. “Get me the name of every journalist who attended the press conference. And get the security footage of the conference room ready for Jameson to hand over to the police ASAP.” He hung up and dialed Jameson, relayed the information, then ended the call.

“I should’ve said something then,” she said, despair curling within her, “but I wasn’t sure if my mind was playing tricks on me.”

But now she knew it wasn’t.

Time to tell the whole truth
.

…

Nick shuddered out a breath as he clawed a hand through his hair. “It’s fine, sweetheart, but I just need a minute.” He closed his eyes, cursed, fighting for control for a long moment. When he opened them, he touched her cheek. “Okay. Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t tell you the gory details of my last conversation with Mwana because I didn’t want you to get like this.”

“Unfortunately, with every revelation, I just grow hungrier with the need to put this bastard down,” he said, almost to himself. “To think he dared to try to mess with us, here, after what he did on Althea—” The ringing phone interrupted him.

He dropped his hand and cursed the damn phone.

Listening to the solicitous tones of the head chef asking if they were ready to order their afternoon meal, he suppressed ironic laughter. His life was being turned upside down every which way he looked, and he was being asked what he wanted to eat.

Looking over to where his wife stood rubbing her arms, he asked, “Are you ready for lunch?”

An expression crossed her face reflecting the turmoil he felt, but she nodded, “If you are. You can choose something for me.”

He reeled off her favorites to the chef and hung up. “The meal will be up in three quarters of an hour. Enough time to tell me about that last conversation?”

She took a deep breath, then relayed her last conversation with Charles Mwana in a rush of speech. He forced his clenched fists to relax.

“That’s it?”

She nodded. “Nick, just sit for a minute, please? You could also tell me you’re not mad at me,” she suggested with a smile once he was sitting across from her.

Nick’s heart thudded at the sight of her sexy dimples. He gathered her in his arms, her light flowery scent wrapping around his senses. He lowered his head and kissed her lush lips.

“I could get mad at you for endangering yourself, but you weren’t harmed, thank God. I need to remember that and be glad you’re safe and by my side. And frankly, I’m tired of talking. Right now I need to have you naked in my arms. It feels like a lifetime since I made love to you.” He needed to hold her close, to affirm life after having yet another confirmation rammed home of how close he’d come to losing her.

“We made love this morning, right before breakfast.”

“As I said, a lifetime.”

She returned his kiss, her slim body melting into his like it was made for him. Which it was…

“What about lunch?”

He groaned and glanced at his watch. “We have forty minutes. I guess I’ll have to settle for a quickie.”

He tugged her close and kissed her. Before mindless delirium took over, he swore to find the appropriate time to share the unfamiliar feelings threatening to take over his life. Maybe Belle could make sense of them, because he sure as hell couldn’t.

For now though, he’d tell her with his body.

Chapter Fifteen

L
ONDON,
E
NGLAND

Autumn held a firm grip on London, with golden rain-soaked leaves spread like an elegant blanket over the city. Belle pulled her coat more securely around her to ward off the morning chill after stepping from the car outside their Knightsbridge apartment.

Their departure from Athens had been so rushed, she hadn’t found time to pack suitable clothes. Nick had spent the time after lunch yesterday juggling endless phone calls, dealing with nervous shareholders and repercussions of the news of her capture. He’d stayed up long after she’d gone to bed, and she’d woken this morning to the news that they had to return to London. More shareholders to pacify.

There were also her parents to see. But first…

Looking up at the tall apartment building, her old insecurities returned. Even with the knowledge that Nick was willing to meet her halfway, ease up on his need to control her every move, and had already started to do so, it was still difficult being here. But when he took her arm and led her to the elevator, closely followed by their bodyguards, she didn’t protest.

She was actually relieved when his butler, Bertrand, threw open the door in welcome. Her relief turned to surprise when the short, normally staid Frenchman bent over her hand in gallant greeting.

Nick looked on in amusement. “I think it’s fair to say Bertrand has missed you.”

“
Oui, Madame
,” Bertrand agreed. “And may I say how wonderful it is to have you back.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Bertrand,” she said.

“
Merci, Madame
.” With his usual efficiency, he took charge of their bags and disappeared down the hallway.

Looking around at the place she’d called home for six months, a bolt of shock went through her. Gone were the harsh chrome and black leather seats, the dark carpets, and the severe post-modernist paintings she’d felt very little affinity to. In their place, warm, comfortable sofas, bright scatter cushions, and expensive rugs covered the newly exposed and polished oak floor.

She turned to Nick. “You redecorated?”

He shrugged, but she noticed the quick look cast her way. “You hated the previous décor. You likened it to a playboy’s shag pad, or was it the devil’s bathroom? Something along those lines anyway,” he teased with a smile.

“I don’t recall the exact words, but you may be right,” the imp in her couldn’t resist saying.

He came to stand in front of her, a decidedly nervous look in his expression. “So, do you like it?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On if it’s just this room or the whole apartment,” she said.

“Why don’t you come in and see for yourself?” He held out a hand to her.

He showed her similarly decorated rooms, all done with comfort rather than ostentation in mind. It would’ve pleased her had it not been for memories associated with the master bedroom, the place they’d had that last, almighty row, prior to her walking out.

The room that Nick now led her to.

Her heart skittered, and her legs trembled as she entered, only to stop and gasp in surprise.

The bed was gone; so were the antique bedside furniture and the elegant tallboy which had graced the opposite wall. Gone were the heavy silk curtains that had adorned the floor-to-ceiling windows.

In their place, row after row of exercise equipment stood on a newly varnished floor just like that in the living room. In the exact place where their bed used to be hung the largest punching bag Belle had ever seen. Reaching out, she pushed it, bemused as it swung to and fro.

“Why?” She turned to Nick who had followed her across the room.

He shrugged. “I couldn’t enter this room without thinking of our last argument. I tried to, but I couldn’t sleep here without you. This is a much better use for it.”

She walked forward and touched a cold dumb bell. “So where will we sleep?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

The last two bedrooms had been converted into one master suite, complete with giant fireplace, luxurious royal blue carpet, and twin dressing rooms. But what thrilled Belle most was the brand new four-poster bed, similar to the one they’d slept on in Althea, with its sheer curtains, countless pillows, and a similar blue-and-gold throw gracing the enormous bed.

“Oh, Nick, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed, turning full circle in the room.

He slid his arms around her, sealed her lips with a lingering kiss, before murmuring, “Only beautiful things will do for my beautiful wife.” He continued to kiss her until they heard Bertrand’s discreet knock.

“Lunch will be served in an hour. And then,
Madame
, if you please, I will go over the menu for tomorrow’s dinner party with you.” The butler left.

She turned to Nick. “You organized a dinner party without telling me?”

A tinge of color splashed his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I got a little ahead of myself. In my defense, I put this in place because I wanted your parents and friends to see you’re all right.”

“I thought we’d done that with press conference?”

“Sweetheart, I want to celebrate the rebirth of our marriage, show everyone we’re back together. I’ll understand if you want to cancel until after we’ve dealt with Mwana, but I thought you’d also want to celebrate our special occasion.”

“Special occasion?” she asked, puzzled.

He pulled her closer. “Have you forgotten what day tomorrow is?”

Frowning, she started to shake her head, but then the date burst through her brain like an exploding firework.

“Oh, my God, Nick, I can’t believe I did!” Deep chagrin tinged her voice.

“With everything that’s gone on lately, I don’t blame you for forgetting we will be married exactly one year tomorrow.”

“But how could I?” Tears clouded her eyes. Her wedding day had been the happiest day of her life.

“You probably buried it subconsciously because our marriage didn’t turn out the way you’d envisioned it. And for that, I’m sorry.” Nick brushed away a tear from her cheek. “It’s okay,
yineka mou
. I won’t hold it against you. But we need to decide whether we’re going ahead with the party or not. According to Bertrand, the RSVPs have been coming in thick and fast.”

“Oh, no. How many people did you invite?”

“Only those important to us. And one or two business associates.” The poker face he tried to adopt didn’t pass muster.

“Nick! That’s about half of London.”

A very Greek shrug manifested itself as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Can you blame me for wanting to show off my beautiful wife to the world?”

Ignoring her palpitating heart she said, “Not normally, but I think tomorrow is a special day, a day for us, and I’d like to keep it intimate, if you don’t mind.”

“And this will make you happy?” he asked, an intent look in his eyes.

Feeling the tears threaten again, she nodded. “Then I will make it so.”

“Won’t they be upset?”

“They know what you’ve been through. I’ll smooth things over. I suspect Jameson will be pleased, too, for security reasons.”

In the end, they settled for a modest guest list of twenty-five, and she felt relieved when she learned Nick, through Bertrand, had already set events in motion. Dealing with floral arrangements and extensive menus had never been her forte.

While Bertrand handled the caterers and florists, she wrestled with what dress to choose from the twelve her stylist had delivered that morning. When she found out Nick had arranged for her to visit a beauty spa, she felt secretly grateful. Her hair had grown wild and unkempt in the last two months. A simple solution would have been to scrape it all up for the evening, but she didn’t put it past Nick, who loved her hair down, to put a cog in that plan.

She was picking matching jewelry for her final three dress choices when she heard Bertrand’s raised voice. She went into the kitchen where he was just hanging up the phone.”

“Is everything all right?”

“It’s nothing, Madame. Just dealing with the catering company’s incompetence. Two of their staff have developed food poisoning. They are trying to find alternatives but—” He threw up his hands in an uncharacteristic Gallic display of frustration.

Belle hid her smile behind her hand. Only Bertrand would see someone coming down with food poisoning as a personal affront to his well-laid plans.

“Do you need me to do anything?” she offered.

“
Non
, Madame,
merci
. It is a mere hiccup. I will deal with it.” He straightened his cuffs and picked up the phone again.

“Great. Thanks, Bertrand.” She couldn’t suppress her smile as she returned to her room. Suddenly, it felt good to be home.

…

Their anniversary day dawned bright if a bit on the chilly side. After a frantic call to Liz, her friend had offered to come to the salon with her. Belle tried to ignore the cynicism in Liz’s tone when she’d heard the reason for the salon session. They met at a swanky café on the Kings Road, a few streets from the spa, and they’d barely sat down with their mocha lattes before her straight-talking friend plunged into conversation.

“You and Nick are truly back
together
together, I see,” she said with a meaningful glance at her wedding rings.

“Yes, and before you start giving me a hard time again, I want you to know it won’t be like last time. I love him, Liz, but I’m no longer living under his thumb. He knows I won’t take that. This time we’re both going into it with our eyes wide open.”

“And what about the children issue?” her friend pressed.

“We’ve discussed it, and I know where he’s coming from. That’s all I can say on the matter.” She bit her lip. “The bottom line is, I want to be Nick’s wife, and he wants to be my husband. We’ll work the rest out,” she said philosophically.

Her friend regarded her silently with shrewd green eyes, her elfin like, no-nonsense face serious. Then after taking a sip of her drink, she said, “You know what? I believe you. You’re not the same half-broken girl I helped pack for Nawaka two months ago. For his sake, I hope Nick knows how special you are. But never fear, I’ll be around to remind him just in case he forgets. And I
shall
be armed with a very fat stick. Now, do you want to tell me what the half-dozen-bodyguard thing is all about? I read a little about the guy who ’napped you. Surely you don’t think he’ll try anything here?”