Honeymoon with a Stranger Page 12
“What, about a trial honeymoon?”
“No, the part when you said you could have got us out of this place whenever you were good and ready.”
“Chérie…have you never played poker?” She shook her head.
“Well it’s like this. In the words of an old song, you have to learn when to show your cards and know when to fold them away. It’s like life, just one big bluff. This time it worked.”
He laid Roxie gently on top of the quilts and stepped back reluctantly. There were a few matters he had to attend to before he thought about himself. First the miniscule listening devices.
He stomped on them.
The camera was stubborn. The lead from it went down behind the armoire, and when he put his shoulder against the walnut paneling on the side of the unit it began to swivel away from the wall.
Now he could see what was holding up the proceedings. The wires went through the top edge of a door. To cut a long job short, he sliced through the wires.
He’d like to know where that door led, though.
He wrapped what was left of the wire around the camera and marched onto the landing, then called, “Look out below,” and tossed the lot over.
The microphones probably reached the ground floor, but the cable managed to wrap itself around the chandelier, where it spun like a piñata on a string.
That taken care of, Mac shut the attic door behind him, walked over to the bed and stood looking down at Roxie.
Her eyes were half closed, the lower lids tinged with blue shadows that added a vulnerable quality to her features. Four times in the last few days, her life had been seriously at risk and it was starting to show.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. “Okay, woman, what’s it to be, your innocence or your life?”
His quip drew a smile from her lips. “Take my innocence, I owe my life to this guy I know, two—three times over.”
She struggled up to rest on her elbows and a wince flashed across her features then disappeared. Whoever she turned out to be, the woman was gutsy.
But now, the way she was positioned on the bed thrust out her breasts, and she no longer looked defenseless, just sexy as hell.
“Your innocence it is. But first, show me where it hurts.”
Of course she denied it. “Nowhere. I’m okay.”
His voice was rougher than he’d meant. “Don’t lie to me. Remember, I saw you sitting among a jumble of broken crockery. You didn’t escape that crash unscathed.”
She looked away, but it didn’t hide the tears welling in her eyes. He lifted her chin and, turning her face up to him, said, “Tell me.”
Roxie fixed her fingers around his arm and pulled herself closer. He hadn’t been wrong, the tears were for real. Her bottom lip trembled. “I thought he was going to rape me. You should have seen the bloodlust in his eyes.”
“Ah, chérie, no wonder you called him a pig and a toad.” He sighed and pulled her closer. “Don’t think about him.”
Her head nestled in the curve of his shoulder, muffling her voice. “He was so angry when he pulled out that gun. I thought I was dead for sure. That it would happen just like you said. He would shoot me like a dog.”
“Did I really tell you that? I must have been trying to frighten you, I’m sorry. I’m a bad man.” He kissed the top of her head. “Tell me, what were you going to do with that knife?”
Her shoulders shook and he heard a bona fide giggle bounce off the sleeve of his leather jacket. “I thought maybe to castrate him, so he couldn’t rape me.”
Mac shuddered. He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away from him so he could watch her reactions. “Chérie, you are one vicious woman, but you always manage to make me laugh. I just hope that knife was sharp.”
“Oh, well, it doesn’t matter now. You’ve killed him.”
He had to tell her the truth, about that, anyway. “Sorry, but no. He’ll probably have a bit of trouble talking for a while, but I didn’t hit him hard enough to kill him.”
He pushed the hair from her eyes. “Don’t worry, though. I won’t let him near you again. We can put a chair up against the door handle so he can’t get to us while we’re sleeping.”
“No need.” She felt behind her. “I still have the key. You can lock the door from inside.”
Roxie was learning quickly, maybe too quickly. He just wished he’d had time to call Thierry before all hell had erupted in the kitchen.
“Thanks for the key. I’ll lock the door right now so you feel safer. Tell you what. You could have a bath tonight instead of a shower. Soak your aches away while I investigate. Come and see what I’ve found.”
Mac locked the door and left the key in it, positioned so it couldn’t be knocked out, which is what Yves should have done instead of carrying the key around with him.
Roxie slid down from the bed and joined him as Mac pulled the armoire around to reveal the door.
“What do you think?” he asked her as he pulled the latch undone and dragged the door open to reveal ancient stairs.
“I think I should explore it with you, it looks horribly dark. What happens if you should fall?” she asked.
“In that case, I definitely won’t take you with me. You go run a bath. This won’t take long. I think these stairs were the way that the servants moved unobtrusively about the house. There’s probably a door leading out onto each floor.”
She clung to his arm. “I don’t like it. You need some sort of light before you take these stairs on.” He could tell she was serious. Her face fell and twisted as if she might cry again.
“Hey, Roxie, don’t worry about me. Haven’t you noticed I have cat’s eyes? I can see in the dark.”
“I can believe it. Just the same, promise to be careful.”
Mac wasn’t sure if the thought of ending up alone with Zukah and his men prompted her concern, or if she was anxious about his health.
Either way he intended carrying out his plan before Yves came round. “It can’t be too dangerous,” he said. “Someone used the stairwell to run the video camera cable.”
He wasn’t quite as certain about the possibility of Zukah forgetting the hidden stairs’ existence. Therefore he needed his inspection over and done before the others dropped out of their trance and realized he’d practically performed a coup on their headquarters.
The room they were watching them from had to be at the other end of these stairs.
For Roxie’s sake he’d take them carefully. He should have known the moment their paths crossed that he would end up doing some damage to his person to keep her safe.
As if she could read his mind, Roxie shuddered.
“Off you go.” He turned her round. “Go run the bath and forget about what I’m up to. I’ll be back before you know it to scrub your back.”
The light from the attic aided his descent into the gloomy stairs, and the second flight wasn’t insurmountable once he got used to the distance between steps.
The wire led him to a room on the second floor where Zukah and the others had bedrooms.
How could he have missed this one when he searched?
For several moments he stood, hardly moving, holding his breath before turning the handle. No sound broke the thick silence gathering around him. Mac turned the handle.
Standing in front of the mirror, Roxie stripped off her clothes. A button was missing, lost in her struggle with Yves.
Her appearance looked sadly the worse for wear after three days in the same clothes. Charles would shudder in his highly polished shoes when she told him. If she ever got a chance.
Thinking of the couturier kept her mind off Yves.
But not for long. The bruise where the Dutch oven had glanced off her shoulder was dark red. Soon it would turn black and blue.
Shivers racked her as she relived the moment. Yves hand, sliding up her leg, then higher, under her skirt, leaving her in no doubt of what lay in his mind.
What could she have done to change the outcome?
/> Even now she could feel the small knife in her hand, holding the wooden handle tight, its imprint on her palm.
Mac had laughed at its size, but she’d been ready to use it on Yves.
Had Grandmère turned in her grave, knowing Roxie was as ready to kill as she had been all those years ago and in almost the same cause? And did she hate that all the feminine skills she’d taught Roxie counted for nothing when the chips were down?
Though, now Roxie thanked God for the hours of ballet lessons she’d taken. They’d served to help her build strong, flexible muscles, and she still used the exercises to keep in shape.
Sure, by the time it was over she’d felt drained, as if she had withdrawal symptoms, because the adrenaline had stopped pumping through her veins like a high-priced designer drug.
She pulled the lace camisole over her head. The silk froufrous made her look like the woman her grandmother had invested her all in—on the surface. But inside, Roxie knew the genes of her French ancestors were running hot and strong.
She pulled the zipper on her skirt open and let it pool round her feet. Stepping out, too tired to be bothered, she tossed the garment onto the chair she’d dragged with her into the bathroom. Only her boots and little-boy panties left to remove.
She stopped her hands on her hips.
It had all happened in a flash.
Happened so quickly, she hadn’t had time to ponder why Mac hadn’t used his skill in martial arts to escape Zukah, until now.
Naked, Roxie examined the nicks and scratches that came from sitting among the breakages littering the pantry floor.
She had yet to discover what le patron was selling that Mac was willing to pay millions for. What would make a man like him suffer the humiliation of being taken hostage?
The stakes had to be high.
By now, Zukah had to have come to the same conclusion. Which meant all Mac’s threats probably weren’t worth a hill of beans.
She turned off the faucets and dipped her hand into the bathwater to test the temperature. Satisfied, she sank up to her neck in warm water and waited for Mac’s return.
One of the faucets dripped. Each drop reminded her that they were sitting on a time bomb and that it might go off at any second of the thirty-six-hour deadline that Mac had given Zukah.
The door opened silently, slowly—Mac wasn’t pressing his luck. There was a lamp burning in the room, but the overhead light was off and the room was empty.
He went inside. Like the attic bathroom, its curved walls were part of a corner tower.
Two monitors and recording equipment sat on shelves next to an open door leading to a bedroom.
Covered in wallpaper, the door would be practically invisible from the other room when shut, which was the first thing Mac did.
Zukah had left in a hurry, and the reason why soon became obvious. One of the screens was blank—Mac’s work. The other showed the Algerian and Yves arguing in the kitchen.
Even without sound, Mac had a fair suspicion what the quarrel was about. That explained how Zukah had known to come running when the fight started.
An oak desk took up most of the space. On it, the lamp sat next to a laptop. He switched it on and, while it loaded, examined the rest of the equipment.
By now, Zukah would be laying down the law, informing Yves, who was shaking his head, what his seduction technique had cost them. Being Arabic, maybe he was warning Yves that any more such attempts would cost him his hand, not just the use of it for a couple of hours.
Soon they would be arming up, determined not to be caught napping again.
Their complacency had come in handy. Saved Mac from showing his hand too soon. But what else was a guy to do when a moron threatened his woman’s life?
His woman?
Mac shook his head to loosen the mental aberration.
He’d repeated the words so often to pound it into Zukah and his cohorts’ heads, they had become lodged in his own synapses.
Sure, Roxie was attractive, but she was still an unknown entity, something he ought to correct before he went back upstairs by calling Thierry.
The day might come when he took a woman for keeps, but for his parents’ sake, she’d have to come from the right kind of family. An American blue blood like himself and all the generations of McBrides that had gone before him since they’d exchanged Scotland and its English king for freedom in the colonies.
He punched the button that would get him Thierry while he pulled open a filing cabinet that matched the desk. The top drawer slid open easily, which usually meant there was nothing anyone wanted to hide.
Mac flicked through the files as Thierry came on the line.
The date on the first file was ancient. So old, in fact, that he doubted the person’s name on it was still alive.
“What did you get me on Roxie?”
“She is an intern with Charles Fortier. The big surprise is, no one seems concerned that she hasn’t turned up for work. They think she’s on holiday.”
Thierry hardly stopped for breath. “I’m waiting to hear from our English bureau about MI6, though I get the feeling you don’t have to worry. She doesn’t sound like she’ll cause much trouble.”
With a laugh, Mac walked over to the laptop. “That’s your considered opinion, is it, Thierry? Maybe you’ll change it when you see her wielding a knife.”
“What happened? How did she get a knife?”
Mac laughed softly under his breath. “Well, it went down like this….”
The sound of the armoire being pushed back into place vibrated through the floorboards. Mac had returned safely.
Roxie released a sigh and let her chin touch the water as she sank lower. At last the bathroom door opened.
Roxie placed both arms on the rolled rim of the bath, pushing up to turn her head and look over her shoulder.
Since he never said a word, she was forced to inquire, “Everything go okay?”
His leather jacket was already hanging on the back of the door, and as she watched he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, revealing his muscular forearms.
“At the moment every little thing is hunky-dory. Perfect.” His fingers started on the buttons fastening the front of his shirt as he said, “Long may it last.”
She ought to be used to seeing his bare chest, yet she still experienced a thrill as she watched his shirt slide off his shoulders. It flew through the air and landed on the chair, covering her clothes, setting her nerves jangling.
She wanted his body to cover hers the same way.
She must be insane.
She’d only just escaped being raped by Yves, yet if anyone could push that memory aside it would be Mac.
He’d promised to scrub her back, but right now she needed more than the pleasure of his hands on her back.
She held her breath as he walked up and stood beside the bath, and she released it in a rush as she watched him unfasten the waist of his jeans. “Did you want to share my bath?”
“Well, that will do for a start, but be warned, I want more, much more.” His voice ran roughshod over her emotions.
She tensed as heat bloomed between thighs already pink from the hot water. It was going to happen!
Roxie drew up her knees to make room for him, making the water slop back and forth over her breasts, and Mac’s eyes lingered on them.
Roxie couldn’t remember when her breasts had felt so full, so heavy. The tips tightened into hard, serrated berries as if Mac had physically caressed them.
Her mouth went dry.
Mac’s jeans and shorts slid down in one practiced movement, but that wasn’t what had robbed her of saliva.
Her eyes widened and she swallowed in nervous reaction. The fact that he was a large man hadn’t escaped her.
She’d even seen him naked, knew he was comfortable in his own skin. But it wasn’t quite the same as her view from the bath.
He leaned over to touch the bruise on her shoulder. “Poor baby, he clipped you a good one.”
“Same difference.” His voice grumbled in her ear as his fingers advanced to the nape of her neck. “Now, there’s a man who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”
She wanted to fall into that sensation, to fall into Mac, but she still wasn’t sure. “And you do?”
“Affirmative. Does that mean that you’re telling me no?”
She twisted round so she could look into his eyes. Had to see if he wanted her with more than his body. Then, satisfied, she said, “I’m telling you yes, so come join me.”
“Scoot farther down to let me behind you, chérie. I promised to scrub your back, and I’m a man of my word.”
A man of his word. Now, there was an ambiguous statement. A liar could make the same announcement with equal fervor.
However, Roxie wasn’t going to let doubts cloud her enjoyment. Something told her Mac could be an experience it would be a shame to miss.
Chapter 10
Water overflowed the bath as Mac’s body proved Archimedes’s law of displacement. Not that he gave a damn about theories or laws or anything that took his mind off the awesome sensation of Roxie’s naked body in his arms.
Her narrow rib cage pressed against his chest, sending his heart on a slow roll. Control. He needed control.
Her legs felt like satin, silky, feminine and sexy, instead of roughened with coarse hair like his.
Roxie trembled under his big hands. He spread the width of his palms across her breasts and looked down, feeling more, much more than the usual sexsational urges from having a woman between his thighs.
The burgeoning weight of his sex was ripe and full, almost too heavy to go the distance. Roxie got to him like no other woman. Thankfully, when Zukah searched his wallet, he hadn’t tossed out his condoms.
Mac felt moisture break out across his forehead. He was sweating and not from the water temperature being too high.
No way. Beads of sweat were breaking out because of the strain he’d put on his control. He wanted to be inside Roxie, thrusting fast and deep.
If someone could bottle this tense, breathless feeling of being on the verge of an out-of-body experience, he’d fast become an addict. Mac wanted the way he felt now to last forever, but knew nothing ever did.