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Reluctant Hostage
Reluctant Hostage
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Reluctant Hostage

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‘Rebecca’s beauty is superficial, yours comes from deep down inside.’

Beautiful? He was saying she was beautiful?

‘You have an inner serenity that reflects itself in your demeanour and your lovely eyes. You’re quite right to wear very little make-up; you don’t need it. Your sister slaps it on like layers of paint. It’s enough to put any man off.’ Libby’s heart beat uncomfortably fast at these compliments. ‘You’re a lovely young woman, Libby. I find it difficult to believe that you’re related to Rebecca. Yes, very difficult; there’s no comparison between you. What are your parents like? Whom do you take after?’

Libby shrugged, his flattery, the soft expression in his eyes creating havoc with her senses. Simply looking at him, listening to his deep, sexy voice was enough to melt her bones, and she knew that if she got up she would be unable to stand. It was a whole new experience.

‘My mother had the same pale complexion as me, though her hair was golden like Rebecca’s.’

‘Is your mother no longer alive?’ he asked softly, noting her use of the past tense.

‘She died three years ago.’ Libby’s face clouded at the painful memory. Alcoholic poisoning, the doctor had said; Libby preferred to think it was a broken heart.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said compassionately. ‘And your father?’

She compressed her lips, wishing he weren’t asking all these questions. ‘He’s dead too. Nearly eight years ago he had a fatal accident at work. My mother never got over it.’

Libby would never forget the day her mother had been brought the news of Jim Eaton’s death. A freak accident, they’d told her, a one-in-a-million chance. Mary Eaton had collapsed, and was inconsolable; she did not want to live without him, and over the years she had turned more and more to the bottle for comfort, leaving the running of the house to Libby.

Rebecca had been ten when her father died, wayward even then, becoming even more uncontrollable without his firm supervision, and, with the death of her mother when she was almost sixteen, she would listen to nothing Libby ever said. ‘I’m grown-up now,’ she’d declared haughtily. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’ She’d only ever turned to Libby when she was short of money.

Once the police had called at the house, saying that Rebecca had taken part in a robbery from one of the local big houses. Libby had nearly gone out of her mind with worry until it had transpired that Rebecca had not been involved at all—that a girl with a grudge against her because Rebecca had stolen her boyfriend had deliberately tried to get her into trouble. Fortunately Rebecca had an excellent alibi, but it had nevertheless been a worrying time for Libby.

She was fortunate that in her job as a self-employed, mobile hairdresser, either going out to clients’ homes in her battered Mini, or using their own front room as a salon, she had been able to spend a lot of time looking after her mother, and always tried to be at home when Rebecca came out of school. Every penny she’d earned had gone into the house—or to Rebecca!

‘So you two girls were left alone? What sort of an upbringing did you have? Were your parents strong on discipline?’

Libby shot him a sharp glance at this unexpected question, feeling sure it had something to do with Rebecca. Or was she being too sensitive? ‘My father was, yes,’ she admitted. ‘He was very old-fashioned in his attitudes. My mother wasn’t so bad, but once he died she had no interest in anything. She was broken-hearted. It was left to me to bring up my sister. Do you think she’ll be long?’

‘I’m sure not,’ he said reassuringly, and, after a moment’s pause, ‘I see now why you’re so different. Rebecca would appear to take after your father. She has very strong convictions, and probably rebelled over what she saw as his totally outmoded views, whereas you are as soft and sensitive as your mother, and, although you did your best after she died, Rebecca went very much her own way.’

He was so uncannily accurate that Libby wondered whether Rebecca had told him about their home circumstances.

‘No, your sister hasn’t said anything,’ he assured her, almost as though she had asked the question out aloud. ‘Please, let me pour you a drink.’ Without more ado he walked across to the drinks cabinet. ‘Gin? Campari? Bacardi?’

‘Just a tonic water, please,’ she said. Unaccustomed to alcohol, she feared it might go to her head. It was all very well feeling attracted to him on the plane, where there had been safety in numbers, but here, with just the two of them, she could find herself in an uncomfortable situation. And she was still stunned by his summing up. Was he able to judge all people so accurately?

He looked surprised by her choice, but nevertheless filled a glass with ice and a slice of lemon and poured the tonic over it. With a flourish he presented it to her. ‘For you, señorita, one very special drink.’

Libby took it from him with a smile, feeling the power that emanated from him to her as their fingers touched. He seemed in no hurry to move away. ‘Aren’t you drinking anything?’ she asked, surprised to hear how breathless she sounded.

‘But of course.’ He turned and poured a generous measure of whisky into a glass and then resumed the seat he had been sitting in earlier.

As the minutes passed Libby began to get more and more restless, constantly looking at her watch. It was almost midnight now, and still no sign of Rebecca.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘your sister is a night-bird.’

‘What if she doesn’t come back?’ she asked worriedly. ‘What if she stays out all night? Has she ever done that?’ Frequently at home Rebecca had stayed with friends, but she had always rung Libby to tell her where she was—persuaded, Libby suspected, by her friend’s parents, but at least she had never needed to worry as to her whereabouts. Here she could be anywhere and doing heaven knew what. Into the drug scene, anything. It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Rebecca has always been here to cook my meals,’ he told her, which was no answer at all.

This was something else that had bothered Libby when Rebecca had written and told her that she had got a job as a cook and deck-hand on a cabin cruiser. Rebecca, cooking? It didn’t sound right; it was far too domesticated for her fun-loving sister. Her initial thoughts were that there was a man involved, but, having met Warwick, having heard him say that her sister was not his type, she knew this was not the case. So why was her sister working here, doing jobs she had always abhorred at home?

When Rebecca had announced six months ago that England had nothing to offer and she was going out to the Canary Islands to look for work, Libby had nearly had a fit. It was Rebecca’s own fault that she was unemployable, she’d told her. ‘If you’d worked harder at school you’d have had some qualifications. What do you think you’re going to do out there?’ But Rebecca had not listened and, together with Zelda Sanders, a friend from her school days, she had packed her bags and gone.

Zelda’s elder brother, Mark, was working out there selling timeshares, and he’d said he could get them a job too. From what Libby had gathered it hadn’t exactly worked out like that. They’d lived together in his cramped quarters for a while, but Rebecca had been unable to find work, and when Mark had lost his job and couldn’t afford the apartment Rebecca had been desperate until she’d landed this job with Warwick Hunter.

‘But what if she doesn’t turn up until early in the morning? What am I going to do?’

‘Sleep here,’ he told her simply. ‘You can use Rebecca’s cabin.’

But Libby, for all that this man aroused the most sensual feelings in her body, had no wish to sleep alone on the boat with him. He was still an unknown quantity, and, although he seemed like a gentleman, who could say whether his intentions were honourable?

‘I—I don’t think that would be a very good idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and find a hotel, and come back in the morning.’ When she’d decided to come out here her plans had been very vague. She had hoped there would be room on the boat where Rebecca worked for her to stay too, but she hadn’t banked on it, and had enough money with her to stay in a hotel if necessary—but only a very cheap one.

As she stood up she missed his frown of faint annoyance. ‘You don’t have to do this, Libby,’ he said, rising too, the frown gone now, the warm smile she had grown used to back in place.

His touch on her arm was electric. ‘I really would prefer it,’ she murmured huskily. ‘Perhaps you can recommend somewhere?’

The hotel was but a few minutes’ walk away from Puerto Colon. Warwick insisted on accompanying her, and she was glad of his assistance when she discovered that the night porter spoke only Spanish. In fact she was impressed by Warwick’s fluency in the language.

A room was found for her, and Warwick carried up her case, waving away offers of help. At her door he said, ‘You can still change your mind, Libby. You’re welcome to sleep on board my boat.’

His eyes looked deeply into hers, stirring her soul, making it almost impossible to refuse. But common sense asserted itself, and she shook her head. ‘Do you really think I’d be able to sleep?’

He grinned. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘And I’ll be back first thing in the morning.’

She was disappointed when he did not kiss her, when he merely took her hands and again looked at her with an intentness that set every nerve-end twitching and every pulse stammering. ‘Until tomorrow, then, my beautiful Libby.’

‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed with a faint whisper.

Warwick Hunter really was an extraordinary man—so different from anyone else she had ever met. His age had a lot to do with it, she supposed. He was far more sophisticated, more assured, more experienced. Yes, experienced. He knew how to look at a woman and have her melting without a word being spoken. He had mastered the art of flattery, and could probably bend any woman to his will.

So was she making a fool of herself? Did it mean nothing more to him than a casual flirtation? Libby did not like to think so. She had sensed a sincerity in him that was certainly not false. There had definitely been a strong chemical reaction between them, but something deeper too. It was not easy for her to decide what it was, but it went far beyond basic needs.

Although it was late when she went to bed Libby was still awake at seven, and, after a shower and a light breakfast of croissants and coffee, she made her way towards the marina.

Not many people were about at this hour, and she wondered if she was too soon, whether the boat would be locked and silent, its inhabitants still fast asleep. But, when she looked across at the Estoque, the man who had made such a big impression on her was standing on the deck—almost as though he was watching and waiting for her!

She hastened her steps, but the hurried beats of her heart took her by surprise. It was not a feeling she was used to. How could she feel so disturbed simply by looking at a man from this distance? What sort of power was it that he wielded over her?

She wore jeans this morning and trainers, and a thin T-shirt, because despite the time of day it was already very warm. She had dripped with perspiration during the night, as there was no air-conditioning in the room, and taken another shower this morning, but already again she was uncomfortably hot. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she had not bothered with make-up. For one thing she had been in too much of a rush, for another she remembered Warwick’s words that he hated too much of it. If he liked her as she was, then she had no need to try and impress him.

He took her hand and helped her on board, and her body reacted instantly to his touch; but her first words were about Rebecca. She had had time to think during the night, to realise that she had been in danger of letting Warwick fill her mind to the exclusion of all else. Rebecca was the reason she was here; she must never lose sight of that.

He led her down into the saloon before answering, pouring her a cup of coffee from the pot that was keeping warm m the galley. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, please,’ she said impatiently. ‘Rebecca? Where is she? Is she still asleep?’

‘I’m afraid she never came back.’

‘Never came back?’ Libby felt the colour drain out of her face. ‘But that’s impossible; she must be here. Where is she if she’s not? Warwick, something must have happened to her!’

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_7085793f-7d52-5300-b1ae-6097a77fbfb8)

‘I’M sure there’s some perfectly good explanation,’ Warwick told Libby succinctly. ‘It was a pity you didn’t let your sister know you were coming out here. Surprises are all very well, but they can fall flat.’

‘Does she often stay out all night?’ Libby reminded him of her previously unanswered question.

‘I’m not Rebecca’s keeper, Libby. I’m merely her employer. And surely she’s at an age where she is free to do what she likes?’

‘She’s only eighteen.’

His brows lifted. ‘I thought she was older.’

‘She gives that impression,’ Libby rejoined drily. ‘You claim she’s always here to cook your breakfast. What time is that?’

‘About eight.’

‘And it’s almost that now,’ claimed Libby, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘She’s cutting it a bit fine, don’t you think?’

‘If for some reason she’s detained, she’ll send a message, I’m sure,’ he said quietly, but as the minutes ticked away they heard nothing, and as morning progressed into afternoon Libby began to get seriously worried.

‘I think we ought to contact the police,’ she said.

‘And what would we tell them?’ he asked reasonably. ‘It’s too soon, Libby. She’ll either turn up or be in touch. Whatever is detaining her must be out of her control.’

‘Was she happy working for you?’ asked Libby sharply. She felt so responsible for her sister. She hadn’t been keen on her leaving home in the first place. What if she’d got in with the wrong crowd? Who knew where she was or what she was doing? ‘Cooking and cleaning isn’t exactly the sort of thing Rebecca enjoys.’

His lips suddenly quirked. ‘For the first few days I thought I was being poisoned, but she learned quickly when I made her eat her own food. Yes, I would say she’s happy here. She certainly never complains.’

The thought of Warwick and Rebecca sitting and eating together disturbed Libby. It wasn’t the sort of relationship she had expected them to have. Had anything else happened between them? Was there something she did not know? ‘So why did you employ her in the first place?’ she asked with some asperity.

‘She was introduced by an acquaintance of mine,’ he told her. ‘He said she desperately needed a job with accommodation thrown in. Like a fool, I thought all women could cook. Nevertheless she pulled her weight, did whatever I asked of her, and was appropriately decorative about the place.’

Libby imagined this last was at least accurate. She could imagine Rebecca sunbathing in a minuscule bikini on the deck. Rebecca coming out of the shower with nothing but a towel between her and her modesty. Rebecca in all sorts of seductive poses. That was the sort of girl her sister was. But where was she now? And why wasn’t Warwick as worried as she?

‘Are you sure you don’t know where she is?’ she asked in sudden suspicion.

‘You think I wouldn’t tell you if I did?’ His tone was surprisingly sharp. ‘I’m as anxious to find your sister as you are.’

‘But not anxious to involve the police?’ she swiftly returned.

‘Simply because it’s too soon,’ he pointed out.

‘Can I have a look at my sister’s room?’ He was right, but what else could they do? How long did he expect her to wait before they did anything?

‘Of course; it’s down here.’ A short flight of steps led through the galley and dinette, a cursory glance revealing an inset microwave oven and refrigerator, everywhere spotlessly clean. Between the galley and dining area a door led into the forecabin, which was much larger than she had expected, with a double bed and plenty of hanging space and cupboards, and behind another door was a shower-room.

Libby looked into the wardrobe, and was surprised by the number of new dresses Rebecca had bought in the short time she’d been working for Warwick. He either paid her very well or…The alternative did not bear thinking about.

‘It doesn’t look as though she was planning not to come back,’ commented Warwick. He was standing close behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his breath warm on her cheek. Libby felt her senses tingle, but concern for her sister had to take precedence.

She pulled away from him. ‘I still think there is something terribly wrong.’

He shrugged. ‘If it will make you happy I’ll go and have a word with the policia, even though I think it’s premature. Your sister has always given the impression that she’s more than capable of looking after herself.’

‘But she wouldn’t just disappear without leaving word,’ Libby insisted. ‘Rebecca might have her faults, but she wouldn’t do that. There is something wrong, I know there is.’

She hurried up the steps to the saloon, but when she would have left the boat Warwick put a detaining hand on her arm. ‘I’ll go alone. You wouldn’t want to miss Rebecca if she turns up, would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I won’t be long,’ he promised, holding her hands and looking deeply into her eyes.

Libby felt herself quiver. They were still all there—the feelings she had felt so strongly on the plane, and once Rebecca was found, once she knew her sister was safe, then they could take up where they had left off. She gave him a wan smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied and, lifting her hands, he placed a kiss, gently, in each palm. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

When he had gone Libby paced the saloon anxiously, then, because it was so stiflingly hot, she made her way out on to the deck and sat in the sunshine, her hands clasped around her knees, absently watching holidaymakers strolling by, but not really taking in the busy scene.

When she tired of sitting she pushed herself to her feet and took a walk around the marina. It was filled with boats of all sorts: yachts, motor cruisers such as the Estoque—some larger, some smaller—catamarans, speed-boats. It was a fascinating sight. Most of them were silent and empty, but some were a hive of activity, decks being hosed, paintwork touched up; one was slowly making its way out of the mouth of the harbour and another was getting ready to leave.

She strolled around and climbed some steps up on to the harbour wall, where she had an uninterrupted view across the Atlantic Ocean. Here the breeze lifted her hair and cooled her skin, but never did she let the Estoque out of her sight. When she saw Warwick return she quickly joined him.

‘Well, what did they say?’ she asked at once.

He grimaced. ‘As I said, it’s too soon for them to do anything. A few hours is nothing. A few days might be more serious.’

‘“A few days”?’ asked Libby in alarm. ‘This is preposterous. I can’t just sit and wait, it’s out of the question.’

‘I’m afraid that’s all we can do.’ His hand was comforting on her arm, his voice soft and reassuring.

She felt a feathering along her nerves, and again wondered how she could feel such sensations when Rebecca was missing. It seemed that this man had the ability to make her forget everything except him.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘How about if I cook us a meal?’

‘I couldn’t eat,’ confessed Libby. The very thought of food made her feel ill.

‘You need to keep up your strength,’ he told her firmly. ‘I’ll make us something you’ll find impossible to resist.’

Libby knew it would be pointless to protest, and to be truthful it felt good to let him take over. She sat down again and closed her eyes, letting the late afternoon sun wash over her, and the next thing she knew Warwick was touching her arm and telling her to wake up.

For a few seconds Libby did not know where she was. She felt warm and lethargic, and Warwick’s face close to hers made her heartbeats quicken. She wanted to pull him down beside her, to draw her strength from him, to savour once again all the new and wonderful sensations she had experienced on the plane.

She had no idea how appealing she looked, her amethyst eyes soft and misted from sleep, her cheeks flushed, her ash-blonde hair attractively tousled. She took his extended hand and let him help her up, and the next second found herself pulled against a chest that was packed with hard muscle.