Desire's Captive Read online

  'Smile,' he ordered in a softly persuasive voice, as he set up the camera. 'For Daddy.'

  Firmly compressing her lips, Saffron refused even to look at the camera. With a faint sigh Nico approached her, gripping her chin firmly as he forced her head round.

  'Why are you indulging her in this fashion?' Olivia demanded, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 'You are going soft, my friend.'

  As though to refute her words, Nico's grip of Saffron's chin tightened painfully, his eyes grey chips of ice as he turned her round to face the camera.

  'Smile, Saffron,' he told her emotionlessly, 'or else I might change my mind and agree with Olivia that tears would have more effect on your father.'

  'How can you do this?' Saffron hissed at him, forgetting the mental vow she had made not to lower herself to his level by exchanging conversation with him.

  'Very easily, when I am dealing with gullible fools like you,' Nico mocked softly, watching the colour drain from her face.

  'You ... you sadist!' she whispered sickly. 'I suppose your twisted mind thinks that's something to brag about—how you fooled and deceived me? and I fell for it. Well, go on,' she cried bitterly, 'tell them. I'm sure they'll all thoroughly approve. You aren't fit to be part of the human race!' she finished in a voice thick with tears.

  'Be careful,' Nico warned tersely, 'otherwise I might find it necessary to prove to you how antisocial I can be.' His eyes rested meaningfully on the curves of her breasts, and to her chagrin Saffron felt herself colour, as she looked fully at him. It was what he wanted.

  Flashbulbs popped around her as Nico moved, quickly snapping her before she could look away, and she was forced to admit that he had outwitted her. She hated him—hated him!

  'And now the tape,' she came back to earth to hear Nico saying in a brisk businesslike fashion. 'Let's have a few words for dear old Daddy, telling him how much you're enjoying yourself.'

  'Go to hell!' Saffron shot back at him as he produced a miniature recorder. 'I'm not saying a word!'

  The way in which he advanced on her, surefooted as a mountain cat, coupled with his calm, 'Oh, but I think you are,' had the effect of completely undermining her willpower,

  'We can do this two ways,' Nico continued evenly. 'Cleanly and without any mess or fuss, or...'

  He paused expectantly, and Saffron knew that he wasn't making idle threats. For a moment she longed to reiterate her earlier comment, but common sense prevailed, and feeling her hatred of him grow by the second she forced back the defiant words, and managed a husky, 'What do I have to say?' trying to ignore her outraged pride that she should capitulate so easily beneath the threat of force, but the effect of her incarceration in her small prison, plus the awful inescapability of her capture, had seriously undermined her spirit.

  The tape recording was mercifully brief, simply half a dozen sentences telling her father that she was in great danger; that he was not to go to the police and that he must do everything the kidnappers wanted.

  'Excellent,' Nico mocked when she had finished. 'See how easy life can be when you co-operate?'

  This time she did give in to her emotions, her muttered, 'God, I hate you!' bringing only narrowed grey eyes in a concentrated gaze on her face, for a few telling seconds before she flushed, her eyes unable to hold that inimical gaze.

  'Right,' Nico announced when he had packed the small tape away safely, 'everyone to their posts. Saffron, you will help Olivia with the lunch. What?' he murmured silkily when she started to protest that they might have kidnapped her but they couldn't force her into behaving like a household drudge. 'You find housework too menial? Perhaps you would prefer to work on the vines with Guido.'

  God, she loathed him! He had found her weakest spot with diabolical ease. He had known how she felt about Guido, how he made her flesh crawl with sick horror.

  Shaking her head numbly, she followed Olivia towards the crude sink, Nico's mocking laughter ringing in her ears.

  Olivia was obviously not particularly domesticated, and with a grimace she pushed the bowl of vegetables towards Saffron.

  'Here, you do them,' she commanded brusquely, subjecting Saffron to a lecture on their organisation's view of the future role of women, which Saffron gathered did not include such mundane chores as preparing vegetables for a stew. And to think she had always thought her exclusive finishing school had left her ill-equipped for real life! Compared with the 'school' Olivia had finished in her experience was vast. Who did Olivia and her like think was going to provide the basic requirements such as food, clothing, all the little home comforts the recipients took for granted, in the brave new world Olivia and her like were determined to create?

  As she scraped carrots methodically, Saffron glanced down at the knife she was holding. Small and sharp ... Could she, dared she pocket it?

  She glanced over her shoulder. Guido was standing by the door cleaning his gun. Piero had gone outside, and Olivia was talking in a low voice to Nico. Her heart started thumping heavily as she curled her fingers round the knife.

  'Finished?'

  Olivia snatched the cast-iron saucepan away, and Saffron quickly slipped the knife into the pocket of her jeans, the blood pounding in her ears. With every painfully constricted breath she expected to hear one of them commanding her harshly to stop where she was, but unbelievably no one did.

  'When am I to cut her hair?' Olivia questioned Nico. 'We cannot take the risk of leaving her like this.'

  Nico looked at her and Saffron's pulse quickened nervously. Had he guessed about the knife? There was a curious expression in his eyes as they rested briefly on the silky fall of her hair, and for a moment Saffron almost thought she heard curt regret in his brusque, 'No!'

  'Very well, then,' he agreed. 'Take her upstairs.'

  Guido was leaning against the stairs, and Saffron was forced to brush past him. He grinned wolfishly, his eyes on her breasts, and she recoiled.

  'Look at her!' Olivia sneered to Nico. 'The shrinking society virgin, I don't think. Why so nice?' she demanded of Saffron. 'Guido is no different from any of the other men you have lain with. He has had many rich lovers. Wealthy women like a man who has machismo; who is a little rough with them, don't they, caro? Or is it for Nico's benefit that you appear so pale and afraid?' she asked viciously, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  'Be careful, amico,' she warned Nico softly. 'She will try and get round you—I know her sort.'

  Upstairs in her narrow prison, Olivia pushed her down into the room's single chair. Despite her lack of inches the Italian girl was strong, and Saffron flinched beneath the pressure of her fingers, trying not to wince as Olivia tugged brutally at her hair, hacking at the long dark auburn strands with a rough pair of kitchen scissors.

  She would not cry, she told herself; she would not, and yet it was impossible not to feel anguish as she saw her hair falling to the floor at her feet.

  'Not quite your usual style,' Olivia jeered when she had finished. 'I read that in Northern Ireland they have a custom of tarring and feathering female traitors. I believe the only way to remove the tar is to shave off all their hair, is this so?'

  'Why do you ask?' Saffron was proud of the steadiness of her voice. 'Are you thinking that perhaps your organisation could adopt the custom for female traitors?'

  'My guess is that your father would pay up much quicker if the photographs we sent him showed you tarred and feathered in such a fashion. I shall speak to Nico.'

  It was too much for Saffron. Somehow the hidden knife was in her hand, her hand raised towards Olivia. She heard the other girl's furious protest, heard her cry out for Nico, heard him command Guido to remain on guard as he came rushing up the wooden stairs and into the room, taking in the scene at a glance.

  'Saffron! Give me the knife!'

  He moved behind her, grasping her wrist firmly, but surprisingly not painfully, forcing it back, and uncurling her fingers so that the knife fell to the floor, Olivia's stream of invective washing over her as the Italian girl g
rasped what was left of her hair and tugged viciously, slapping Saffron's face.

  'Olivia, stop it!' Nico ordered.

  'Look what she has done to me!' Olivia protested, releasing Saffron to show Nico the small scratch on her arm. 'I will make her pay for this!' She reached for the scissors.

  Smooth as silk Nico moved, restraining Olivia in much the same way as he had restrained Saffron only seconds before,

  'Have you searched her?' he demanded quietly.

  'She's not touching me again!'

  The words were out before Saffron could stop them, recognition coming too late as she saw the expression flaring smokily in the dark grey eyes before Nico said softly, 'Very well then, I shall search you.'

  'No!'

  Her explosive protest brought a mirthless laugh from Olivia. 'Leave the scissors with me,' Nico instructed Olivia, 'then go downstairs and help Guido keep a look out.'

  Saffron could sense that the Italian girl was reluctant to leave them alone, but it was equally obvious that she dared not ignore Nico.

  For several seconds after she had gone Nico didn't move, simply saying coolly, 'Now come here. Let's get it over with.'

  'You're not touching me!'

  This time there was less conviction in her voice and she started to back into the corner of the room, even though Nico hadn't moved.

  And then he did—so swiftly that she was pinioned in his arms before she could move, his breath clean and cool against her forehead muscles taut under the faded bush shirt he was wearing, crumpled but clean, and she found herself wondering irrelevantly how he alone of all of them managed to look so clean and groomed at the same time as she croaked pleadingly, her hand protectively warding him off, 'No!'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'I intend to search you, not rape you.'

  The cool matter-of-fact tone added anger to her cringing disbelief.

  'Why not combine the two?' she threw at him bitterly. 'Isn't that the way men like you normally get their kicks?'

  'Men like me?' His tone was so soft she could almost have believed she imagined the rage suppressed in it, but a muscle was beating erratically in his jaw, a white line of anger tautening his mouth. 'Are you sure you're not the one who's looking for kicks?' he demanded smoothly. 'Spoiled little rich girls like you have a reputation for ... Oh no, you don't!' He grasped her wrist as Saffron lifted her hand, hard fingers closing round it, forcing it down and then pulling her ruthlessly towards him.

  His clinical exploration of her body was the most humiliating experience she had ever undergone, the look in his eyes grimly explicit as he withdrew his hands.

  'See?' he drawled mockingly. 'Hardly a picture of uncontrolled lust, am I?'

  'You're . .. you're ... despicable!' Saffron spat at him, hating him. 'And I hate you!'

  She was frighteningly close to tears and had to turn away from him so that he couldn't tell.

  'Saffron?'

  Was it her imagination, or had his voice softened slightly? She turned hesitantly and awkwardly, and stumbled. Nico's hand shot out to steady her, his fingers accidentally, brushing the tips of her breasts. A sensation not unlike a tiny electric shock shivered through her, widening her eyes and causing her pulses to race with sensual excitement.

  'I'm all right. I.. . I want you to go,' she had been about to say, but as she looked away she became aware of the burgeoning hardness of her nipples clearly outlined against the taut pull of her tee-shirt.

  Hot, guilty colour flooded her face.

  'Get out of here!' she snapped. 'And don't touch me! I can't stand you touching me ...'

  It was the wrong thing to say. His eyes were sardonically derisive. 'No?' he drawled, his glance resting thoughtfully on her breasts. 'I'd say you've got your wires crossed somewhere, Saffron,' he added unforgivably, 'and that what you'd really like is for me to touch you one hell of a lot.'

  'No!'

  'No?' He smiled dulcetly. 'Let's just put that to the test, shall we?'

  She was in his arms before she could move, his mouth moving exploratively against her own. She kept her lips tightly closed, trying to pretend that it was Guido who held her, trying to force her body to feel revulsion and not pleasure as Nico's hands swept upwards , under her rib-cage, his lean fingers possessing the swollen heat of her breasts beneath her tee-shirt. Her gasp of dismay as he used one hand to release the catch of her bra gave him the purchase he was seeking. His mouth investigated the moist sweetness of hers, subjecting her to an intimacy never previously experienced.

  While her lips softened and clung without her sanction his fingers possessed and aroused the throbbing fullness of her breasts. She was clamped against his body, the hardness of male muscles imprinted against her softness, and yet it wasn't enough. A tiny, rebellious corner of her ignored all her exhortations to resist and reject and murmured instead how much it wanted to the pleasure of naked skin against skin.

  With an aching cry, Saffron tore her mouth from Nico's, her eyes wide and bitter.

  'Nico?'

  Nico gave her a grim smile as Olivia called him. The expression in his eyes as he stepped away from her and towards the door made Saffron writhe in a torment of self-disgust. What had possessed her? How could she have responded to such clinical lovemaking? She hated Nico! And yet her body had undeniably responded to him. Why?

  Only when she was quite sure she was alone did she give way to tears, crying silently into open, upturned palms, her body shaking spasmodically. All around her lay swathes of dark, silky auburn hair, but it wasn't the loss of her smooth, sleek curtain of hair that she grieved for, but something deeper and less easy to understand. For a moment as Nico touched her something had come vitally alive inside her, and he had known it. There had been a second before she struggled when he had looked at her and she had known that somehow he had sensed her body's desire to respond against all logic and pride to the male command of his hand.

  Her bag was in the room with her and she fished inside it for a pack of tissues. If only she had thought to put just one extra tee-shirt in it. With her tears drying on her skin she became aware of feeling hot and grubby. Her legs were dusty, but there was no water in her room for her to wash. Apart from Nico her captors didn't seem too concerned with the niceties of civilisation and personal cleanliness, not even Olivia, but Saffron was fastidious about her person, and the fact that she had not been able to bathe or even clean her teeth filled her with distaste.

  There was a river in the valley and she could see it from her window. Just the sight of the gently flowing water increased her longing to feel its cool silkiness against her skin, and she wondered if she dared ask for a bowl to wash in. Olivia would probably delight in refusing her request and she refused to ask any of the men. Guido, because something about the way he watched her frightened her, and Nico because she didn't want him thinking that her interest in her personal appearance had anything to do with him!

  As the day wore on the inertia which enveloped her—left on her own with nothing to do; nothing to occupy either her hands or her mind except the danger of her situation—deepened into a thick grey miasma of misery, a nadir of depression from which there was no merciful escape into acceptance, just a constant mental war against the admission that her life might very well come to an end, here in this dusty grey farmhouse.

  During the afternoon she heard sounds of movement down below her, but no one approached her prison; she could see Guido working on the vines and prayed for the police to arrive as Nico had warned that they might.

  If they did nothing was going to stop her from trying to tell them who she was even if she was shot down at least she would have tried—and possibly caused their deaths as well? Saffron knew she couldn't do it.

  She had seen Nico drive away shortly after he left her and he returned just as dusk was falling. He had been to send the tape and photographs to her father and Saffron tried to work out how long it would be before they heard from him. Obviously they wouldn't have sent them direct—that would make t
he farmhouse far too easy to trace. So what had Nico done? Sent them to Rome perhaps for onward transmission? It was immaterial really.

  Olivia came and unlocked her prison door half an hour after Nico's return.

  Appetising smells wafted upstairs as Saffron followed Olivia down, and she realised with a small start of surprise that she was actually hungry.

  'Nico bought pasta and sauce to heat up,' Olivia explained when Piero raised his eyebrows and commented that something smelled good.

  Saffron noticed how both Guido and Piero sat down to their meal without bothering to wash the earth from their hands, but Nico, who had changed into fresh snug-fitting and faded jeans and a soft white shirt, unbuttoned casually at the throat, rinsed his hands beneath the tap before joining them, even though he hadn't been working outside.

  Saffron followed his example without asking permission, closing her eyes in sheer pleasure as the ice-cold water ran over her hot wrists.

  'Fastidious, aren't we?' Olivia sneered. 'Hoping to impress Nico with our ladylike ways, is that it?'

  'Some of us prefer to be clean and fresh.' Saffron responded woodenly, goaded by the other girl's open contempt.

  'Meaning what exactly?' The dark eyes flashed dangerously and as Olivia called, 'Nico, prisoner, or not, I'm not going to be insulted by this little bitch; either you tell her to watch her manners or I'll make sure she does,' Saffron knew that Olivia had deliberately goaded her, but why? So that she would have an opportunity to subject her to more physical punishment? Saffron had noticed already that none of the others dared to flout Nico's commands, and yet in many ways he seemed a little aloof and distant from them; even from Olivia, who was presumably his mistress.