Desire's Captive Page 8

  'Don't bother screaming,' he warned her. 'Olivia won't hear you, and neither will Piero. You shouldn't have made eyes at Nico—Olivia didn't like it.'

  And so she had deliberately led her into this trap, Saffron thought numbly, deliberately got her down here, knowing that Guido would find her; knowing that Nico was away ...

  A violent shudder racked her. She turned, a moaned protest escaping bitterly compressed lips, but she wasn't fast enough for Guido. He caught her effortlessly, toying with her like a cat with a mouse, his hands gripping her waist as he let her struggle, his breath hot against her skin as he bent his head towards her.

  She would die if he touched her, Saffron thought suffocatingly. She couldn't bear it! His hands were already reaching for her towel, panic and fear making her fight like a terrified animal, her nails raking over his skin, the violence of her rejection catching him off guard so that he was forced to partially release her. Saffron saw his free hand move to his belt, but the significance of his actions escaped her until she saw the dull blue steel glint of the knife in his hand.

  She shrank from it instinctively, her eyes repelled and yet glued to the glittering metal. Fear lodged in a tight lump in her chest, paralysing thought and movement. Slowly, hypnotically, Guido moved towards her. All her concentration was focused on the thin blade glittering malevolently in front of her.

  Guido laughed deep in his throat, enjoying her fear, playing with her as the knife sliced the air in front of her. Saffron turned, poised to run, breaking free of the paralysis that gripped her, but just as she moved Guido reached for her.

  'Guido'.

  The harsh command splintered the silence, bringing Saffron's head round jerkily as she probed the shadows of the grove and saw Nico running towards them, his mouth a tight line of fury.

  His arrival gave Saffron the courage to fight against Guido's constraining hold, but she had misjudged his reaction, his fury at Nico's obviously unexpected appearance, and he muttered savagely under his breath as the knife came down, slashing through her towel, leaving a thin red line that slowly widened and spread as she stared at it, red circles whirling like pin Catherine wheels on Guy Fawkes' Night, the very last voice she heard Nico's, as he snapped, 'Piero, get Guido out of my sight, otherwise I won't be responsible for what I might do to him!'

  When she came round she was lying in the Land Rover with someone—Nico, she realised, sitting in the driver's seat. He was arguing with Olivia, whose voice was shrill as she demanded angrily,

  'Why do you have to take her into town? It's a scratch, that's all!'

  'It's a little more than that, Olivia,' Nico replied. 'We don't want her dying on us from septic poisoning, and while we're on the subject, what was she doing alone with Guido in the first place? I gave explicit instructions ..

  'Perhaps you should have given them to her and not me,' Olivia suggested sulkily.' Caro, let me deal with her cut ... What if she should try to escape while you are in town.'

  'She won't,' Nico told Olivia with a quiet confidence that made Saffron shudder, keeping her eyes closed. 'But I have to get that cut seen to. It might need stitching, and she's no use to us dead. Her father is demanding proof that she's alive. Until he gets it, he won't send the money.'

  'You said nothing of this before?' It was Piero who muttered the words, Saffron recognised his voice. 'You told us everything is going according to plan.'

  'So it is, but you are not so inexperienced in these matters, surely, as not to realise that shrewd businessmen are often just that. In his place I too would demand proof of my daughter's continued existence.'

  'So how do we supply it?'

  Olivia posed the question.

  'She will read a piece from this morning's newspaper—that will convince him.'

  'And then he will send the money? This is why you insisted on keeping her alive?'

  Nico had insisted! Did that mean the others were pressing for her death already? Pressing her burning face against the hard seat, Saffron tried not to betray the fact that she had regained consciousness.

  'It seemed the sensible thing to do.' There was a wealth of world-weariness in Nico's words. 'Rome assured me that you were experienced in these matters,' he added, 'but I find you as careless as untried children. I have to report to them when this mission is completed. Guido has already ignored my instructions once.'

  Even without looking at them Saffron could tell that both Piero and Olivia were chastened by his remarks, and even while her situation terrified her, she couldn't help marvelling at Nico's subtle control of the situation and the other members of the gang. He manipulated them like puppets, and yet each one of them individually was a dangerous and highly volatile character. The lure of revenge which had done so much to stop her from completely disintegrating before now seemed to desert her as she contemplated the sheer impossibility of exacting revenge against a man who seemed armoured against anything fate could summon against him. Every man had his Achilles heel, she reminded herself, but something told her one could search a lifetime without finding Nico's, weak point.

  When Nico finally started the Land Rover engine the vibrations from the ancient vehicle sent such a spasm of pain through her that she lost consciousness again, not coming round until the dusty farm track had been left almost completely behind.

  'How do you feel?'

  Nico stopped the Land Rover and looked at her. She was still clutching the remnants of the towel round her body, and he frowned as though realising it for the first time.

  'Here,' he told her, swiftly removing his shirt, 'you'd better wear this.' He rooted around in the back and produced a pair of-clean folded jeans, which he handed to her. 'And these—they'll be far too big, but they're better than nothing. What's the matter now?' he demanded when she simply clutched them and stared numbly at him. 'You won't wear them because they're mine—you'd rather be stark naked, right?'

  'I... I was wondering if you could possibly turn your back.'

  It hurt to say the words, pain grating across her chest, a feeling that her whole body was as fragile as a glass bauble and just as likely to shatter enveloping her.

  She was half surprised when Nico did as she had asked, and while she fumbled with buttons and fasteners, blood still seeping slowly from her wound, he said metallically,

  'You are aware of what could have happened if I hadn't had to turn back because of a flat tyre, I take it?'

  From somewhere she found the courage to reply evenly, 'Yes, Guido would have raped me.'

  'Rape? That wasn't the way I heard it. According to Olivia you asked for everything you got.'

  'That isn't true!'

  'No? You'll be telling me next that you didn't know he wanted you!'

  'I ... I knew.' The quiet words were little more than a whisper. She wasn't going to tell him how Olivia had tricked her, let him think what he liked. She didn't care!

  'You knew, and yet you deliberately paraded around in front of him like that?' The harsh, almost flat tone of his voice made her flinch from the bitter cynicism. 'What did you think he was?' he asked angrily. 'One of your tame society escorts? Well, let me enlighten you. To call Guido an animal is doing the jungle kingdom an injustice; you'd be nearer to the mark describing him as a disciple of the Marquis de Sade. However, I'm not naive, I know quite well that some women find that type of man a turn-on.' He watched Saffron shudder deeply and paused. 'Okay, so you're not one of them, but you're experienced enough to know and recognise the type, and knowing, you shouldn't have encouraged him.'

  Encouraged him! Tears spurted and she couldn't stop them. 'I didn't!' she told him stormily.

  'No?' He grimaced sardonically. 'That's not the way I heard it. You know damn well what effect the sight of your half naked body was likely to have—a man would have to be made of stone not to be turned on by it, and yet you still flaunt yourself...'

  'Flaunt!' She forget the pain from her wound, and struggled to sit upright. 'I was bathing in the river; I thought Olivia was on the bank
. And at least I wasn't parading around completely nude,' she finished in a final exhausting burst of anger which left her face pale and her body trembling with delayed reaction. 'Or doesn't it count when the boot's on the other foot?'

  For a moment the gleaming look of amusement in his eyes reminded her of how he had looked the night they met.

  'So . ..' he said softly, 'I thought it was you this morning. However, in answer to your question and in my own defence, all I can say is that as yet no woman has been able to commit rape against a man. When that happens you will know that we have true equality of the sexes, but until it does you will simply have to accept the status quo, and the fact that no, it doesn't count.'

  It was on the tip of Saffron's tongue to point out to him, as Olivia had drummed into her at every opportunity, that one of the main aims of his organisation was to enforce total equality, but, not for the first time, it struck her that whereas the others never lost an opportunity of singing the praises and parroting the commandments of their organisation, Nico rarely mentioned politics or tried to indoctrinate her as the others had done with their beliefs. In fact in many ways he seemed to remain aloof from his companions. A sudden hole in the road sent her jolting against him, and pain stabbed through her, the thought slipping away as she tried to concentrate on remaining conscious.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The cut seeped blood spasmodically all the way to the small town. Nico drove fast but expertly, and although the ancient Land Rover was a far different means of transport from the elegant Mercedes he had hired the first time he had taken her out, as they took the coast road past the villa, Saffron was reminded unbearably of that occasion and the tremulous emotions she had experienced.

  All those tender feelings were now dead, trampled underfoot by reality. Once or twice Saffron contemplated throwing herself bodily from the vehicle, but the weakening loss of blood, combined with the strong pressure of Nico's fingers on her arm, acted as a powerful deterrent. The front of his borrowed shirt was now bright scarlet with blood, and she was beginning to feel lightheaded by the time they drove into the small dusty town, so typically Italian with its narrow streets and tall tenement buildings, strewn with lines of washing, grandmothers sitting outside open doors watching over babies, undisturbed by the noise of the Land Rover.

  Saffron's heart sank as they drove into what was plainly a poorer part of the town. She had been hoping to warn the doctor that she was being held captive against her will, but these hopes were dashed when Nico pulled up outside a faded stucco building, paint peeling from the walls.

  'Dr Michello was once an excellent surgeon, but unfortunately, he started to drink. If you are thinking of enlisting his aid, let me dissuade you. I shall tell him that you are my wife and your "wound" is the result of a marital tiff. Italy is still very much a male-orientated society; whatever you say to him after that will be discounted as purely female hysteria, even if he is sober enough to understand it. And you'd better put this on,' he added, handing her a lightweight blouson jacket the same shade of grey as his eyes. When he saw how she had to struggle, he helped her on with it as though she were a child, carefully tugging the zip fastener upwards, his knuckled brushing her breasts accidentally and sending strange quivers of sensation shooting through her. She had been colder than she realised and the warmth of the jacket was welcome, especially when she discovered that Nico's prediction concerning the doctor was correct.

  He deliberately hurried her past the waiting women, holding her against him so that she was aware of the gun he was concealing beneath his jacket, interrupting the doctor, who was in the middle of talking to one of his patients.

  At Nico's insistence they were shown into a shabby treatment room, and Saffron was told to remove her shirt.

  She gave Nico a speaking look, and obligingly he turned his back, while the doctor made a surprisingly thorough examination.

  'Umm—a clean cut, by the looks of it, and not too deep. I shall give you some ointment to put on it and some pills to take.' He wrote out a prescription which he handed to Nico and then said jovially to Saffron, 'Next time, be nicer to him, mm?'

  She had expected Nico to drive back once they had collected the prescription, but to her surprise he parked the Land Rover outside a small hotel, keeping a tight grip on her arm as he helped her out.

  'We will stay overnight,' he told her. 'We can make the recording to send to your father, and get Doctor Michello to check on your wound in the morning.'

  'Aren't you frightened I might try to escape?' she asked him bitterly, 'with only one of you to guard me?'

  'How could you?' His calm infuriated her. 'You have no money, no passport, where would you go? To the police?' He laughed. 'I don't think so.' He patted the slight bulge beneath his jacket meaningfully as they entered the hotel, and still maintaining his grip of her arm approached the desk.

  Saffron heard him book a double room in frozen silence, her mind frantically running in exhausting circles trying to seek a means of turning the situation to her advantage. She heard him give his name and then realised that he was passing her off as his wife. She glared at him indignantly, whispering furiously as he manoeuvred her towards the stairs,

  'I'm not sharing a room with you ... I hate you!'

  'Don't be naive.' The bored voice was edged with impatience. 'And do not start confusing me with Guido.' She coloured hotly as his disparaging glance slid over her from head to toe. She was still wearing his shirt, as well as his jeans, her hair was clean, but still framed her face in ragged wisps, her skin completely devoid of any make-up.

  'No, I suppose you'd prefer Olivia,' she agreed nastily.

  His eyebrows rose. 'Would I? Why?'

  For a moment she floundered, and then blurted out with a gaucheness that infuriated her, 'Well, she is your ... your woman, isn't she?'

  'Is she?' He looked at her again, and then to her surprise stopped, turned round, and guided her back into the foyer.

  Outside, the brilliance of the sunshine after the cool dimness of the hotel blinded her momentarily and she stumbled, fingers clutching at the sinewy strength of his forearm. It was like grasping iron, completely unyielding or giving.

  'Where are we going?' She thought Nico must have changed his mind and decided against running the risk of staying in town overnight, but he didn't answer, and she was forced to increase her pace to keep up with his long strides, the pressure of his fingers round her arm in what looked like a casual hold but in reality was anything but, closing over her bones like a vice.

  He walked past the Land Rover, and into a part of the town she had not seen before. Monteveno was a town she had never visited on previous trips to the villa. Because it lay inland she had dismissed it as being unworthy of a visit, but now she realised the ancient piazza with its church and medieval buildings was worthy of closer inspection. Nico didn't pause to study the architecture, but headed instead for a small arcade of shops in a shady cloister, stopping outside one of them.

  In the window was a plain linen dress, starkly cut and discreetly expensive. To Saffron's surprise Nico marched her into the boutique, speaking to the girl who came to serve them, and gazed at him in appreciatively, in English. To her amazement Saffron heard them described as holidaymakers, who had come across the town by accident.

  'My wife has had a slight accident and needs to replace her ... blouse,' he explained, and Saffron watched in stupefied silence as several attractive garments were produced for Nico's inspection. His taste was excellent, she admitted grudgingly when he had selected two cotton blouses, one in emerald and the other in a rich lavender, both of which complemented her colouring.

  'There is a skirt to match this blouse,' the girl told him, producing a tiered lavender skirt, with a shirred waist designed to fit several sizes.

  'We'll take it,' Nico told her, producing a handful of lire notes and the same smile which had once turned Saffron's heart over.

  When the girl rang up the cost Saffron moved towards her, but as though he s
ensed what she was about to do, Nico grasped her arm, his eyes boring warningly into hers as he tapped his breast pocket lightly, and then they were outside on the hot pavement, the moment gone and her resentment burning bright spots of colour along her cheekbones.

  Their return to the hotel was accomplished swiftly and effectively. Inside their room Nico produced a paper and the same miniature tape-recorder he had used before,

  'Read,' he commanded Saffron expressionlessly, handing her the paper.

  For a moment she contemplated refusing, but the futility of it washed over her in depressing waves.

  She read for ten minutes before Nico stopped her, playing the tape back before removing it and sealing it in an envelope.

  'Good. Perhaps this will encourage your father to make haste. The others are growing impatient.'

  'While of course nothing ruffles your patience,' Saffron goaded. 'I'm surprised you didn't want me to make a few realistic screams for added effect.'

  She was amazed to see a thin film of brick red colour creep up under his skin. So he was vulnerable after all. She opened her mouth to drive her point home further, when he tossed the blouses and skirt towards her gesturing towards the small bathroom.

  'When you are ready call me and I will apply the salve we got from the doctor.'

  Saffron stared at him, a curious heat flickering over her skin. The cut was just below her breast, curving through her tender flesh, and something quivered inside her at the thought of having Nico's hands on her body.

  'I can do it myself,' she managed jerkily, but his eyebrows lifted contemptuously, his voice edged with malice as he said softly, 'Of course you can, but will you? I wouldn't put it past you to conveniently "forget" and deliberately allow yourself to fall ill and so escape us.'

  Her eyes gave her away, and Saffron couldn't deny that the thought had crossed her mind. If she were to fall ill and die and her father were to demand further proof that she was live, she might at least be able to prevent them getting the money.