Dying For You. CHARLOTTE LAMB

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      ‘What does that mean? Will you ring them?’ Saying what, though? Telling them that she had been kidnapped and they would have to pay a large ransom to get her back?

      She wished she could see his face properly instead of merely getting glimpses now and then. People’s eyes usually told you a lot about them, but that wasn’t true about this man. His eyes were like bottomless wells: deep, lustrous, impossible to plumb. And yet she was beginning to feel an odd teasing familiarity...

      Had they ever met before? she wondered. Or had he cleverly managed to plant the idea that she knew him in her head subliminally, with his phone calls, and ever since he picked her up at the airport?

      The limousine slowed, turned at right angles, and left the road on which they had been travelling. Annie looked out and upwards, seeing that they were driving between deep, sunk green banks from which trees and bushes sprang, over a winding, unmade road.

      No! she realised; this wasn’t a road—it was a driveway leading up to a house. A moment later the house itself came into view: not a large house, but detached, with trees and a garden around it, two-storeyed, with mossy pink tiles on the roof, the walls painted white and the closed shutters over every window painted black.

      As the car halted outside the front door Annie tried to make out whether there were any other houses in view, and felt her heart sink as she saw that the white house stood on the edge of some sort of wood, which lay behind it, and that there were only fields in front of it. It could hardly have been more isolated. She couldn’t see another house anywhere.

      Nerves jumped under her skin. She bit her lip, feeling real fear growing inside her.

      The driver got out and came round to open her door. Annie stayed obstinately on the seat, her chin up, defying him.

      ‘I’m not getting out; I’m staying here until you drive me back to Paris. Take me back to Paris and I’ll forget this ever happened, but if you don’t...’

      He reached one long arm into the car, took her by the hand, and jerked her forwards. He took her by surprise, and he was even more powerful than he looked. She couldn’t resist the tug he gave her. She almost fell off the seat, and the next minute had been scooped up by his other arm going round her waist, lifting her off her feet and out of the car, kicking and struggling helplessly.

      He carried her up the steps to the front door, holding her under his arm as if she were a child, ignoring her increasingly wild attempts to escape. While he was unlocking the door Annie wrenched her head round and bit his hand; he gave a stifled grunt of pain, but didn’t let go of her until they were inside the house and he had kicked the front door shut behind them.

      Slowly he lowered her feet to the floor, his arm still round her waist, holding her tightly against him so that she helplessly slithered down his body, aware of every slow, deliberate contact, her breasts brushing his chest, their thighs touching, the warmth of his skin reaching her through their clothes. The effect was electrifying. She didn’t want to feel it, but she did: a deep physical wrench that made her almost giddy. Breathless and shuddering, she tried to push away once she was standing up, on her feet, but his arm was immovable; she couldn’t break the lock he had on her. Her long black hair dishevelled, a mass of it falling over her face, she watched him through it, her almond-green eyes like the eyes of a scared child in the dark.

      He lifted the hand she had bitten, looked at it. So did Annie. ‘I’m bleeding,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘You have sharp little teeth.’

      And then he absently put out his pink tongue-tip and licked the blood away. Annie watched him, her nerves prickling. The little gesture had an intimacy that shocked her, yet sent another of those quivers of response through her body.

      It was at that moment that she really began to be afraid, to believe that this was actually happening, that she had been kidnapped for motives she didn’t yet understand by a man who frightened her and attracted her at one and the same time.

      Her insides collapsed, but she fought not to show how scared she was, throwing back her head and looking straight at him, hoping she looked calm and confident.

      ‘Why don’t you take me back to Paris now, before this gets really serious? Kidnapping is a very serious offence, you know.’

      ‘Very,’ he agreed, straight-faced.

      Flushing at what she suspected to be mockery, she snapped, ‘You could end up going to prison for the rest of your life!’

      ‘They have to catch me first,’ he pointed out coolly, brushing the tangled black hair back from her face with those powerful tanned fingers. The light touch of his hand sent a trickle of icy awareness down her spine, and yet there was something like tenderness in the gentle movement of his fingers. Even that made Annie afraid—afraid of what might be coming, what he meant to do with her.

      ‘Why don’t I show you the room I’ve got ready for you?’

      Her stomach turned over. She wondered if he could hear the acceleration of her heartbeat, see the spring of perspiration on her face.

      If he picked up her nervous reaction he didn’t show it. ‘Then we’ll have lunch,’ he added, and she bristled.

      ‘I’m not hungry! I couldn’t eat; I feel sick!’

      ‘You’ll feel better with some food inside you,’ he said, as if she were a child. ‘It won’t be anything elaborate—I’m no cook—but I’ve got plenty of salad and cheese and fruit. It was freshly bought this morning in the market; you’ll find it’s delicious. And I’ve got a bottle of very good wine.’

      ‘I don’t drink wine!’

      He raised straight black brows at her, looking genuinely incredulous. ‘You don’t drink wine? You’re missing out on one of life’s great pleasures. I shall have to teach you to enjoy it while you’re here. It will calm your nerves down, relax you.’

      That was what she was afraid of, what she must not allow to happen. She had to stay on the alert, on her guard against him, and watchful for an opportunity to escape. If she could only get out of the house she might be able to hide among the trees until it was dark and then walk until she reached a village; there must be one somewhere near here!

      ‘If you want to calm my nerves you might start by letting go of me!’ she told him, and without a word he let his arm fall.

      She took several steps away, looked around the small, shadowy hall from which a staircase led upstairs.

      ‘Does this house belong to you?’

      He didn’t answer, but she sensed from the expression in his eyes that it didn’t.’

      ‘Look, Mr...? You still haven’t told me your name. Or at least told me what to call you. I must call you something.’

      He frowned oddly, hesitated, then said curtly, ‘Marc.’

      From the way he watched her she couldn’t tell whether it was really his name but she didn’t query it. ‘Marc,’ she repeated. ‘You’re French, aren’t you?’

      ‘How did you guess?’

      He was kidding. Solemnly she said, ‘A wild stab.’ She put her head on one side, listened to the silence surrounding them. No sound of СКАЧАТЬ