Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (13 page)

The anger was saving. It gave her the needed strength to
kick forward and lift her painfully heavy arms in the strokes it took to cover
the distance to the boat. Ahead of her, Charles had already reached it and was
clinging to the side.

She swirled to a halt a few feet from him, covering her
breasts with one arm as she tried with increasing tiredness to keep herself afloat.
The water was dark and murky, but she was all too aware that with the sunlight
shafting through it, the pale gleam of her flesh was visible. Holding out her
other hand she said tightly, “All right. Give it to me.”

“I’m not sure I should,” he said judiciously. “You seem so
much more reasonable without it.”

“If you don’t give that to me —” she began, then stopped
with a catch in her voice as she lifted her chin high to keep her mouth and
nose above water as she sank. She redoubled her treading efforts, but she could
feel the ebb of the last reserves of her strength. Distress flared in her eyes.

“Charles, please,” she whispered.

He had already started toward her. He caught her
out-stretched hand, and with a powerful thrust against the water, brought her
close enough to the boat to place it on the gunwale. She hung there for long
moments with her forehead resting against the fiberglass side and her breathing
harsh in her throat. It was a moment before she realized that Charles had
released her and moved around to hold to the side of the boat behind her.

“Here,” he said. “Put it on, and I’ll tie it for you.”

“No,” she gasped.

“Don’t argue, or I’ll put it on myself.”

The pale aqua top sailed over her shoulder, and spread out
on the surface of the water before her with the right side up and the ties in
the correct position. She scooped it up before it could sink and clasped it to
her. She shivered a little as she felt Charles’s warm fingers at her back,
closing the slide, pushing the wet strands of her hair aside to form the bow.
He was good at it, she thought wearily; no doubt the effect of practice.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his breath warm against the
nape of her neck.

“I’m fine,” she said in a stifled voice.

“Into the boat then. I’m going to give you a boost.” She
nodded her comprehension. An instant later, his hands were firm about her
waist, and she was surging upward. It took the last of her energy to grab the
side of the boat with both hands and pull herself high enough so that her
weight could drag her inside. She lay on the bottom for a long minute, then
turned, intending to help Charles. There was no need. He heaved himself up with
the muscles bunching in his shoulders, then swung himself into the stern. With
resentment burning inside her, Kelly watched as he strapped on his thin gold
watch and gathered up the things he had taken from his pockets, a small,
gold-handled knife, a handful of change, his billfold, and also her own
billfold and car keys. A thorough man, Charles, and a swift one. He had taken
the time to remove these things from his cut-off jeans, as well as turn off the
trolling motor, before he had dived in after her.

Pulling herself up into her captain’s chair, she collapsed.
Her mind was numb with fatigue, and her hands shook as she pushed her fingers
through her hair. Worse than the fact that he had captured her again was the
ease with which he had done so, and his galling generosity in her defeat.

Behind her, Charles spoke. “I hate to tell you, but we lost
our dinner. The cord that held the fish basket must have seen a few years. It
broke when the boat went into the trees.”

Kelly was saved from the necessity of answering as he
cranked up the boat’s motor, letting it idle in neutral. His voice, so cheerful
and casual, grated along her nerves. She hated him, she told herself: She would
pay him back for every moment of humiliation she had suffered at his hands if
it were the last thing she did. She would personally see to it that his little
game came to an end. He would never see a penny of the ransom money, never
spend a dime. No matter what it cost her, she would get away from him and send
the police. He would be arrested and thrown into jail, where she hoped he would
rot the rest of his life!

“Excuse me?”

Without waiting for her compliance, he swung her captain’s
chair on its swivel and brushed past her, leaning to draw up the trolling
motor. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as he balanced with a knee
on the front of the boat. One push would send him overboard again. She might have
time to get back to the controls and push the boat into forward gear.

He turned his head, slanting her a quick glance as he
switched the locking mechanism into place on the small motor. “I wouldn’t, if I
were you.”

His eyes were steady and his face carefully straight, but a
muscle twitched in his cheek as he tried not to laugh. Kelly turned her head,
staring wide-eyed at nothing until, he had taken himself back to the rear of
the boat.

Damn the man, Charles-whatever-his-name-was! Angrily, she
dashed tears of weariness from her lashes. She would show him. She would.

The sound of the outboard motor changed. They shot forward a
few yards, then stopped, the motor idling as he pulled back on the throttle.

“Kelly, your life vest,” he called.

She pushed herself erect, looking around her, realizing it
must be behind her in the middle of the boat. Reluctantly, she swung, leaning
hurriedly to pull it into her lap before she reached for the shorts and top
beside it.

“Put it on,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to attract the
attention of the lake patrol by being on the water without it, now would we?”

“In a minute, as soon as I get my clothes on,” she snapped
in unbearable annoyance, and immediately wished she hadn’t as she heard his
choke of laughter.

She sent him a murderous look and turned sharply around.
Even if she had been nearly nude before him minutes ago, there was nothing
funny about her urge to be completely dressed now, she told herself as she
struggled into her clothes. He would pay, oh, how he would pay!

Back at the landing beside the catwalk, she snatched off her
vest and threw it down on the seat, then clambered out of the boat. She did not
look back as she ran along the walk and took the path to the house. Jerking
open the screen, she crossed the veranda and entered the house, moving swiftly
through the living room and down the hall. Inside her bedroom, she caught the
door and slammed it shut with such violence it shuddered in its frame and the
crash echoed through the house and across the water.

Kelly stood for long moments in the center of the room with
her arms clasped around her and her eyes wide and unseeing. She took a deep
breath, then with a shake of her head, moved toward the bathroom, intending to
shower.

Abruptly she stopped as she heard the sound of the boat’s
motor once more. Listening intently, she could hear no sound in the house.
Apparently, Charles had not followed her. Was that him in the boat? Was he
putting it away in the boathouse? If so, how long would it take him?

Moving swiftly to the window, she drew the green-and-white
drapes aside. It was the guard in the bass boat, though Charles still stood at
the landing talking to the man. She would have a little time. With any luck, it
should be enough.

She swung around, hurrying from the room. The door of the
room Charles used was open. On the bed lay the clothes he had taken off earlier
when he had changed. She gave them the barest glance before she slipped into
the bathroom.

It was designed much like that connected to her own room.
She went immediately to the medicine cabinet above the lavatory. Pulling open
the door, she stood frowning. What she sought was not there. The shelves were
empty of everything except the barest necessities.

In trembling haste, Kelly pushed the door shut, then began to
draw out the drawers of the vanity table, pressing them silently closed again
one by one. In the bottom drawer she found what she wanted, a first-aid kit.
Taking it out, she snapped the latches and raised the lid. It was a
well-stocked case a little larger than average. Besides an assortment of
medicines, it contained a hypodermic syringe and a set of scalpels. Ignoring
these, she took up a small bottle containing pills she recognized from the days
of her mother’s terminal illness as sleeping tablets. Tipping four of them into
her hand, she replaced the lid of the bottle, put it back into the box, and set
the box into the drawer.

As she pushed the drawer shut, she heard the creak of the
screen door on the veranda opening. Her heart lurched. She dived for the door,
skimming through the bedroom and out into the hall, moving faster and more
silently than ever in her life. The hall seemed endless, and then she was
inside her bedroom with the door closed and locked behind her. She did not stop
there, knowing that Charles might well demand that she open the panel and leave
it open. She spun into the bathroom, and leaning over the tub, turned both taps
wide open. For long, strained moments she stood listening. No one came. Nothing
disturbed the quiet of the bedroom beyond the bathroom door. Only then, as she
became convinced that she had done it, did she allow herself to sag in relief,
allow her lungs to inhale deeply enough to still her ragged gasps for breath.

The afternoon passed slowly. Kelly took a leisurely bath and
rinsed her hair before changing into fresh clothing. Lunch time had come and
gone, but she disregarded it. She was not hungry after her midmorning snack,
and she had no wish to face Charles just now. That would come soon enough, but
not until the feverish plans revolving and dissolving in her head were set in
some kind of pattern. She heard the boat as the guard returned from wherever he
had gone, heard Charles go out to meet him. She did not stir. Let them do as
they pleased, so long as they did not bother her. She had to think.

In the end, she gave it up. She would have to watch her
chance, go with the moment. So much depended on what Charles did or might do.
Few would be the opportunities to use the pills. She would have to wait,
control her impatience and anger, smile and be pleasant. It might even be that
she would have to make her own opportunity.

She could not hide in her room forever, but still she put
off leaving it, unwilling to go out and face Charles. Her temper had cooled,
but she wasn’t certain she could keep to her resolve to be polite if he made
any reference to this morning’s events. Despicable, arrogant, hateful man. He
was everywhere she turned. It was so frustrating, she wanted to scream and
throw things. Not that she ever had; she just needed some means of ridding
herself of the pent-up tension of the last two days.

Two days. It seemed longer, much longer. She did not know if
she could endure much more of Charles’s presence, his control of her movements,
his omnipotent ability to forestall her every effort to get away from him. Not
the least of her irritation was the knowledge slowly making itself felt that
the situation could be much more unpleasant for her if he wanted it to be. At
no time had he exerted his full strength against her. There had always been the
sense that he could have put an end to her struggles with him much quicker and
more decisively if he had been willing to hurt her. When she struck him or
tried to use her nails, he did not retaliate, preferring instead to confine her
movements. His usual tactic was to prevent too much damage to himself while
allowing her to tire. Even this morning, as she fought him in the water, half
the time he had been supporting them both. There had even been that one moment,
as much as she hated to admit it, when he had allowed her to rest long enough,
after he had stopped her breathing to keep her from sounding the alarm, to
renew her attack. If his sole aim had been to subdue her in the shortest length
of time, he would only have had to hold her head underwater. She had tested his
strength enough to know that, regardless of the fight she put up, he could have
done it.

The knowledge, instead of earning her gratitude, only
increased her fire. It seemed to belittle the threat she posed to him, somewhat
like a strong man willing to handicap himself to assure an interesting fight.

All right, she was no match for him in speed or strength,
but she still had the traditional woman’s weapon. Men called it cunning,
trickery, intuition, but a better word was intelligence. She could not be
counted out yet. And if she had to stoop to methods that were not strictly fair
and square, then so be it. There was nothing legal or just in his using his
superior strength to keep her there against her will. He deserved what he got.

Several times during the afternoon she heard Charles moving
about the house, going in and out. He sounded almost aimless, as if he were
bored with his own company, or else disturbed about something. Once she got up
and looked out the window, but he was only sitting in one of the lounges on the
front veranda, staring out over the lake with his hands locked behind his head.

It was getting late, nearly dusk-dark, when she heard his
footsteps in the hall. She expected them to stop at his room, but instead they
continued, pausing outside her door. A knock came.

“Kelly?”

“Go away.”

“Let me in.”

She did not answer. She should have known he would not be
deterred. The bedroom-door locks in the house were symbolic more than anything
else. Constructed with a center hole in the outside knob, it was child’s play
to open them. Kelly heard his footsteps retreating, then coming back. A moment
later, he stood in the open door. He slipped the carpenter’s nail he had used
to force the spring lock into his pocket and moved to stand at the foot of the
bed.

“Very clever.” She flicked him an annihilating look, but did
not move from where she lay on her stomach with her chin propped on her folded
hands.