Love Captive (14 page)

"I guess we'll have to forget about rescue and just adjust to the idea of spending the night here," she suggested. "Surely we'll be all right. Then in the morning—well, maybe in the morning someone will stop."

"Let's hope so." Carlos reached over to touch Anne's shoulder, smiling. "And thanks for being such a good sport, Anne. I really appreciate it. Be right back."

Again Carlos climbed out of the car. He walked to the rear, opened the trunk, and hauled out their two cases. He tossed them into the back of the car, then climbed in once again behind the wheel.

"It's going to get cold—really cold—so I suggest we put on all the clothes we can, then use what's left to cover ourselves. That way, maybe we'll keep from freezing to death."

"Good idea."

In a friendly, companionable silence they opened their cases and began pulling on additional clothing. Anne grinned as they both began to gain more and more bulk. Carlos grinned in response, and before long, for no particular reason, they both burst out laughing. As their laughter died away, Carlos drew Anne to him and kissed her, his sensuous mouth pressing warmly on hers.

"Anne, you're a truly wonderful girl," he whispered into her ear, then he kissed her ear, her forehead, her cheek, and again her mouth. Never before had he kissed her so gently, with so much tenderness, and in spite of herself Anne felt her body responding, wanting his kiss, the warmth of his arms around her, the fast, hard beating of his heart that she could feel even through all the layers of clothing they wore.

"Oh, Anne, my beautiful, beautiful Anne," Carlos whispered, his breath coming fast, "I want you, Anne. Ever since the first night we met, I've wanted you. And I know you want me too. Don't try to deny it."

Before Anne could answer, could even decide how she wanted to answer, Carlos's mouth again claimed hers. He lifted her awkwardly and slid across the seat under her, so that she sat on his lap away from the steering wheel. As he continued to kiss her, one of his hands went to her throat, then slipped in under the sweater and jacket she wore. Anne felt instantly startled by the warm touch of his fingers. He forced his hand farther down inside her clothing, warm and seeking against her flesh, and Anne felt her own breath coming hard, coming fast. Carlos's arm around her shifted a bit, then again his mouth hungrily sought hers. His exploring hand pushed on, on, and then reached its goal, cupping tightly over her breast.

"Anne, you're so lovely, so warm and lovely," Carlos whispered hoarsely into her ear. "I've tried to ignore the attraction between us, but it is impossible. Oh, Anne, I want you, I want you so much!"

His mouth once again sought hers, passionately pressing it into softness, into openness. His hand drew away from her breast, eased out, pulled her clothing carefully together again, then lowered onto her thigh. His fingers pressed against her outer thigh, through the layers of clothing, molding her slight feminine form to his hard masculine one. His touch seemed to light a fire in her, bringing great warmth, generating an inner, tumultuous warmth that soon had Anne breathing as hard as Carlos, responding to his drugging kisses with all the passion in her, all the mindless passion never before awakened.

"Oh, Carlos," Anne moaned between kisses, and her mind screamed, along with her body,
Oh, darling, don't stop, kiss me, kiss me, love me, and don't ever stop!

How long they kissed and caressed each other, pressing frantically together in their passion, feeling each other's loving response even through all the bulky clothing they wore, Anne could never afterward estimate. An hour perhaps, or a longer time or a briefer time, who could know? There are moments when time stops, other moments when it stretches out into eternity. All Anne knew for certain later was that they kissed, and Carlos tenderly but passionately caressed her, until time stood still and the universe exploded and the only reality was love. And at last, at last, secure in the arms of love, warmed by the memory of love, the reality of love, she fell asleep, safely cradled in Carlos's arms.

Anne woke in the morning feeling stiff and a bit sore but not overly cold. As she glanced around, straightening up, she saw that she was alone in the car. She climbed out, yawning and stretching, and spotted Carlos already up on the highway, signaling frantically to an oncoming car. The car swerved to the side to avoid hitting Carlos, but then about a hundred yards farther on the driver slowed up and stopped.

He rolled down his window and yelled something at Carlos, in Spanish. Carlos called back, and the two engaged in an animated exchange, not a word of which Anne could understand. But Carlos's voice sounded pleased and relieved as he shouted, "
Muchas gracias, se
ň
or
," and he smiled broadly as he waved good-bye to the man.

He ran off the highway and went slipping and sliding down the little gully, his handsome face glowing with light in the clear, cold, early morning air. He came to a stop on the other side of their little car, grinning across at Anne, black eyes flashing with a million stars.

"
Buenos dias, mi amiga
. I do hope you slept passably well. Certainly you are looking exceedingly pretty this morning, if I may say so."

Anne felt a wave of tension, of annoyance, run through her as she narrowed her eyes and stared across at Carlos. His thick, gleaming black hair had a somewhat tousled look and there was a pleased, knowing smile on his well-formed lips. She had never seen him look more handsome, nor had she ever seen him in what appeared to be such high spirits. Somehow, seeing him like this caused her pain and she instinctively steeled herself against it.

"I slept well enough, thank you," she murmured, her cheeks flushing warmly at the memory of the passionate kisses and tender embraces they had indulged in before falling asleep. "You too, I hope. But what were you and that man saying to each other just now?"

"Oh, that," Carlos responded lightly and laughed. "He agreed to send a tow truck back for us, so we shouldn't be stuck up here for more than an hour or two longer, I hope. With luck we may still make it to my home by tonight, and if not, by tomorrow morning."

Carlos paused for a moment, glancing across at her with dancing black eyes.

"But happily enough, dear Anne, I no longer feel as much pressure as I did before. If we don't make it home until tomorrow or even the day after, so be it.
Que sera sera
. I had a wonderful dream last night and somehow it still seems so real I no longer worry. Shall I tell you about my dream, or are you Americans far too practical to care about such things?" He grinned teasingly at her, standing on the far side of the little car.

Anne tensed even more painfully. It was almost more than she could endure to continue looking straight across into Carlos's supremely handsome face.
I had a dream last night too
, she thought, the words coming unbidden to her mind;
I dreamed you held me close and kissed me and
—

But
his
dream wouldn't be the same. She knew it wouldn't. She knew hearing it would hurt. She quickly erected as much defense as she could muster and responded casually, "Of course I'd like to hear about your dream if you care to tell me. If not, no matter." She glanced away as casually as possible, with an offhand little shrug.

Carlos burst out laughing. He walked around to her, grabbing hold of her by the arms. His eyes gazed insistently, piercingly down into hers.

"Oh, how nonchalant you Americans are," he said teasingly. "So practical, so pragmatic, pretending you have no romance in your souls, that you have matured beyond foolish romanticism. We Spaniards are the romantics, the mystics, the dreamers,
si
, while you Americans are all work, science and industry, no? In the face of your yawning indifference, I have half a mind not to tell you of my dream after all."

Stung by his words, by the certainty that what he was about to tell her would hurt as few things had ever hurt her, Anne pulled irritably away, remarking tartly, "Oh, you'll tell me, all right. Obviously you're simply bursting to tell, so don't let me stop you. What was the dream?"

With an air of happy triumph, Carlos leaned forward and kissed Anne's cheek. "Sweet Anne, pretty Anne, lovely Anne," he murmured, "I dreamed that we arrived home and who should come running out to greet me, with a loving smile, throwing her arms around me, but my sister Dolores! The dream was so clear, so very clear. I could see everything, the wide steps, our home in Palencia, and Dolores flying down to meet me with a loving hug and a kiss."

Carlos paused, his smiling eyes gazing down into Anne's. "So now I am sure that all is well. Dolores is already home or soon will be. Father is no longer fretting, worrying himself sick with grief. Now you too, Anne, can relax. In another day, two at most, I will be reunited with my sister and you with your brother. We will both be free of this disastrous affair, you to return home, I to return to my work."

Carlos caught hold of Anne by the shoulders, insistently forcing her to face him again. "Or don't you believe in dreams? Perhaps you think them silly fancies spun by our wishes, with nothing prophetic in them. Is that it, Anne?"

Carlos no longer smiled as he gazed down at her. Rather, his eyes were now shadowed.

Again Anne pulled free. "Who knows?" she answered tartly, stepping away. "Certainly I'm no authority on dreams. Now if you don't mind, I'd rather wait inside the car."

As Anne opened the door to gain her retreat, Carlos walked over to the highway again and began running back and forth along the edge, as though for exercise, to keep himself warm. No sooner was she safely inside the car than stinging tears welled into her eyes. She grabbed a tissue out of her pocket, blew her nose, and composed herself. Obviously last night had meant no more to Carlos than their three golden days in St. Tropez. She kept remembering the interested way he had eyed the voluptuous actresses and models in the restaurant in Paris. Carlos responded to women. From their very first night together, on the boat in Morocco, he had never gone to the least pains to hide this fact. And last night—

Well, obviously he had seen no reason not to take advantage of the situation, no reason not to enjoy a couple of hours of mild lovemaking, of kisses and caresses—what better way to spend the time, under the circumstances? And I certainly can't claim he forced me or harmed me, Anne told herself sternly, trying to ease the terrible pain in her heart, the stunned feeling of betrayal. It wasn't Carlos who had betrayed her, she had to admit. In not resisting him, not mocking him and pushing him away, she had betrayed herself.

A sob of pain burst from her, but she quickly stifled the one that threatened to follow, and again blew her nose. Well, it was all over now, live and learn, she told herself. Carlos had awakened this morning feeling buoyantly happy after his dream, the dream he saw as prophetic. Today or tomorrow they would arrive at his home, Dorrie and Michael would be there, and then Carlos's dear friend Anne would be free to leave, to fly away home—and good riddance to her.

Thanks for being such a good sport, Carlos would say, and have a nice flight home. Sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused you. Good-bye. Good luck. And away he would go, back to his work, his showgirls, his life. And possibly once every five years for the rest of his life he would remember this dreary affair, the time his beloved sister ran off with that fortune-hunting rascal and for several miserable days he'd been stuck escorting the sister, who fortunately was young and pretty enough and a very good sport.