Love Captive (2 page)

"After a smooth and uneventful flight, I hope?" Carlos remarked, the corners of his finely molded mouth curling into a very slight, perfunctory smile in answer to hers.

"Oh, yes, a very nice flight," Anne agreed. If only she could catch her breath properly, calm the excited pounding of her pulse, and concentrate on the real purpose of this meeting. Any minute now, she knew, Carlos would drop these pleasantries and—and then what?

Before saying anything more, Carlos glanced away. He sat for a moment gazing idly around the room, a look of distaste spreading across his face. Anne glanced around too, seeing with dismay what she knew Carlos was seeing—the inappropriateness of the meeting place her brother had chosen. The small room they were in was dreadfully crowded, with postage-stamp-size tables all but jammed against each other. Behind a small dance floor four musicians sat playing instruments that Anne couldn't identify. The music they played sounded strange and grating, a harsh screeching in her ears. The air was thick with smoke, the noise level nearly deafening. Possibly—hopefully—Carlos would suggest that they leave here and go somewhere else.

His dark eyes circled back. "What word is it that you Americans use for a place like this—a dive, is it? This is a dive, yes?" He paused, his black eyes gazing even more intently at her, and then he said, "And why is it your brother allows you to come to a dive like this? Has he no more respect for you than that?"

Anne's pulse leaped uncomfortably. "It isn't a question of respect," she answered hastily. "He… just felt that an out-of-the-way place like this, in a… less affluent part of town, would be safer, that's all."

"Safer?" Carlos echoed the word, looking genuinely puzzled. A small smile flickered momentarily across his mouth. Glancing around, he said, "Surely no place could be less safe than this. Never would I allow my sister to go alone to this part of the city, believe me." His smile dying away, he set his lips in a firm, disapproving line as he once again glanced back at her.

Anne felt a small twitch of amusement curl her mouth. "Oh, I believe you—" she almost addressed him as "Carlos," then caught herself; possibly that wouldn't show sufficient respect this early in their acquaintance. "But—if I may say so—this is surely one of the differences between your culture and ours. Between how things are considered and done in the Old World, that is in Spain, and in the New World, at least in the United States. Back home, my brother has no right to say one way or another whether I go to a club like this. He is not my guardian or chaperone any more than I am his. I am a free adult, my own person, and I don't need Michael's permission for anything I do."

Carlos eyed her even more intently, if possible. "Ah, yes," he said, "but your brother didn't just 'allow' you to come here, he sent you here. Surely even in America that makes a difference. I would not send even my worst enemy, if she were female, to a place like this."

Anne felt more than a touch of annoyance. "And neither would my brother," she answered rather tartly, "under other circumstances. But I've already explained to you he felt that a club like this would be… well, that we'd run less of a risk in a place like this. He is dreadfully concerned that if and when he meets you, as he has agreed to do, you will have him followed and in this way will learn where your sister is."

"And that is what you meant by safer!" he exclaimed softly, a slight smile tugging on his mouth. "Ah, you Americans," he added a moment later, "how you love your intrigue, yes? Please excuse my saying so, but possibly your brother has seen too many movies. For this reason, we must meet in this foul-smelling, filthy club, and when I arrive here, instead of seeing your brother, as I expected to, I am met by a woman. And not even one with whom I might hopefully converse on a somewhat meaningful level. Rather than sending, as envoy, his father, an older brother, or even his mother, whom does he send? A snippet of a girl, even younger and less responsible than he is!"

As Carlos glanced arrogantly across with a long-suffering, condescending look, Anne felt her earlier annoyance slip into anger.

"I am not a
snippet
," she snapped, "nor am I younger than Michael, or in any way irresponsible. The fact is, my brother is twenty-two; I am twenty-four. We don't have an older brother to send, and our parents are dead. And I'd like to know exactly why you can't deal with me?"

"You're twenty-four, you say?" Carlos responded. "Believe me, you don't look it. I took you for about sixteen."

This was said in a tone so close to contempt that Anne felt anything but flattered. Her anger deepened into such rage she could feel the blood pounding through her veins. "Well, whether I look it or not," she cried in fury, "I do happen to be twenty-four, and I don't care who you are, Carlos Philip Whatever, you will either start speaking to me with respect or this meeting is over right now! Do you read me, mister?"

"If you mean, can I hear you," Carlos answered, his voice suddenly even softer, "not only can
I
hear you, half the other people in this room can hear you, despite the cacophonous wailing of those four musicians. Is it your desire to create a public scene?" He leaned slightly toward her over the table while saying this, his black eyes spitting contempt at her.

Anne leaned over toward him, lowering her voice, whispering shrilly back, "No, it is not my desire to do that, nor to have anything at all to do with you, believe me. But I came here as my brother's envoy—"

"Because he was too frightened to come here himself," Carlos interrupted, "after agreeing that he would do so."

"Because he knew he couldn't trust you!" Anne almost shouted in her fury, drawing back again. "And now I can see why. Now, are we going to work toward having a reasonable discussion or shall I leave?" She pushed her chair back an inch, ready to rise if her arrogant companion uttered one more contemptuous word.

Instead of making any move to stop her, Carlos leaned back in his chair. Black eyes still flashing contempt at her, he airily waved her off. "Go ahead, leave. That's all I would expect from you, considering who you are, sister to that fortune hunter. But, let me warn you, I shall find a way to reclaim my sister despite you both."

Half standing, Anne wavered. She bit her lip nervously, then allowed her blue eyes to move down to where she was looking directly at Carlos again. At the sight of his magnetically compelling gaze, her anger seemed to drain out of her and she felt breathless again, and rather weak. With a small, dismayed smile, she sank back onto her chair.

"Look, Carlos," she said, the first time she had dared to call him that, "we've obviously gotten off to a very bad start, so let's begin all over, all right? I'm Anne McCullough," she ended, extending her hand across the table to him as her lips moved into a friendly smile.

In a surprisingly quick and graceful movement, Carlos shot to his feet. He took her hand in his as he smiled in answer. "How do you do, Anne McCullough? It is my pleasure to meet you. Is it all right if I sit down?"

"Of course, please do."

Anne smiled even more broadly, in relief and pleasure, as Carlos reseated himself. His black eyes gazed steadily across at her, his slow smile giving that aristocratic face a new warmth and undeniable charm.

"You are right, Anne McCullough," he said, "we did get off to a bad beginning, for which I apologize. I had hoped very much to see your brother here and—"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Anne murmured placatingly. "When he explained the situation to me, I honestly tried to get him to come here with me, as he'd agreed to do, but Dorrie—"

"You refer to my sister Dolores?" Carlos interrupted, with a slightly startled look.

"Yes, your sister Dolores. Michael kept calling her Dorrie, so that's how I think of her. Anyway, he said Dorrie heatedly objected to his having agreed to meet you, that she kept insisting—and I hope you won't take offense at this—but, anyway, your sister insisted that you were not to be trusted. She said that you were so intent on getting her to return home with you that there was nothing you wouldn't stoop to achieve that. So in the end Michael gave in to Dorrie's tears and decided to send me here in his place."

Carlos listened to this explanation with his head slightly tilted, an intent expression on his face. "Ah, I see," he murmured when Anne finished. "And my sister is right, of course. I will do anything within my power to locate her and take her home. That's why I am here, in Morocco. But what else would any family do when a young girl has been kidnapped?"

Anne smiled. She almost gave in to an impulse to reach over to touch her companion's hand, but at the last moment she restrained herself.

"Oh, come on, Carlos," she said almost teasingly, "you know perfectly well no one kidnapped your sister. She met my brother, they fell in love, and, knowing your family would never approve of their marriage, they ran away together."

"Fell in love?" Carlos echoed grimly, drawing back, his black eyes once again glowing coals. "She's twenty years old, a child, what does she know of love? And most certainly she is right that our family will never approve of her marriage to this man. If only I could see her and talk to her, I know I could bring her to her senses and persuade her to return home with me."

Anne felt a fresh wave of annoyance. How coldly sure of himself Carlos was, how insufferably arrogant! "Well, I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting your sister," she responded rather haughtily, "but from what Michael said, she's deeply in love with him and determined to marry him no matter what your family says or does. Their plan is to fly to America as soon as possible and get married there, where the custom is for people to marry because they're in love, as Michael and Dorrie are."

"And where a third of your marriages end in divorce!" Carlos shot at her with a sneer. "That's what comes of marrying for what you Americans call love! Marry today, divorce tomorrow—that's the custom, is it not? What does my sister know of this Michael except that apparently he pleases her senses? What do they have in common, tell me that? On what can they base a marriage? On the pleasures of the senses? Ah, yes! Fall in love today, get married. Fall out of love tomorrow, no matter, get a divorce. You may accept that as a pattern of living for your brother, but I reject it for my sister. The next time you see your brother just tell him that: I reject this so-called love they share, I reject his plans for my sister's future, I reject him! If he were half a man he'd meet me so I could tell him face to face!"

Carlos drew back in his chair, sitting stiffly upright, his black eyes flashingly alive in his otherwise controlled face. Anne stared across at him feeling oddly moved and deeply upset. Was Carlos right?
Would
Dorrie be better off if she forgot about Michael and returned home? When Dorrie and Michael came from such disparate backgrounds, had so very little in common— Oh, dear, Anne thought, and became aware that her head now hurt, as well as her heart.

Blinking, she swung her eyes from Carlos and glanced out across the crowded nightclub. The blue-black smoke in the air seemed even thicker, and the wailing music more discordant. Tangier, city of mystery, city of intrigue, a city where East met West, where Africa and Europe mingled. And tonight, Anne thought wryly, unhappily, a place where New World romantic independence met Old World arrogant nobility. And from this meeting would result—God only knew.

"So?" Carlos interrupted her thoughts a moment later. "You suggested a reasonable discussion— about what, if I may ask? What more is there for us to say? I wish to meet with your brother, to try to talk sensibly with him. He agrees to meet me, then sends you instead. Where do we go from here, as you Americans so picturesquely put it?"

Carlos once again looked directly across at her. His proud face looked, it seemed to Anne, just a slight bit tired. She felt a shiver of fatigue—and pleasure—run down her spine.

"I don't know, Carlos, you tell me. At the moment I'm feeling dreadfully tired, far too tired to think. I've gotten practically no sleep since Michael phoned me two days ago. I've spent endless hours flying halfway around the globe. And so far, this hasn't turned out to be much of a vacation. At the moment I am suffering not only from near exhaustion but also from jet lag, not to mention a great uneasiness at finding myself in a city that I find very strange. So don't expect me to come up with any startling or brilliant suggestions, please."

As Anne's words died away, she flashed out a quick, nervous smile. To her great pleasure, Carlos smiled back, his sensuous lips curving lazily into that wonderfully attractive smile.

Leaning forward he said, in a quiet, friendly voice, "I know what you mean about being tired. I'm dreadfully fatigued too. Since Dolores ran away four days ago, I've scarcely slept. Believe me, I am as anxious as you to bring this whole problem to some resolution, no matter what it turns out to be. If only I could see your brother and talk to him, I'm sure we could come to some agreement. If I can't talk sense into him, possibly he can convince me of the strength of his position. Then I could return home to convince our father, and Dolores could come out of hiding, obtain a proper passport, and fly to America to be married, yes? Why does your brother so stupidly refuse to meet me?"

As he spoke, Carlos leaned even farther forward. This brought him so close that Anne found it hard to breathe. His black eyes, no longer flashing contempt, seemed suddenly very deep, surprisingly intimate. Anne felt pleasurable shivers run through her. Besides being so incredibly handsome, surely Carlos was right. If Michael believed in what he was doing, if he believed that he and Dorrie had a right to be together and to marry, then he should talk with Dorrie's brother. It was stupid and cowardly not to do so.

"Have you a telephone number for him?" Carlos asked in the same confidential tone. "Surely you do. Why don't you go phone him right now and tell him I'm here, still hoping to meet him? No matter how long it takes for him to get here, I'll be happy to wait. And you needn't fear I'm trying to trap you. I'll sit right here at this table, in open view, while you go to the bar to use the phone. How can this possibly hurt your brother? Please, Anne, will you phone him?"