Love Captive (4 page)

"Are you hungry? This isn't my boat, as I've mentioned, but there's surely food in the galley with which I can make us a snack. Or a cup of coffee perhaps?"

"I'd love some coffee, thank you," Anne murmured, still feeling wistfully sad over the kiss that they had almost shared.

Excusing himself, Carlos left the cabin. Anne went into the washroom. She worked to repair her makeup and combed her straight, shoulder-length hair until it shone. She stepped back into the cabin just as Carlos returned holding a mug of steaming coffee in each hand.

Without speaking, he placed the two mugs down on the table and seated himself. Again Anne watched in fascination at how elegantly graceful his movements were. He picked up his mug in both hands, blew off steam, and began to sip. "Ah, just right," he murmured with a quick little smile. "Hot and strong. I hope that's how you like it too."

"Yes, thank you, I do." Anne seated herself across from him and, picking up her mug in both hands, began to sip too. Over the rim of her mug she looked directly at Carlos. His dark eyes circled up to meet her pale blue ones. They sat for several moments looking intently at each other, then, frowning, Carlos lowered his eyes and his mug.

"You're a very pretty girl, Anne McCullough, a real American beauty. I suppose that means that your brother is a remarkably handsome man. And my foolish young sister, delighted with your brother's appearance, can't distinguish between physical infatuation and proper affection, which stems from a common background and heritage. And on this superficial, fleeting feeling of physical attraction, she stupidly thinks she can build a marriage."

"Which lots of people manage to do!" Anne replied heatedly, stung by Carlos's words. "Some American marriages end in divorce, I grant you that, but that doesn't mean that most of them do. And for two people to marry for any reason other than love is—is exploitative and opportunistic!"

"Well, well," Carlos answered, flipping out a coolly contemptuous smile. "Those are strong words. Exploitative and opportunistic, you say? If I had a fortune-hunting scoundrel of a brother, I don't believe I'd use those words quite so glibly and freely. The one way my sister Dolores can protect herself from being exploited, from being married for her name and fortune, is by marrying a man whose position and fortune are equal to hers. If anyone is an opportunist, it is your brother, not I."

Anne blinked against sudden hot tears. She knew she had been bested in the exchange, but still she couldn't resist continuing the argument. "You just absolutely refuse to believe that the two of them fell sincerely in love, don't you? You just won't admit that that's what happened. That my brother Michael might be, and is, a wonderful young man fully deserving of your sister's love, and that Dorrie, far from being duped, knows exactly what she wants and what she is doing. That possibility absolutely escapes you, doesn't it?"

Carlos eyed her steadily with a scornful little smile. "Yes, I admit that that possibility strikes me as completely absurd." He stood up, black eyes arrogantly fixed on her pale face. "As completely absurd, in fact, as any notion that you and I, for instance—well, you see what I mean." He turned and left the cabin, leaving her to struggle with even more pressing tears.

Oh, I hate him
! Anne thought first, furiously grabbing up a tissue from her purse to wipe her eyes. Oh, but isn't he right? she thought next. Or… is he right? He was so handsome, so incredibly dynamic. He was also a wealthy man, heir to a title. He would one day be a duke, the woman he married a duchess. How much of the sharp hunger she felt for him now was based on what he was as a person—did she really have the least idea what he was like as a person?—and how much on what she knew about his family background and money? Had he turned out to be the son of a cab driver and a seamstress, as she'd speculated there in the bar, would she have the same intense, painful interest in him now?

Trying to be as honest with herself as she could, Anne admitted that quite possibly she wouldn't. But—if that was the case, how did a man like Carlos protect himself from being exploited, from being chased by greedy, scheming women? By sticking to those in his own special sphere, of course. By socializing with those who had the same wealthy background he had. Which was precisely the point he'd made.

Yes, he's right; unfortunately, he's right, Anne decided, wiping away the last of her tears. He and I don't belong together, and quite possibly Michael and Dorrie don't either. After all, American marriages, based as they so often were on little other than a strong physical attraction, did end in divorce a heartbreakingly high number of times. Therefore, Carlos had every right to do as he was doing, to try to persuade his sister to return home and avoid what could very likely prove to be an extremely costly mistake.
Okay, Carlos, you win
, Anne thought wearily,
you win
.

She had regained complete control of herself by the time Carlos reentered the cabin, carrying a tray with two plates of sandwiches.

"I decided I was hungry after all," he announced in a coolly distant voice, "so I went to have a look and found the makings for tuna fish sandwiches. I made one for you too, if you want it. If not, no matter." He placed their plates on the table and slid the tray to the floor. Reseating himself without looking at her, he picked up his sandwich.

After a moment, sighing, Anne decided that she too was hungry. With a murmured, "Thank you," she began to eat.

They munched away in an unfriendly silence, Anne doing her best to forget her companion's presence. She felt a sharp sadness well up in her, and suddenly found herself remembering times when, as a small child walking by her mother's side through large department stores, she had been told sternly that she could look but not touch. She smiled wryly to herself, realizing she felt that same hungry yearning now that she'd felt then, the need to touch and stroke and hold in her arms the marvelous things she saw. But… she couldn't then and she couldn't now. She'd been born into a poor family, and when they'd gone shopping, her mother had always been fearful that her children might damage expensive merchandise for which she'd be forced to pay. There had never been enough money to buy her the things she craved as a child, and now that she was grown, nothing had changed. She was still too poor and nameless to ever have for her own the man for whom her heart now ached. But for Pete's sake, Anne scolded herself, choking down the sandwich Carlos had fixed for her, I've only just met him, and if there's one thing that's certain it's that I'll most certainly get over him.

Over him
? Anne's thoughts echoed, and she heard herself burst out laughing. How tired she must be to be taking herself so seriously! How could she possibly think that what she felt for Carlos was anything but the silliest kind of schoolgirlish infatuation? So he was handsome, rich, a Spanish nobleman—so what? The fact remained that she'd met him only a couple of hours before and knew next to nothing about him. To imagine herself falling in love with him… Still laughing, Anne raised her eyes and looked directly across the table, genuinely amused at herself.

"What's the joke?" Carlos asked curiously, black eyes lifting to meet her gaze.

"Oh, nothing." Anne sipped from her mug. Putting the mug down, she added casually, "I was just thinking about what you said, you know, about how you and I— Suddenly I could see what you meant, how utterly ridiculous such a pairing would be, and I found myself laughing about it, that's all. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Most certainly you haven't offended me," Carlos responded coldly, sounding offended nonetheless. "As you said—as I said earlier—it is of course a completely ridiculous notion. That is not to say that I don't find you attractive. You're an extremely pretty girl, as I acknowledged earlier. Naturally any healthy male, as I consider myself to be, is going to… well, physically respond to you. That's only normal, how could it be otherwise? And to find myself alone with you like this, late at night on a gently swaying boat… But tell me, do you not feel it, too? Do you sense this same attraction between us?" His voice was low and seductive as he leaned over to take her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to meet his ebony black ones.

"I… I… don't know," she stammered, lost in the velvet depths of his gaze. She did not understand what had come over her. Only a minute before she had been laughing at the impossibility of anything between them. Yet now—why was her heart hammering so? Why did she find herself longing for the touch of his lips? It was impossible, he'd said so himself. "If only you weren't who you are," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

"Yes, if I weren't who I am," Carlos echoed in a soft, faraway voice; then abruptly he took hold of Anne by both arms and drew her up. He pulled her against him, and his strong, sensuous mouth came down on hers. He kissed her very softly at first, then slowly his lips hardened and the kiss deepened. From the moment he'd touched her, all thought deserted Anne's mind. As he held her close she felt almost suffocated with excitement, with the need to press herself even closer to him, to melt against him and into him. But before she had lost control enough to do this, Carlos suddenly thrust her away again and released her arms.

"But I am who I am," he muttered. Without giving her a second glance, he turned and strode out.

Sinking down onto her chair, Anne stared after him, watching him disappear.

He was gone for what seemed a very long time. Anne sat at the table slowly sipping her coffee. At the sound of his steps returning at last, she rose and swung to face him. Carlos stopped just inside the door, frowning at her. His face looked even more grim, it seemed to Anne, and his eyes even blacker.

"I've been up on the pier," he explained, "swinging the lantern around as a welcoming signal to your brother, but there's no sign of him. What time did he say he'd meet us here?"

"Well, he—he didn't say," Anne stammered, startled by Carlos's question. She'd forgotten all about Michael, about the fact that Michael had said he'd come tonight to meet them, that that was their sole reason for being here. "But I—surely he'll get here anytime," she added weakly.

"Of course," Carlos snapped impatiently, "unless this entire trip was a—how do you put it?—wildgoose chase. Would this be your brother's idea of a joke, do you think, having me drive miles and miles out here for no reason at all? Or after agreeing to come, did he simply lose his nerve, too much of a coward to face me?" After contemptuously spitting out these words, Carlos spun on his heel and left again.

This time he was gone an even longer time, so long, in fact, that Anne considered following him out to see what he was doing. But—what would be the point of that? And where in the world was Michael? Oh, she was so tired, all but completely exhausted. At last, standing up, Anne gathered together the dirty dishes and left the cabin, finding her way to the small kitchen. She rinsed off the crockery, then set the dishes to dry. Yawning, half asleep on her feet, she returned to the cabin, used the washroom, then decided to lie down for a time on the lower bunk. This was the last thing she remembered. The moment she stretched out on the bunk and put her head down on the pillow, she must have fallen asleep. Her last thought was of Carlos. Aside from that she remembered nothing until she woke the next morning.