Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

“What if I say I don’t want anyone else, that I want you?”

“Then you’ll be in for a big disappointment.” Libby’s breathing was rapid now. The way Warwick looked at her, a long, slow, calculated appraisal, was as intimate as if he were actually touching her, and to her shame she felt herself respond. She swung away, disgusted with herself. “I have no intention of being treated as a plaything.”

Reluctant Hostage
Margaret Mayo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Tina and Andy

Happy memories always

CHAPTER ONE

THE man’s smoky eyes were still on her, not wavering to left or right, making Libby feel that she was the centre of his universe, that no one and nothing else mattered. It was a whole new experience. The unaccustomed warmth that had started in the pit of her stomach had spread to every corner of her body. It was a feeling that surpassed all other feelings, creating exciting, alien sensations. And the fact that it was happening to her, plain Libby Eaton, whom boys rarely looked at twice, made it all the more amazing.

‘I think we should introduce ourselves. My name’s Warwick.’ His smile was easy and all-consuming, and Libby felt as though she were drowning in the depths of his eyes, which was madness, insanity, but she hadn’t the will-power to shake him off, to snap out of this plethora of feelings and emotions that had surprisingly crept over her.

He held out his hand as he spoke, and hesitantly she took it. It was the first physical contact they had made since the plane had left Heathrow more than three hours earlier, and tiny shock waves of electricity stabbed through her, heightening the feelings that already existed. His hand was warm and strong and held hers in a grip so firm that it told her this chance meeting meant something to him too.

‘Libby,’ she announced shyly, her response coming a mere second after his question, yet it felt like an aeon.

‘Libby?’ He gave her name a whole new meaning, making it sound special and somehow sexy. She had never heard it said in quite the same way. He had a deep voice with an unusual timbre that sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. ‘Is that short for anything?’

‘Elizabeth, but I’m never called that.’

‘I prefer Libby too. It suits you. You’re not an Elizabeth. Libby suggests a softer, more feminine person. Mmm, yes, Libby; I like it.’ Still he held her hand, and Libby’s whole body felt as if it were on fire.

‘And how old are you, little girl with the beautiful name?’

‘Little girl’? She was five feet seven! And as for feminine, well, Rebecca was the glamour girl, the pretty one, the one who was never short of boyfriends. Libby had always considered herself unattractive and gauche. ‘I’m twenty-three,’ she announced, almost defiantly.

A thick dark brow rose. ‘So old!’ he mocked.

‘And you, what are you? Twenty-eight, twenty-nine?’

‘Thirty-four.’

‘So old!’ she returned, laughing, but it was old to her. The only boys she had felt any interest in had been nearer her own age.

Finally he let go of her hand, and Libby was left with the sensation of a million electric impulses shooting through her skin. She clasped her two hands together and savoured the feeling. This was a moment in life to be remembered. It was doubtful she would see this man again once they touched down in Tenerife. He was a ship that passed in the night, a magical stranger who made her feel like a different girl.

Libby’s experience of men was limited. She was too conscious of the fact that she was a mere pale shadow of her beautiful sister, too uninteresting to hold the attention of any man for long. Besides, there had been little time for boyfriends since their mother died. When she wasn’t working there was always so much to do in the house.

‘Are you married?’ The question was out before she could stop it and her cheeks coloured with faint embarrassment. But it troubled her to think he could be expertly playing with her emotions. She wanted to savour the memory with no regrets.

‘Would it bother you if I were?’

Libby did not know how to answer that. To say yes would reveal too much, but to say no would be a lie. She lifted her narrow shoulders in what she hoped was a careless shrug. ‘It was idle curiosity.’

He grinned, not believing her for one second. ‘No, I’m not married, Libby.’

‘Do you live in Tenerife?’ Although they had talked non-stop for most of the journey, it had been nonsense talk: anecdotes, observations, ambitions. He had told her that he wanted to fly to the moon, she had said she wanted to own an island. It was obvious from his accent that he was English, but that was all she knew.

He nodded. ‘I have done for the last twelve years.’

‘Do you intend spending the rest of your life there?’

It was his turn to shrug. ‘I might do. I’ve really no long-term plans at the moment.’

‘What do you do for a living?’

He laughed. ‘All these questions. It is of no consequence at this moment what I do. Today you are the most important person in my life. You have transformed a mundane flight into something magical. I have made this trip dozens of times, but never met a girl who has made me forget the tedium of repetition.’

Could he really be talking about her? thought Libby. Her straight ash-blonde hair was too pale and thin to be attractive, unlike her sister’s thick golden locks that hung over her shoulders in a tumult of rich waves. Her complexion was too pale as well, and her wide eyes made her look like a waif.

And yet the way this man spoke, the way he looked at her, made her feel different, almost beautiful. It was a foreign and totally unexpected sensation, and goose-bumps rose on her skin as he continued to appraise her.

‘I’m not a seasoned traveller myself,’ she admitted. ‘In fact flying makes me nervous.’ She had only ever flown once before, and that was on a short holiday to Jersey when their parents were alive. Yet now, with this man at her side, she had not given it a thought. From the moment she’d sat down she had been aware of nothing but him.

‘You’ve not shown your fear today.’

That’s because of you, she wanted to say, but he knew it anyway. It was there in the way he looked at her. He had such deep-seeing eyes, an unusual blue-grey, with thick dark lashes. His hair was almost black, cut quite short and brushed back, only the front few strands falling untidily and yet attractively forward. His deeply tanned skin covered the chiselled bones of his face. There was a raw masculinity about him that could not be ignored.

A nice face, she thought, kind and considerate. He had a full lower lip, suggesting he might be a passionate lover, and Libby felt her skin crawl again. Why was she thinking like this? What madness was possessing her? She had never entertained such thoughts in her life.

‘Are you cold?’ His hand came over hers again, a frown of concern in his eyes.

‘Someone walking over my grave.’ She tried to laugh off the feeling, but it was a poor attempt—a weak smile, no more, as her eyes were drawn to his.

It happened now as it had earlier—everyone else on the plane became non-existent. They were in their own private universe where hearts thudded and pulses raced—and, as there was no likelihood of this chance meeting developing into any sort of relationship, she decided she might as well make the most of it—and then forget him!

Libby’s eyes, which she disparagingly called mauve, and privately thought were too large for her face, were an unusual amethyst. Unknown to herself, they were sometimes a deep, regal purple, sometimes as pale as lavender blossom. At this moment, as hunger for this man took possession of her, they were richly purple, full and luminous, seeking and searching every plane of his face, every pore, every line.

He let her hand go, and she felt strangely bereft, and at that moment the captain announced that they would soon be approaching Tenerife’s Reina Sofia airport. Sadness welled up inside Libby, a deep, unremitting sadness that threatened to fill every corner of her being. The end of a beautiful, unexpected encounter was near, and she did not want it to happen. She wanted this flight to go on for ever.

Briefly she looked at Warwick, and he saw the sadness and smiled. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be the end, Libby. I shall see you again?’

This was something she had not expected, and she looked at him with wide, surprised eyes. She really had thought this was a brief passage in time, that he would say goodbye and that would be that. She wanted to see him again, yes, of course she did, but she did not want him meeting her sister—she did not want to run the risk of losing him to someone who was far more attractive than she.

It went without saying that once he met Rebecca it would be all over. It was a fact of life. No matter how much he might think he liked her now, once he met her beautiful younger sister…

‘I’m not sure it will be possible,’ she said huskily, hurting inside as she uttered the words. ‘I intend spending all of my time with my sister. This is actually a surprise visit—I haven’t seen her for months. We have a lot to catch up on.’ She had already told him that she was paying Rebecca a visit.

‘That’s a pity.’ He made no attempt to hide his disappointment. ‘I was hoping to see more of you.’ His hand on her arm paralysed her—not firm, the lightest touch, but holding her in its power as though it were a vice. ‘Perhaps I’ll be able to persuade you to change your mind?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Libby felt a sense of impending deprivation as she uttered the words. She could not understand how or why she felt so strongly when she had known him for only a few hours, but she would far rather lose Warwick now and save the happy memories than risk losing him to Rebecca. Rebecca was a vulture where men were concerned.

He moved his hand and looked away through the window. Libby became aware of the girl sitting in the seat next to her. It was hard to believe that she had not known of her existence. She smiled at her faintly, and wondered if the girl had heard all that had been going on, whether she was an interested observer, and would be telling her friends. Then Warwick spoke again, and the girl was forgotten.

‘You’ll like Tenerife; it’s an island of contrasts—both in lifestyle and geographically. Do you like discos and plenty of night-life? Or is a quiet dinner and a stroll along the beach more your scene?’

Libby had not been to many discos—not from personal choice but because of circumstances at home. ‘A bit of each, I suppose,’ she said, adding, ‘It all depends on the mood I’m in.’

‘And the person you’re with?’

She did not miss the meaning behind his words. ‘The person I’m with,’ she agreed—not that she had ever gone out with a man where they’d done anything so romantic as walking along a beach when it was dark. The very infrequent dates she’d had were to the cinema or the local pub in the East End of London where she lived, and a quick peck on the cheek at the end of the evening was all any of them had managed. It had done nothing for her self-esteem, confirming only what she already knew: that she wasn’t attractive to any man—until now! She still couldn’t get over it.

‘I prefer a quiet life myself. Good food, good wine and good company. Not for me the bright lights. I had enough of that in my youth.’

Libby smiled. ‘You make me sound young and yourself old.’

‘Ten years is sometimes a lifetime. On the other hand it can pass in an instant.’

Libby knew what he meant, but it would need a unique relationship to make life go that quickly. Such as could develop between themselves! Was that what he was suggesting? After a mere four hours? It sounded crazy, and yet Libby felt the same deep gut reaction that had drawn him to her.

Their attention was diverted by the hostess requesting passengers to make sure their seatbelts were fastened and to extinguish all cigarettes. Libby lapsed into an unhappy silence as the plane made its final descent. Was she doing the wrong thing in saying that she did not want to see him again? Perhaps he wouldn’t fancy Rebecca. Perhaps she was being overly cautious.

Her thoughts tailed away as the plane landed and they waited their turn to get off. The heat hit her like a blast from an oven as they descended the steps, and as they waited for their luggage in the grey concrete building she was vitally conscious of Warwick still at her side. He was much taller than she had imagined, standing a good eight inches above her.

Their cases retrieved, he accompanied her outside to the line of waiting taxis. It was already growing dark. ‘Perhaps we can share?’ he suggested, making it clear that he was as anxious as she to prolong their time together. ‘Where is your sister staying?’

‘Torviscas—but I’m sure it must be out of your way.’ Rebecca had told her that it was on the outskirts of Playa de las Américas, the popular tourist area. He would surely live nowhere close to that?

‘Not’at all,’ he said with an encouraging smile. ‘By a strange coincidence that’s precisely my own destination. Something tells me, Libby, that you’re not going to escape from me as easily as you think.’

She felt flattered and enormously pleased, but suddenly apprehensive also. She really did not want him to meet Rebecca. In the taxi, thigh touching thigh, his hand on hers, adrenalin pumping and pulses racing, she wondered again if she was over-reacting.

‘Do you realise I don’t even know your second name?’ he said.

‘Nor do I know yours,’ she rejoined with a soft smile.

‘Hunter,’ he supplied readily.

‘Eaton,’ she grimaced. ‘I’ve never liked it.’

‘Eaton? Your sister wouldn’t be named Rebecca by any chance?’

Libby nodded. ‘That’s right, and she works on a ship called the Estoque. Do you know it?’

‘By another quirk of fate, Libby, yes, I do. The Estoque belongs to me.’

Libby was astounded at the coincidence, and felt a moment’s panic as she wondered if he was already involved with Rebecca. But there was nothing at all in his expression to suggest her sister meant anything to him. His smile was as warm and encompassing as it had ever been.

A broad smile broke out on her face. She was worrying for nothing. Warwick wouldn’t have paid her so much attention if he had been attracted to Rebecca. Everything was suddenly wonderful. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she said excitedly. ‘What a small world it is.’

‘A small world indeed,’ he agreed. ‘It looks as though we’re going to see a lot more of each other than you thought.’

Libby was so estatically happy that she did not notice the hardness that had entered his eyes, or the sudden tension in his body.

The journey took no more than twenty minutes along a good fast road, but by the time they got there it was completely dark. No long-drawn-out dusks here; once the sun went down it was dark within minutes.

Puerto Colon was a man-made marina, flanked by bars and boutiques, restaurants and palm trees. Ships were anchored in regimented rows, and the whole scene was floodlit. The water looked bottle-green in the artificial light and the wind slapped ropes against masts in a musical melody. People strolled and watched and laughed, and Warwick led her along a pontoon to a boat which was the last in a line.

The Estoque was large and imposing, painted white or some other pale colour—it was difficult to tell in the electric light. Inside was a huge saloon where the steeringwheel, radar screen and a host of other very impressivelooking equipment occupied one corner. There was velvet seating in a relaxing dove-grey, a deep-piled ruby carpet, a table, a bookcase, a drinks cabinet. It wanted for nothing. But there was no Rebecca!

‘Your sister is out most evenings,’ Warwick said unconcernedly. ‘It’s too early yet for her to be back. Do sit down. Can I get you something to eat, or a drink perhaps, while you’re waiting?’

‘No, thank you,’ Libby answered quietly. She felt shy of this man on his home ground, an inexplicable shyness that was at odds with the feelings she had entertained earlier. Perhaps it was because they had been cocooned together on the plane, so that there was no escaping him? The intimacy enforced. Now, with space between them, she could think rationally.

He sat opposite, looking at her with a quizzical expression in his eyes. ‘You look nothing like your sister.’

Libby gave an inward groan. Here it came—the disparaging comparison she had been used to all her life.

‘Rebecca’s beauty is superficial, yours comes from deep down inside.’

Beautiful? He was saying she was beautiful?

‘You have an inner serenity that reflects itself in your demeanour and your lovely eyes. You’re quite right to wear very little make-up; you don’t need it. Your sister slaps it on like layers of paint. It’s enough to put any man off.’ Libby’s heart beat uncomfortably fast at these compliments. ‘You’re a lovely young woman, Libby. I find it difficult to believe that you’re related to Rebecca. Yes, very difficult; there’s no comparison between you. What are your parents like? Whom do you take after?’

Libby shrugged, his flattery, the soft expression in his eyes creating havoc with her senses. Simply looking at him, listening to his deep, sexy voice was enough to melt her bones, and she knew that if she got up she would be unable to stand. It was a whole new experience.

‘My mother had the same pale complexion as me, though her hair was golden like Rebecca’s.’

‘Is your mother no longer alive?’ he asked softly, noting her use of the past tense.

‘She died three years ago.’ Libby’s face clouded at the painful memory. Alcoholic poisoning, the doctor had said; Libby preferred to think it was a broken heart.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said compassionately. ‘And your father?’

She compressed her lips, wishing he weren’t asking all these questions. ‘He’s dead too. Nearly eight years ago he had a fatal accident at work. My mother never got over it.’

Libby would never forget the day her mother had been brought the news of Jim Eaton’s death. A freak accident, they’d told her, a one-in-a-million chance. Mary Eaton had collapsed, and was inconsolable; she did not want to live without him, and over the years she had turned more and more to the bottle for comfort, leaving the running of the house to Libby.

Rebecca had been ten when her father died, wayward even then, becoming even more uncontrollable without his firm supervision, and, with the death of her mother when she was almost sixteen, she would listen to nothing Libby ever said. ‘I’m grown-up now,’ she’d declared haughtily. ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’ She’d only ever turned to Libby when she was short of money.

Once the police had called at the house, saying that Rebecca had taken part in a robbery from one of the local big houses. Libby had nearly gone out of her mind with worry until it had transpired that Rebecca had not been involved at all—that a girl with a grudge against her because Rebecca had stolen her boyfriend had deliberately tried to get her into trouble. Fortunately Rebecca had an excellent alibi, but it had nevertheless been a worrying time for Libby.

She was fortunate that in her job as a self-employed, mobile hairdresser, either going out to clients’ homes in her battered Mini, or using their own front room as a salon, she had been able to spend a lot of time looking after her mother, and always tried to be at home when Rebecca came out of school. Every penny she’d earned had gone into the house—or to Rebecca!

‘So you two girls were left alone? What sort of an upbringing did you have? Were your parents strong on discipline?’

Libby shot him a sharp glance at this unexpected question, feeling sure it had something to do with Rebecca. Or was she being too sensitive? ‘My father was, yes,’ she admitted. ‘He was very old-fashioned in his attitudes. My mother wasn’t so bad, but once he died she had no interest in anything. She was broken-hearted. It was left to me to bring up my sister. Do you think she’ll be long?’

‘I’m sure not,’ he said reassuringly, and, after a moment’s pause, ‘I see now why you’re so different. Rebecca would appear to take after your father. She has very strong convictions, and probably rebelled over what she saw as his totally outmoded views, whereas you are as soft and sensitive as your mother, and, although you did your best after she died, Rebecca went very much her own way.’

He was so uncannily accurate that Libby wondered whether Rebecca had told him about their home circumstances.

‘No, your sister hasn’t said anything,’ he assured her, almost as though she had asked the question out aloud. ‘Please, let me pour you a drink.’ Without more ado he walked across to the drinks cabinet. ‘Gin? Campari? Bacardi?’

‘Just a tonic water, please,’ she said. Unaccustomed to alcohol, she feared it might go to her head. It was all very well feeling attracted to him on the plane, where there had been safety in numbers, but here, with just the two of them, she could find herself in an uncomfortable situation. And she was still stunned by his summing up. Was he able to judge all people so accurately?

He looked surprised by her choice, but nevertheless filled a glass with ice and a slice of lemon and poured the tonic over it. With a flourish he presented it to her. ‘For you, señorita, one very special drink.’

Libby took it from him with a smile, feeling the power that emanated from him to her as their fingers touched. He seemed in no hurry to move away. ‘Aren’t you drinking anything?’ she asked, surprised to hear how breathless she sounded.

‘But of course.’ He turned and poured a generous measure of whisky into a glass and then resumed the seat he had been sitting in earlier.

As the minutes passed Libby began to get more and more restless, constantly looking at her watch. It was almost midnight now, and still no sign of Rebecca.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘your sister is a night-bird.’

‘What if she doesn’t come back?’ she asked worriedly. ‘What if she stays out all night? Has she ever done that?’ Frequently at home Rebecca had stayed with friends, but she had always rung Libby to tell her where she was—persuaded, Libby suspected, by her friend’s parents, but at least she had never needed to worry as to her whereabouts. Here she could be anywhere and doing heaven knew what. Into the drug scene, anything. It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Rebecca has always been here to cook my meals,’ he told her, which was no answer at all.

This was something else that had bothered Libby when Rebecca had written and told her that she had got a job as a cook and deck-hand on a cabin cruiser. Rebecca, cooking? It didn’t sound right; it was far too domesticated for her fun-loving sister. Her initial thoughts were that there was a man involved, but, having met Warwick, having heard him say that her sister was not his type, she knew this was not the case. So why was her sister working here, doing jobs she had always abhorred at home?

When Rebecca had announced six months ago that England had nothing to offer and she was going out to the Canary Islands to look for work, Libby had nearly had a fit. It was Rebecca’s own fault that she was unemployable, she’d told her. ‘If you’d worked harder at school you’d have had some qualifications. What do you think you’re going to do out there?’ But Rebecca had not listened and, together with Zelda Sanders, a friend from her school days, she had packed her bags and gone.

Zelda’s elder brother, Mark, was working out there selling timeshares, and he’d said he could get them a job too. From what Libby had gathered it hadn’t exactly worked out like that. They’d lived together in his cramped quarters for a while, but Rebecca had been unable to find work, and when Mark had lost his job and couldn’t afford the apartment Rebecca had been desperate until she’d landed this job with Warwick Hunter.

‘But what if she doesn’t turn up until early in the morning? What am I going to do?’

‘Sleep here,’ he told her simply. ‘You can use Rebecca’s cabin.’

But Libby, for all that this man aroused the most sensual feelings in her body, had no wish to sleep alone on the boat with him. He was still an unknown quantity, and, although he seemed like a gentleman, who could say whether his intentions were honourable?

‘I—I don’t think that would be a very good idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and find a hotel, and come back in the morning.’ When she’d decided to come out here her plans had been very vague. She had hoped there would be room on the boat where Rebecca worked for her to stay too, but she hadn’t banked on it, and had enough money with her to stay in a hotel if necessary—but only a very cheap one.

As she stood up she missed his frown of faint annoyance. ‘You don’t have to do this, Libby,’ he said, rising too, the frown gone now, the warm smile she had grown used to back in place.

His touch on her arm was electric. ‘I really would prefer it,’ she murmured huskily. ‘Perhaps you can recommend somewhere?’

The hotel was but a few minutes’ walk away from Puerto Colon. Warwick insisted on accompanying her, and she was glad of his assistance when she discovered that the night porter spoke only Spanish. In fact she was impressed by Warwick’s fluency in the language.

A room was found for her, and Warwick carried up her case, waving away offers of help. At her door he said, ‘You can still change your mind, Libby. You’re welcome to sleep on board my boat.’

His eyes looked deeply into hers, stirring her soul, making it almost impossible to refuse. But common sense asserted itself, and she shook her head. ‘Do you really think I’d be able to sleep?’

He grinned. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘And I’ll be back first thing in the morning.’

She was disappointed when he did not kiss her, when he merely took her hands and again looked at her with an intentness that set every nerve-end twitching and every pulse stammering. ‘Until tomorrow, then, my beautiful Libby.’

‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed with a faint whisper.

Warwick Hunter really was an extraordinary man—so different from anyone else she had ever met. His age had a lot to do with it, she supposed. He was far more sophisticated, more assured, more experienced. Yes, experienced. He knew how to look at a woman and have her melting without a word being spoken. He had mastered the art of flattery, and could probably bend any woman to his will.

So was she making a fool of herself? Did it mean nothing more to him than a casual flirtation? Libby did not like to think so. She had sensed a sincerity in him that was certainly not false. There had definitely been a strong chemical reaction between them, but something deeper too. It was not easy for her to decide what it was, but it went far beyond basic needs.

Although it was late when she went to bed Libby was still awake at seven, and, after a shower and a light breakfast of croissants and coffee, she made her way towards the marina.

Not many people were about at this hour, and she wondered if she was too soon, whether the boat would be locked and silent, its inhabitants still fast asleep. But, when she looked across at the Estoque, the man who had made such a big impression on her was standing on the deck—almost as though he was watching and waiting for her!

She hastened her steps, but the hurried beats of her heart took her by surprise. It was not a feeling she was used to. How could she feel so disturbed simply by looking at a man from this distance? What sort of power was it that he wielded over her?

She wore jeans this morning and trainers, and a thin T-shirt, because despite the time of day it was already very warm. She had dripped with perspiration during the night, as there was no air-conditioning in the room, and taken another shower this morning, but already again she was uncomfortably hot. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she had not bothered with make-up. For one thing she had been in too much of a rush, for another she remembered Warwick’s words that he hated too much of it. If he liked her as she was, then she had no need to try and impress him.

He took her hand and helped her on board, and her body reacted instantly to his touch; but her first words were about Rebecca. She had had time to think during the night, to realise that she had been in danger of letting Warwick fill her mind to the exclusion of all else. Rebecca was the reason she was here; she must never lose sight of that.

He led her down into the saloon before answering, pouring her a cup of coffee from the pot that was keeping warm m the galley. ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, please,’ she said impatiently. ‘Rebecca? Where is she? Is she still asleep?’

‘I’m afraid she never came back.’

‘Never came back?’ Libby felt the colour drain out of her face. ‘But that’s impossible; she must be here. Where is she if she’s not? Warwick, something must have happened to her!’

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’M sure there’s some perfectly good explanation,’ Warwick told Libby succinctly. ‘It was a pity you didn’t let your sister know you were coming out here. Surprises are all very well, but they can fall flat.’

‘Does she often stay out all night?’ Libby reminded him of her previously unanswered question.

‘I’m not Rebecca’s keeper, Libby. I’m merely her employer. And surely she’s at an age where she is free to do what she likes?’

‘She’s only eighteen.’

His brows lifted. ‘I thought she was older.’

‘She gives that impression,’ Libby rejoined drily. ‘You claim she’s always here to cook your breakfast. What time is that?’

‘About eight.’

‘And it’s almost that now,’ claimed Libby, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘She’s cutting it a bit fine, don’t you think?’

‘If for some reason she’s detained, she’ll send a message, I’m sure,’ he said quietly, but as the minutes ticked away they heard nothing, and as morning progressed into afternoon Libby began to get seriously worried.

‘I think we ought to contact the police,’ she said.

‘And what would we tell them?’ he asked reasonably. ‘It’s too soon, Libby. She’ll either turn up or be in touch. Whatever is detaining her must be out of her control.’

‘Was she happy working for you?’ asked Libby sharply. She felt so responsible for her sister. She hadn’t been keen on her leaving home in the first place. What if she’d got in with the wrong crowd? Who knew where she was or what she was doing? ‘Cooking and cleaning isn’t exactly the sort of thing Rebecca enjoys.’

His lips suddenly quirked. ‘For the first few days I thought I was being poisoned, but she learned quickly when I made her eat her own food. Yes, I would say she’s happy here. She certainly never complains.’

The thought of Warwick and Rebecca sitting and eating together disturbed Libby. It wasn’t the sort of relationship she had expected them to have. Had anything else happened between them? Was there something she did not know? ‘So why did you employ her in the first place?’ she asked with some asperity.

‘She was introduced by an acquaintance of mine,’ he told her. ‘He said she desperately needed a job with accommodation thrown in. Like a fool, I thought all women could cook. Nevertheless she pulled her weight, did whatever I asked of her, and was appropriately decorative about the place.’

Libby imagined this last was at least accurate. She could imagine Rebecca sunbathing in a minuscule bikini on the deck. Rebecca coming out of the shower with nothing but a towel between her and her modesty. Rebecca in all sorts of seductive poses. That was the sort of girl her sister was. But where was she now? And why wasn’t Warwick as worried as she?

‘Are you sure you don’t know where she is?’ she asked in sudden suspicion.

‘You think I wouldn’t tell you if I did?’ His tone was surprisingly sharp. ‘I’m as anxious to find your sister as you are.’

‘But not anxious to involve the police?’ she swiftly returned.

‘Simply because it’s too soon,’ he pointed out.

‘Can I have a look at my sister’s room?’ He was right, but what else could they do? How long did he expect her to wait before they did anything?

‘Of course; it’s down here.’ A short flight of steps led through the galley and dinette, a cursory glance revealing an inset microwave oven and refrigerator, everywhere spotlessly clean. Between the galley and dining area a door led into the forecabin, which was much larger than she had expected, with a double bed and plenty of hanging space and cupboards, and behind another door was a shower-room.

Libby looked into the wardrobe, and was surprised by the number of new dresses Rebecca had bought in the short time she’d been working for Warwick. He either paid her very well or…The alternative did not bear thinking about.

‘It doesn’t look as though she was planning not to come back,’ commented Warwick. He was standing close behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his breath warm on her cheek. Libby felt her senses tingle, but concern for her sister had to take precedence.

She pulled away from him. ‘I still think there is something terribly wrong.’

He shrugged. ‘If it will make you happy I’ll go and have a word with the policia, even though I think it’s premature. Your sister has always given the impression that she’s more than capable of looking after herself.’

‘But she wouldn’t just disappear without leaving word,’ Libby insisted. ‘Rebecca might have her faults, but she wouldn’t do that. There is something wrong, I know there is.’

She hurried up the steps to the saloon, but when she would have left the boat Warwick put a detaining hand on her arm. ‘I’ll go alone. You wouldn’t want to miss Rebecca if she turns up, would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I won’t be long,’ he promised, holding her hands and looking deeply into her eyes.

Libby felt herself quiver. They were still all there—the feelings she had felt so strongly on the plane, and once Rebecca was found, once she knew her sister was safe, then they could take up where they had left off. She gave him a wan smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he replied and, lifting her hands, he placed a kiss, gently, in each palm. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

When he had gone Libby paced the saloon anxiously, then, because it was so stiflingly hot, she made her way out on to the deck and sat in the sunshine, her hands clasped around her knees, absently watching holidaymakers strolling by, but not really taking in the busy scene.

When she tired of sitting she pushed herself to her feet and took a walk around the marina. It was filled with boats of all sorts: yachts, motor cruisers such as the Estoque—some larger, some smaller—catamarans, speed-boats. It was a fascinating sight. Most of them were silent and empty, but some were a hive of activity, decks being hosed, paintwork touched up; one was slowly making its way out of the mouth of the harbour and another was getting ready to leave.

She strolled around and climbed some steps up on to the harbour wall, where she had an uninterrupted view across the Atlantic Ocean. Here the breeze lifted her hair and cooled her skin, but never did she let the Estoque out of her sight. When she saw Warwick return she quickly joined him.

‘Well, what did they say?’ she asked at once.

He grimaced. ‘As I said, it’s too soon for them to do anything. A few hours is nothing. A few days might be more serious.’

‘“A few days”?’ asked Libby in alarm. ‘This is preposterous. I can’t just sit and wait, it’s out of the question.’

‘I’m afraid that’s all we can do.’ His hand was comforting on her arm, his voice soft and reassuring.

She felt a feathering along her nerves, and again wondered how she could feel such sensations when Rebecca was missing. It seemed that this man had the ability to make her forget everything except him.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘How about if I cook us a meal?’

‘I couldn’t eat,’ confessed Libby. The very thought of food made her feel ill.

‘You need to keep up your strength,’ he told her firmly. ‘I’ll make us something you’ll find impossible to resist.’

Libby knew it would be pointless to protest, and to be truthful it felt good to let him take over. She sat down again and closed her eyes, letting the late afternoon sun wash over her, and the next thing she knew Warwick was touching her arm and telling her to wake up.

For a few seconds Libby did not know where she was. She felt warm and lethargic, and Warwick’s face close to hers made her heartbeats quicken. She wanted to pull him down beside her, to draw her strength from him, to savour once again all the new and wonderful sensations she had experienced on the plane.

She had no idea how appealing she looked, her amethyst eyes soft and misted from sleep, her cheeks flushed, her ash-blonde hair attractively tousled. She took his extended hand and let him help her up, and the next second found herself pulled against a chest that was packed with hard muscle.

‘My lovely Libby, you’re irresistible,’ he muttered against her ear.

Her heart hammered with all the intensity of a jungle drum; in fact it was so painful she could feel it right up into her throat. She let herself savour for a moment the unusual experience of having a man such as Warwick Hunter find her desirable.

With one hand still behind her back his other moved up to touch her throat, to feel the shape of her chin and the softness of her lips. Libby felt she was drowning in a thousand different sensations. He kissed the tip of her retrousse nose, each cheek, her eyelids, her brow, her ears. Her lips parted as she hungrily waited for him to claim her mouth. For the moment all thoughts of Rebecca had fled.

His kiss was a long time in coming. He touched her lips again with gentle, exploratory fingers, almost like a blind man trying to familiarise himself with the shape of her wide mouth. Involuntarily she ran the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips, feeling a spasm of pleasure pulse through her as she accidentally touched the abrasive roughness of his fingertip.

When he pulled down her lower lip and kissed the warm, soft moistness inside she squirmed with unexpected pleasure, surprised to hear a whimper, an animal sound almost, escape the back of her throat. Without even kissing her properly he was arousing her more than all the other boys she had dated put together.

He feathered her lips with tiny kisses, traced the outline with his tongue, creating a new flurry of excitement so that she felt as if her bones were melting, and if he let her go she would sink into a heap on the floor and disappear like a snowball in the sunshine.

Without her even realising it, her arms had snaked behind him, and beneath her palms she felt the ripple of powerful muscle. She had an insane urge to work her hands up beneath his shirt and explore the exciting warmth of his bare skin. She had never, in the whole of her life, felt like this. It was a wanton, primeval feeling that both shocked and thrilled her, but, when her hips ground instinctively against his, when she discovered that he was equally excited, she pulled abruptly away, daunted by the thought that she had been able to do this to him.

He smiled, a gentle smile that suggested he understood, though Libby knew he didn’t. How could he know that for her age she was very naive? That looking after her mother and Rebecca had left her little time for personal relationships? Or the fact that because she was the ugly sister she had been reluctant to go out anyway? It all added up to the fact that she knew nothing at all about men, and was scared now of the situation in which she found herself.

‘Let’s eat,’ he said, tucking her arm through his, and leading the way back inside.

An unexpected sight met her eyes. Fresh bread, sliced thinly and made into salmon and cucumber sandwiches, fruit cake, strawberries and cream. A pot of tea and china cups. So typically English that she was stunned. She had thought he would cook a proper meal, something Spanish, something which, in her present agitated condition, would be completely indigestible.

His eyes looked wickedly amused. ‘You look surprised.’

‘I am,’ she confessed.

‘I thought you needed something to tempt your tastebuds. Do sit down.’

Libby astonished herself by eating hungrily. The bread was crusty and fresh, spread with butter and plenty of salmon. It was the most appetising meal she had eaten in a long time. The fresh strawberries, too, were sweet and juicy, and by the time she had finished she felt somehow happier. Pleasantly replete, and with a man looking at her as though she were a princess, what more could she want?

After they had finished eating they moved into the saloon, Warwick surprising her by sitting a distance away. Even so his eyes were constantly on her, keeping the flame alight that he had ignited earlier, making her wish that the world were theirs alone, that there were no external worries to take her mind away from him.

But of course there was Rebecca—Rebecca her recalcitrant sister who was disturbingly missing. It was dark again now; another day had passed, and still there was no sign of her.

‘Worrying about your sister won’t do you any good,’ said Warwick.

Libby pulled a wry face. ‘How can I help it? She came out here with a friend, Zelda Sanders. Perhaps she might know where Rebecca is, or even her brother Mark? They lived together for a while—until he lost his job and couldn’t afford the apartment. I think that’s when Rebecca came to you. There’s also the man who asked you if you’d find her a job. He might know. I’m sure there are lots of things we could be doing?’

‘I’ve already contacted the guy who introduced Rebecca; he knows nothing,’ he told her. ‘And, as for friends, she never mentioned names or brought anyone here. I have no idea where this Zelda or Mark might be living. There really is very little more we can do for the moment.’

‘But I feel so helpless,’ Libby protested. ‘We must do something. People don’t go missing for no reason.’

Warwick put his hands to her shoulders and looked at her in concern. ‘Libby, if you’re going to go out of your mind worrying, I don’t think it would be a good idea staying in your hotel room alone. I think you should sleep here.’

Her eyes widened, beautiful amethyst orbs in a face that was prettily flushed with the warmth of the afternoon’s sun. Her pulses quickened as she remembered his suffocating closeness on the deck earlier, and her whole body went on instant alert.

‘You’ll be quite safe, I assure you.’ Again he knew exactly what she was thinking.

How could he say that when he had given proof of how much he desired her? But hadn’t she been equally guilty? And, apart from the lightest of kisses, had he made any demands on her body? Of course he hadn’t. In fact he had been far more of a gentleman than she’d expected, and he was right—she would worry about Rebecca. She wanted to be here the second her sister came back, not stuck in a hotel room where she would know nothing until morning. But it was still a risky thing to do, and her mind warred with itself as she struggled to make a decision.

‘Libby,’ he said softly, ‘there’s a lock on Rebecca’s door. I simply thought it would be the best solution—for you, not me.’

She nodded, her lips compressed, her face wry. ‘You’re right, of course. I’d worry like anything away from here; I probably wouldn’t even sleep.’

‘Whereas you’ll be able to sleep like a baby, confident in the knowledge that when Rebecca returns you’ll be woken instantly.’

‘I’ve never done anything like this before,’ she muttered uneasily.

‘Your sister’s never gone absent before,’ he reminded her. ‘I think you owe it to her, if not to yourself, to be here.’

‘You’re confident that she’ll come back?’

‘Most definitely. She wouldn’t have left any of her dresses if she’d planned on moving out. I’ve learned enough about Rebecca to know how much she loves clothes. She’s probably gone to one of those parties that go on for days on end. She’ll turn up.’

‘Not a drugs party?’ asked Libby in horror.

‘Of course not. Rebecca’s far too sensible. I’ve never known a girl with such a level head on her shoulders—for her age. That’s why I thought she was so much older.’

He was taking it all remarkably calmly, Libby thought, as though people often went missing for a couple of days. But it wasn’t his sister who was involved; he couldn’t really have any idea how upset she was.

‘I’ll stay,’ she said softly, mentally crossing her fingers that she was making the right decision. On the other hand did it matter if they became lovers? Lovers? Even the word sounded exciting. That indefinable something that had brought them together on the plane was not a figment of her imagination, she was sure. They had both felt it, were both aware that it was something special and rare and magical. Many people went through their whole life without experiencing anything like it. And who was she to be so expert on this sort of thing? She was deluding herself; this wasn’t the way of things at all.

‘I’m sure you won’t regret it, Libby.’ Warwick’s tone was low and persuasive. ‘I knew on the plane that our meeting was predestined.’ Libby smiled, relieved, pleased she hadn’t been wrong, still bothered about Rebecca, but feeling as though she were floating on a cloud. ‘I think you felt that way too?’

She nodded shyly. ‘I couldn’t believe, though, that you felt like that about someone like me.’

‘Someone like you, Libby? Someone with a rare beauty that reminds me of an English rose? Rebecca’s an exotic hothouse bloom, loved by some but not to everyone’s taste, and especially not mine. You are truly remarkable—as delicate as a wild orchid. No man ought to be without someone like you.’

His compliments bemused her. She felt sure she wasn’t worthy of any of them, but they were satisfying all the same, and she felt much more comfortable about staying. ‘I’ll fetch my clothes,’ she said awkwardly.

‘No need,’ he told her. ‘Your case is already here.’ And when she gasped he said with a disarming smile, ‘I anticipated you’d agree, and took the liberty of picking it up while I was out earlier. I trust you don’t mind?’

Libby did mind, she minded very much, but she felt that under the circumstances it would be childish to protest.

He detected her anger instantly, and his voice was at its most cajoling. ‘Libby, don’t be cross; this is the best solution all round.’

‘You could have asked me first,’ she protested fiercely, her eyes deeply purple.

‘It didn’t occur to me until I was out, and I thought it would save wasting time later.’ He pulled a little-boy face, the face of a boy who was trying to get back into his parent’s good books. ‘Do you forgive me?’

How could she not when he looked at her like that? ‘I suppose so,’ she agreed, ‘but it doesn’t mean to say I like what you did. It was a sneaky trick.’ But already she was smiling. It pleased her to think that he was so sure of her, because she was just as sure of him.

He stood up and held out his hands. ‘Come here, Libby.’

Without hesitation she walked into his arms. Already it felt the right thing to do. Confidence had grown in her, even though she still found it absolutely amazing that he should find her attractive when no other boy had looked at her twice. It was obviously true what they said about beauty being in the eye of the beholder. And, although outwardly she had not changed, inside she felt beautiful and feminine and sexy, and every one of her senses was responding to him.

She wanted him to hold her close, to kiss her, she craved real physical contact, but all he did was hold her very gently and look into her eyes. He seemed to be searching deep inside her, and his expression was as evocative as a kiss. The longer he looked at her, the more she responded. Tiny hidden tremors ran through her until her whole body sang with sensation. She would not have believed it possible to feel this way without being touched.

‘You’re beautiful, Libby,’ he murmured and then, to her intense disappointment, he put her from him. ‘I think a nightcap’s in order. What will it be, a tot of whisky or rum, or——?’

‘Just some orange juice, please,’ said Libby, and instantly felt like an unsophisticated teenager. But she really wasn’t ‘into’ drinking alcohol and, besides, she wanted to keep a clear head. He all too easily made her forget Rebecca.

He took a carton from a refrigerator, which was cleverly hidden behind a polished wooden door, and filled a glass. Her mouth was so dry that she drank it swiftly and gratefully. Then she went down into the galley and washed up.

Seeming to sense that she needed time to herself, Warwick stayed m the saloon, but, even so, Libby could still feel his presence. His male odour lingered on her skin, and she insanely wished that he weren’t such a gentleman.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ she said hesitantly when she had finished, needing to put some distance between them if she didn’t want to torture herself further.

Warwick was stretched out on one of the dove-grey seats, his glass empty, his expression carefully guarded. ‘Goodnight, Libby,’ he murmured softly.

He still made her name sound different, and she wanted more than anything to go across the room and have him take her into his arms again, but she hated the thought that she could be making a fool of herself. Although he seemed to be genuinely attracted to her, she was too inexperienced in the ways of men to be sure. Besides, what she admired about him most was his restraint. She felt safe with him as things stood, and if she encouraged his kisses who knew what might happen?

She smiled weakly. ‘Goodnight, Warwick.’

When she looked at her reflection in the bedroom mirror she was shocked to see the sparkle in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. She looked like a different person. Who would have believed that one man, a stranger, in fact, could be capable of doing this to her? He could melt her at a touch or a glance. Simply thinking about him made the blood race through her veins. It was mind-boggling. But she was also very tired and, without bothering to unpack, she pulled a nightdress out of her case and got ready for bed.

The instant she slipped beneath the quilt she was asleep. She dreamed about Warwick—wonderful, erotic dreams where he was making endless love to her and telling her over and over again how beautiful she was. She awoke at the crack of dawn with his name on her lips, and for a few seconds felt deliriously happy, until the movement of the boat and the steady hum of its engine told her that they were no longer tied up in the harbour. They were on the move!

Instantly unease took the place of happiness, and she sprang out of bed. This man she had trusted—what was he doing? What was happening? Where were they going? What the devil was going on?

CHAPTER THREE

THE saloon was empty when Libby rushed up. There was no Warwick at the controls, no Warwick to watch or diagnose the meaningless pictures on the radar screen. And yet they were moving! Through the windows she could see nothing but open sea. They had obviously been going for some time.

The brief flicker of panic when she thought she was alone subsided when she realised Warwick must be up on the flybridge. She had asked him about it yesterday when he had shown her over the Estoque. She had felt like an ignorant fool when he’d told her that it was a duplicate set of controls.

Out of the saloon she hurried up the short, vertical ladder. The metal rungs were hard on her bare feet, the fresh wind billowing out her short cotton nightdress, but she was heedless of everything except her need to find out what was going on.

He sat at the wheel, his back to her, his dark hair ruffled, completely oblivious to the fact that she had come up behind him. When she spoke his name he turned his head, and she was shocked by the grimness of his face. ‘So, you’re awake!’ he rasped harshly.

For just a second Libby froze, wondering what had happened to bring about this change, but the next instant she was at his side, arms akimbo, purple eyes flashing. ‘Yes, I’m up, and I want to know what you think you’re doing?’

‘I have business to attend to in Lanzarote,’ he told her calmly.

‘“Business”?’ she shrieked. ‘At a time like this? How about Rebecca? Aren’t you forgetting her?’ This was a different Warwick Hunter from the sensual man she had met on the plane, the man who had held her in his arms last night and made her feel as though she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. He was cool and distant, giving her the distinct impression that she was the one in the wrong, almost as though she were his enemy, which was crazy in the circumstances.

‘How can I forget your dear sister and what she has done to me?’ The sunglasses he wore prevented her seeing his eyes, but his caustic tone told her that there was no warmth in them. She guessed they were cold as ice, hard as flint, and directed straight at her.

‘“Done to you”?’ she queried, feeling a faint chill ride down her spine. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I think it’s time you knew what your precious Rebecca’s been up to.’

Libby frowned. Something was obviously going on that she knew nothing about, something involving both Rebecca and Warwick. Perhaps he even knew where she was!

‘Sit down,’ he said tersely, indicating the padded seat next to him.

With only the slightest hesitation Libby did as he asked. She did wonder whether she ought to go back down and change, but she was too strung up, too impatient to hear what he had to say about her sister to worry too much about what she was wearing. Her vulnerability was the last thing on her mind. Though it was impossible not to feel faintly disturbed when she was sitting so close to him that their shoulders almost touched.

He slowed the engine and switched to auto-pilot so that he could give her his full attention. ‘Whether this will come as a surprise to you, I’m unsure. You obviously know your sister far better than I do. In fact I suspect that you’re here on the pretext that you’re looking for her, yet all the time planning to pull the same kind of stunt.’

‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,’ Libby said sharply, her frown deepening. ‘All I want to know is why we’re going to Lanzarote when my sister is missing. We should be looking for her, not messing about like this. Unless she’s there? Is that what——?’

‘Be quiet, Elizabeth!’ he rasped.

The sharpness of his tone and his use of her proper name actually stunned her into silence. What had happened to turn him into this cold, hard-faced, accusing man? What had her sister done?

His lips were turned down at the corners as he spoke, and his eyes must be frozen into chips of grey ice. ‘Rebecca, whom you profess to be so worried about, is enjoying herself somewhere with a considerable sum of money which rightfully belongs to me. She’s been missing for over a week now.’

Libby gasped, her face suddenly draining of all colour. ‘You’re saying my sister has stolen money from you?’ And when he nodded gravely and firmly she snapped, ‘Becky wouldn’t do a thing like that. She isn’t a thief. How dare you accuse her? This is a ghastly mistake. There has to be some other explanation—some perfectly simple explanation.’

‘If there is one, then I’ve yet to find it,’ he thrust back savagely, his eyes cutting into her with their icy sharpness. ‘And until such time as I come up with an answer, or

get my money back, or get my hands on Rebecca——’

each statement was accentuated with a closed fist punching the control board in front of him ‘—then you are staying with me!’

Libby was too anxious about her sister for the full import of what he’d said to sink in. ‘I don’t believe this about Becky!’ she cried. ‘You’re lying, you’re making it up.’ Lord, how could he even think it? Rebecca might have her faults, but stooping so low as to steal from her employer wasn’t one of them.

‘Why should I make it up?’ he asked coldly.

‘My sister isn’t a thief,’ she riposted. ‘If there is money missing, then I’m quite confident that she hasn’t taken it.’

‘You are confident?’ he bit out scornfully. ‘It would appear you don’t know your sister as well as you think you do. If you’re that certain, then how do you account for the fact that it disappeared at the same time as Rebecca?’

‘It could be coincidence,’ she returned, shivering despite the warmth of the day, folding her arms across her chest and rocking backwards and forwards on her seat.

‘Too much of a damn coincidence,’ he snorted. ‘No, your sister took the money all right, and I sure as hell am going to make her suffer as soon as I catch up with her! Meanwhile you’ll do very nicely.’

Libby was too dazed to think clearly. She kept shaking her head and looking at Warwick with wide, horrified eyes, at the same time rubbing her chilled arms with icy fingers. ‘It has to be a mistake.’

‘A mistake, yes, on your sister’s part,’ he rasped. ‘I think she took me for some kind of fool.’

‘And the police are looking for her?’ she whispered, suddenly remembering all too clearly that time the policewoman had called at their house and told her that Rebecca was wanted in connection with a robbery. She had felt as if the whole world had suddenly crashed down over her head, and in the hours until it had proved to be a false alarm she had felt physically ill.

‘Naturally,’ he said grimly. ‘But I’m not a patient man. I decided to do a little detective work myself.’

Libby felt as though her heart was going to force its way out of her chest. She had set out on this holiday so happily, and now, in the space of a few short hours, her whole world had turned upside-down. She still couldn’t believe it; in fact she refused to believe it. Rebecca would never do such a thing; she was as sure of that as she had been of anything in her life.

‘Unfortunately,’ he went on resolutely, ‘I’ve had no success so far in tracing Rebecca. I’m hoping that you can tell me where she is?’

‘Me?’ squeaked Libby. ‘How can I tell you? I was expecting to find her on this boat!’

‘You’d not arranged to meet her elsewhere?’

‘Of course not.’

‘She hadn’t asked you to come and pick up those dresses that she left?’

‘Most definitely not,’ snapped Libby. ‘Really, this is all getting beyond a joke.’

‘I find it odd that you’ve come out here at the exact time that she has gone missing.’

‘And I find it odd that she’s gone missing at all!’ Libby’s eyes were a disturbed mauve, heavy with dread and deeply distrustful now of this man who was asking her all these questions. She suddenly wondered about their meeting. It all seemed too contrived, as though he had known all along who she was, as though he had engineered the whole thing.

‘Our meeting wasn’t accidental, was it?’ she asked sharply, her eyes intent on his face, watching for every nuance, no matter how subtle.

He shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

She had thought he would deny it, and was shocked by the easy admission. ‘You mean to say you planned to take me prisoner all along?’ Her skin crawled at the thought that she had played right into his hands. How could she have been so naive? She ought to have known that a man like Warwick Hunter wouldn’t look twice at a girl like her. She sprang to her feet and glared down at him. ‘You swine; how dare you? What you’ve done is tantamount to abduction. It’s illegal. If I went to the police you’d be in deep, deep trouble.’

‘And your sister’s going to be in deep, deep trouble when they catch her,’ he countered coldly.

Libby wondered how she had ever thought he had a sensual mouth. With lips tightly compressed, it was a vicious straight line. A muscle kept jerking in his jaw and his hands held the wheel in a grip tight enough to make his knuckles white.

‘How did you do it? How did you find out that I’d be on that plane?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘Perhaps more luck than judgement,’ he admitted. ‘I had business in England, and decided to have a watch kept on your house in case Rebecca decided to run back home.’

Libby gasped. It was not pleasant knowing that her every movement had been monitored by a complete stranger.

‘I didn’t really think she would—not with all that money; it would be too risky. Then I was told that you were heading for Gatwick Airport. What else could I think but that you were going to meet her?’

‘How did you know I was Rebecca’s sister? I could have been a friend—anyone.’ Libby was still shivering at the thought of being spied on.

‘Rebecca once showed me your photograph. There are not many girls about with ash-blonde hair like yours. It really was just a matter of finding out which flight you were on. I must admit I was shocked that you were going to Tenerife. I thought Rebecca would have long since left the island.’

‘And very fortunate for you that there was an available seat,’ she thrust angrily. How easily he had duped her! She went cold even thinking about it. All the time he had known exactly who she was, all the time he had been planning to make her his prisoner. And he had gone about it in such a devious manner that she had agreed to sleep here of her own free will. He had not had to exert any force at all. The blood chilled in her veins at the very thought.

‘I can assure you,’ she snapped, ‘that I haven’t the slightest idea at all where Rebecca is. Did you tell the police yesterday that I was here?’

‘I didn’t actually go to see them,’ he admitted coolly. ‘They have their methods; I have mine. I’m actually quite enjoying this game. I’m looking forward to the pleasure of making you suffer.’

‘You’re out of your mind!’ she spat. ‘You can’t keep me prisoner for ever.’ He looked coldly sinister in his dark glasses, and she had never felt so frightened in her life, but her chin jutted and she glared at him fiercely. ‘In any case, what were you doing with so much money on the boat? You ought to have had more sense.’

‘They were the takings from one of my restaurants,’ he informed her coolly.

Libby’s brows rose. She had wondered what he did for a living. ‘I still think it was pretty stupid leaving money lying around. It would be temptation for anyone.’

‘It was in my safe,’ he rasped.

Libby swallowed hard. So it definitely hadn’t been taken on impulse; the whole affair must have been planned. ‘You keep laying the blame on Becky,’ she snapped, ‘but I don’t think it was her at all. Judging by those dresses in her wardrobe, she isn’t short of money. Why should she feel the need to steal?’

‘And how did she buy those clothes?’ Warwick sneered. ‘Have you noticed that they have designer labels? My guess is that I’m not the only person to have fallen prey to her light fingers.’

Libby’s breath hissed out in anger and, swinging her arm in an arc, she slapped him across the face. ‘You bastard! You know nothing. Becky isn’t a thief; she would never do a thing like that. You’re wrong, you’re very wrong, and I hate you for even suggesting it. If she’d been planning to run away she would have taken everything with her.’

‘Then you tell me where she is now, and where my money is? Normally my manager takes it to the nightsafe at the bank, but he was away, ill, so I brought it home, planning to bank it myself the next morning. As it happened I was called away early and when I got back—bang!—both it and your sister had gone.’

Libby had to admit that it looked suspicious, but she was still confident that he was wrong. ‘You’re only surmising it was Becky,’ she snapped.

‘There is no other assumption,’ he insisted icily. ‘That money wasn’t the first thing to go missing after she began working for me.’

‘What do you mean?’ choked Libby. ‘What are you saying?’ It got worse by the minute.

‘A watch, a ring, a cigarette-lighter. Odd little things, things I thought I’d mislaid until the money went missing and I began to put two and two together.’

Libby began to feel ill. It couldn’t be true, she wouldn’t let it be true, but what other explanation was there? Without another word she scrambled to her feet and bolted back down to her cabin. Her whole body trembled with cold and fear and worry as she perched herself on the edge of the bed. She still refused to accept that her sister had stolen Warwick’s money, and yet all the evidence was against her.

Would Warwick turn Rebecca over to the police if he found her? Would she be sent to prison? Or if the money was returned would he drop all charges and let them both go home? Could he do that now that it had been reported? None of the consequences bore thinking about.

How easily she had played right into his hands. He had trapped her with soft words and kisses, and she had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Why, why, why hadn’t she been suspicious? Didn’t it make sense that, if no boy at home was interested in her, a good-looking man like Warwick Hunter, who could probably have his pick of any girl, wouldn’t spare her even a passing glance? She really was a prize idiot. How he must have laughed behind her back!

Libby tried to think what her fate would be now. What he intended doing with her, to her! How long was he planning to keep her his prisoner? She closed her eyes and shivered. There was only one thing of which she was certain: Warwick Hunter wouldn’t touch her again; he wouldn’t need to put himself through the purgatory of pretending to like a woman who hadn’t an ounce of sex appeal.

To give him his due, he had put on a good act, but that was all it had been, she knew that now, and he would undoubtedly feel relieved that the farce was over and he could treat her with the contempt he felt she deserved.

There was no doubt about it—she must escape, as soon as possible, and she must do all in her power to try to find her sister. It might be best to go back home in case Rebecca tried to contact her there. Already two days had gone by since she’d left. What if her sister had been telephoning? What if she really was in some kind of trouble, and needed her help—nothing to do with Warwick’s money, but something else altogether?

Still feeling chilled through to her marrow, Libby tugged off her nightdress and took a hot shower before pulling on her jeans and T-shirt again. She did not even contemplate unpacking. At the very first opportunity she would escape. She must be ready at all times.

Again she looked at her sister’s clothes in the wardrobe, and again she felt uneasy. Rebecca most certainly wouldn’t willingly have left these behind. Such expensive clothes would mean a lot to her. She hadn’t gone of her own free will, that was for sure. But, if she hadn’t, where was she? What had happened to her?

Libby pulled open the top drawer of the dressing-table, expecting to see her sister’s sexy underwear, and was taken aback when she discovered it was empty. Every drawer was empty! There was nothing at all except those few dresses in the wardrobe. No shoes, no handbag or passport, no money, no shorts, suntops or bikinis. Nothing!

It suddenly put a whole new complexion on the picture. Libby asked herself angrily why she hadn’t thought to look in the drawers last night. Why had she assumed that because of the dresses everything else would still be there? It looked now as though Rebecca’s departure had indeed been planned. Perhaps she hadn’t had room for those dresses? Perhaps she had thought it would be easier to buy new ones?

Libby felt faint, and sat down. Everything was transpiring now to make her sister look guilty, and she did not want to believe it; in fact she refused to believe it. There was still some other explanation—there had to be; it was just a matter of finding it.

She sat a long time before venturing out into the galley, where she made herself a cup of tea she did not drink and toast she did not eat. She thought of Warwick up there on the flybridge, and found it difficult to believe that the only man she had ever found exciting was now her biggest enemy.

The way he had looked at her a few minutes ago, the way he had spoken, the way his whole body had rejected her, was like a nightmare in itself. They had been so close the day before, emotionally as well as physically, and she had been sure he felt the same. Now she knew that he was simply a very good actor.

Crawling out on to the deck, Libby prayed the sunshine would inject some heat into her icy limbs. At this moment she felt that she would never be warm again. She remained sitting with her back against the cabin, her hands around her knees, until they reached Lanzarote. She had no wish at all to speak to Warwick again.

He carefully nosed the boat into a harbour that was much smaller than the marina at Puerto Colon, but as soon as he came down to tie up Libby disappeared into her cabin. Within minutes her door banged open. ‘Get your bag,’ he said brusquely.

‘I’ll stay here,’ she snapped back.

‘And run away the moment my back’s turned? I’m not that much of a fool, Elizabeth. I’ve arranged for a friend of mine to look after you while I conduct my business.’

As if I were a child! she thought angrily. ‘If you’re that worried I’ll escape, why don’t you take me with you?’ she yelled, her purple eyes flashing. ‘Or lock me in. Wouldn’t that be a better proposition?’ It seemed more in keeping with the type of man he was turning out to be.

He did not answer. With her wrist firmly clamped in one of his big hands, he marched her off the boat, and she had to trot to keep up with his long strides.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she cried. ‘Let go of me; you’re hurting!’

‘We’re almost there,’ he barked, and although his fingers relaxed he still maintained his hold on her.

Libby had never felt so humiliated in her life, and yet, despite everything, she still managed to feel the pull of his magnetism. It was weird the way he had this stranglehold over her. It was almost as though he had hypnotised her, as though, whatever happened, however he treated her, she would always feel something for him.

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