Hostage Heart Page 5

  “I will take those,” came a deep voice at her back.

  She straightened abruptly, dropping the rumpled cashmere to the floor in her haste.

  Turning, she saw Rolf leaning casually in the door, his arms folded loosely across his ample chest. Something in his eyes made Drew’s heart pound erratically and she quickly bent to retrieve her garments, clutching them protectively before her.

  He closed the space between them, moving with an easy grace. Drew caught her lips between her teeth and pushed the soggy bundle at him. His quiet closeness made her nervous. She abruptly turned away. Immediately she knew this had been a mistake, for she could almost feel his forceful gaze penetrating the soft white toweling at her back. A spasm of apprehension shot up her spine, making her shiver.

  The sound of his solid booted footsteps retreating from the room caused a surprised sigh of relief to escape her lips. But that relief was short-lived, for he returned within a minute, his booming voice startling her.

  “I’m afraid you will not be able to return to the compound in that condition, Mrs. Pollard.” He moved to face her as he spoke.

  Drew stiffened at his matter-of-fact statement. “Afraid? I sincerely doubt that, Doctor, when you have all the chips stacked on your side of the table.”

  His voice was low and instructive. “I don’t play the game to lose.” As he spoke, Drew lifted her eyes to his. “It will be easier if you stay the night.”

  She bristled defensively and moved her hands to her hips in irritation. “How so? Or do you plan to. . .compromise me and force the issue of marriage that way?”

  “Compromise?” A crooked half-smile softened his rugged features as his eyes moved over the rapid rise and fall of Drew’s partially exposed breasts, rosy in the firelight, “What makes you think that I require as much as a compromise to have my way in this?”

  Seeing his eyes drop from her face, Drew abruptly moved her hands to her arms, hugging herself in an effort to better mask her body from his view.

  “All right,” she flared, “let’s not mince words. Do you intend to use rape to terrorize me into suffering through this marriage?”

  A golden flicker sparked to life in his brown eyes. “Perhaps your opinion of your charm is a bit. . .inflated.” He moved away from her and leaned casually against the stone hearth. “I have never forced myself on a woman. And I don’t intend to start now.”

  He rubbed fisted knuckles across his deeply cleft chin. “I mean only that it will be expedient to have you here so that in the morning the American minister can perform the ceremony for us here.”

  Drew gasped, “Reverend Peabody? He’d never be a party to such an—an unholy union!”

  Rolf lifted an arched brow casually. “I believe he will, once you convince him of our desire to be married.”

  Drew stiffened, dropping her arms to her side in disbelief. “You must be joking!” Her voice was a whispered gasp. “Just tell him what you told me. . .that none of us will get out of here unless he marries us. I think that will take care of any objections he might have, no matter how valid!”

  Rolf slowly shook his curly head, his eyes remaining intently upon Drew. “No, Mrs. Pollard, I must insist that this charade be played out my way.”

  Drew’s mouth dropped open. “But, I can’t. . .I won’t be blackmailed into pretending some starry-eyed infatuation for you!”

  “You can, Mrs. Pollard,” he barked harshly. “And you will, or the entire bargain will be null and void.”

  He surveyed her thoroughly for a moment before he continued, “Or would you rather resign yourself and your fellow passengers to a much longer, less comfortable stay in East Germany?”

  Drew shook her head, fighting back an hysterical sob. “Do you mean that unless I tell Reverend Peabody that you and I are madly in love. . . so much so that you are willing to leave your ‘beloved’ country for me. . .” She stopped, nearly choking on the bitterness of that lie. “Unless I say all that, you won’t let us go?”

  He placed his hands calmly at his back. “Correct.”

  “But that’s not fair! This marriage bargain is bad enough without the added humiliation of playacting that I love you. . . when in reality—”

  His lips curved up without humor. “I know, Mrs. Pollard, you loathe me.”

  “Yes,” she hissed, tossing her head defiantly. “Yes, I do. . .I loathe you.”

  He appeared completely unperturbed by her heated confirmation. “Be logical, Mrs. Pollard. Would it be more humiliating to have the reverend believe that we spent the night together drawn by love. . .or merely by animal lust?”

  Drew moaned. “You’d allow him to think that we. . .?”

  She pulled a shaky hand across her forehead, sweeping a strand of damp chestnut hair behind her ear. “How low are you willing to stoop to get to the United States, Doctor?”

  His eyes shot golden sparks. “I’ll do what I must, Mrs. Pollard. And keeping your reputation untarnished is one of the least of my concerns right now.” A deep wave of color blushed Drew’s cheeks as he continued, “At this point, I can’t afford to have the minister martyring himself because of his moral principles.”

  Drew felt drained both mentally and physically. She had lost. There was no way out. There never had been. Now, though, her exhausted mind finally had to admit to it.

  Tomorrow she would marry this stranger. . .this East German genius. And like an avalanche having begun its plunge down the mountainside, there was no stopping it. Hopelessly, she slumped down onto the couch, dropping her head into her hands. A moment of taut silence dragged by between them before Drew heard him comment bluntly, “Your marriage must have been a poor one to make you abhor the idea of repeating it.”

  She raised hostile eyes to meet his in stunned disbelief. Her own father had never had the audacity to burden her with useless questions or hurtful recriminations about her divorce. What right did Rolf Erhardt have to pry into her past?

  “That’s none of your business!”

  Her face grew hot as he stood there, unruffled, eyeing her coolly. She shot out at him in her frustration, “But you are right about one thing. I wholeheartedly detest the idea of this marriage.”

  She had a sudden overpowering urge to rake her nails across his arrogant face and she pushed herself up from the couch, moving toward him as she spoke, “I am not a bride. I am your prisoner without a choice in the matter.” They were nose to nose now and Drew’s anger nudged her recklessly on, “At least with Jim, I was involved in the decisions.”

  “Poor though they must have been,” he countered.

  Livid with rage, Drew raised her hand to slap his face. Anticipating her move, Rolf caught her wrist in a hard grip. Turning her arm to her back, he pressed her towel-wrapped breasts into his solid chest.

  Drew cried out, “Let me go! What do you know about any of it. . .about me!”

  She struggled to free herself from his grasp, unaware that as she did so the precarious hold the corner of the towel had between her breasts was giving away.

  “You may be able to force me into this counterfeit marriage, but don’t delude yourself into thinking that we could ever be. . . close. . .”

  She was breathless with his tight hold on her.

  His voice had taken on a husky quality. “If you despise being close to me, Mrs. Pollard, then why did you come into my arms?”

  He loosened his grip slightly allowing gravity to pull the loosened towel from her body to the floor.

  Drew caught her breath in an inhaled cry of alarm as she tried to retrieve it. But Rolf pulled her back to his chest, a dark shadow passing across his rigid face. Deliberately, he leaned toward her until hard brown eyes stared into shimmering gray from little more than a hand’s width away.

  “From what I have seen so far, Mrs. Pollard, you are not the woman I would have chosen to be close to. . . if given my choice.”

  They stood there, motionless for a long moment, locked in voiceless combat as Drew seethed inside. Had his choice
! She trembled with indignant fury. Yet even in her all-consuming anger, she was more than vaguely aware of his disturbingly intimate hold on her body. Though he held her fast, his touch was unexpectedly gentle, caressing, and she relaxed slightly in his arms, surprised at her sudden lack of fear. She could feel the slow warmth of his breath titillate her throat, and the heavy, regular thudding of his heart beating against the hummingbird flutter of her own as he held her molded to him.

  His large hands moved along her back, one dropping slowly down from her slim waist over the soft curve of her bare hip. His boldness shocked Drew back to alertness, and she inhaled sharply, suddenly very aware that her nakedness was affecting him in nature’s most primitive way.

  A twitch had begun in his rock jaw, and a dangerous, feral gleam lit his eyes, making Drew feel like a rabbit caught in the teeth of a hungry wolf. He was the animal—man—and she was just one tempting morsel among the many to be devoured and then forgotten.

  She steeled herself to fight him with the only weapon she had at her disposal. . .words. “If I am so repulsive to you, Doctor, then kindly get your hands off of me!” The last was a hiss that Drew barely recognized to be her own voice.

  Instantly she found herself free of his confining hold and she hurried to retrieve the towel. Fumbling, she wrapped it around herself with trembling fingers, her voice breaking with emotion. “Must you stand there gawking?”

  Rolf fought for mastery over a smile, pretending surprise. “Gawking, Mrs. Pollard?” He turned away and bent to coax the flames with a metal poker, sending sparks and revived flames up the chimney before he added, laughter rippling in his voice, “Let us be accurate, at least. Schoolboys gawk. As a scientist, I was merely investigating.”

  Drew’s moan was guttural, and she spun away from him and hurried to the safety of the couch.

  With her retreat, Rolf straightened and turned back toward her, his face now serious. “There is really no reason for us to be enemies, Mrs. Pollard.” He replaced the poker in its bracket. “This marriage will require of you very little suffering. Once the ceremony is over, I will release your plane.”

  Drew fought to avoid his eyes, but lost, turning her face back to his as he spoke. “And you, along with the proof of our marriage, will be flown back to the safety of West Germany.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t see any reason that we’d ever require any further involvement with each other beyond this.” He paused, watching her flushed face absorb this new thought before he continued. “As to having no choices, I will give you one now.” He lifted a foot casually behind him, bracing it against the stone of the hearth. “You may remain and join me for dinner—if you can be civil—or you may retire to my room for the night. It is your decision.”

  “Your room?” It was a weak, fearful question.

  He gestured tiredly toward the couch. “I will sleep here.” His voice was patronizing. “Your honor is perfectly safe with me.”

  Drew’s cheeks burned. He was treating her like a child, or worse yet, a brainless, totally uninteresting woman. And for some reason, in Drew’s mind, that was the most unforgivable sin he had committed since he’d kidnapped her outside the interrogation room. She spat back, “I would rather starve than sit across a table from you!”

  One corner of his mouth curved up, but there was no laughter in his eyes as he shrugged disinterestedly. “All right. But don’t say that you had no choice in the matter.”

  Clamping her jaw shut, lips drawn down in a tight line, she whirled from him and retreated down the dark hall to his proffered room, not sure if her pride had won her a victory or merely lost her a meal.

  Chapter Three

  Drew’s eyes fluttered open at a slight sound and she stirred in the large bed. Pulling the thick down comforter up to her chin, she called sleepily, “Who—who’s there?”

  “You are finally awake,” Rolf’s deep voice reverberated in the room’s quiet.

  Drew gasped in a shocked breath. Coming full awake, she raised up on one elbow nearly uncovering her breasts in her haste.

  “How dare you! What do you want?”

  He stood leaning easily on the closed door, his lips curled in amusement.

  “Reverend Peabody is here. I told the guard that ‘questioning’ would require an hour, so we don’t have much time.”

  “And what possible excuse could you have had for questioning a minister?” Drew frowned irritably.

  Rolf’s amused expression remained unchanged, “People are not necessarily what they appear to be, Mrs. Pollard. I do not need excuses for my actions. I thought I had fully explained that to you.”

  Realizing that there was no future in that argument, Drew tried again, “But I can’t face him. . .I have no clothes!”

  Rolf gestured toward a ladder-back chair that stood by the bed. On it, neatly folded were her gray slacks and sweater, plus a pair of gray wool socks. “Where did my clothes—”

  He cut across her question brusquely. “I brought them earlier—”

  “Earlier?” Drew’s eyes grew round. “You?”

  He shrugged. “This is my room, Mrs. Pollard. I came in here to dress for our wedding.”

  The smile that broke across the rugged sun-bronzed face was wicked and Drew was suddenly struck by an animal magnetism that radiated from this man. He had indeed changed clothes, and they suited him well. The suede sports jacket was of a soft golden tan, blending with the earthiness of his complexion and bringing out the shimmering flicker of his eyes.

  He wore no tie, and the starkly white dress shirt was unbuttoned at his throat, revealing the rich brown mat of hair on his chest. The golden glint of a chain sparkled next to his tanned skin and fell away from view beneath the white fabric.

  Drew self-consciously pulled her eyes away from his chest, moving her gaze down to note his expertly tailored charcoal-gray slacks and matching shoes.

  Her perusal was interrupted as Rolf continued more softly, “You sleep soundly, Mrs. Pollard.”

  She stiffened, looking up at his self-satisfied face, and frowned, not knowing what he meant by the offhand statement.

  “I was quite tired. Now, please go. What will the pastor think?”

  “Probably exactly what I want him to think. . . .” He placed one hand inside a coat pocket, hooking the thumb on the outside.

  Drew came up to a sitting position holding the comforter before her.

  “OOOOHHHH! Will you get out of here?” It was an angry groan.

  Unperturbed by her outburst, his eyes moved lingeringly over the woman in his bed. Her color was high, nostrils flared in outrage as the back-lit hair glowed fiery red in wild disarray about her face.

  Rolf pursed his lips and lifted his hand, pistollike, toward her. “There is a storm in your eyes, Mrs. Pollard.” He cupped the brass knob on the door. “You had best get your temper under control. The freedom of many depends on it.”

  Drew hugged the comforter close, her knuckles paling with their hard grip. His words had been spoken softly, yet they held a warning undercurrent as he went on, “The pastor and his family will expect to see a radiant bride, momentarily. Do not disappoint them—or me.”

  Drew expelled a gasp of astonishment. “His family! They’re all here?”

  “Witnesses.” He shrugged. “A necessity at any wedding.”

  Drew frowned, regarding him resentfully. “And at any execution!“

  Rolf’s lips curved into a sardonic grin revealing white teeth as he turned the knob. Opening the door, his final words were spoken louder than necessary. “Now, put on some clothes, love, the minister is waiting.” He stepped out with a chuckle and closed the door quietly, leaving Drew to sit, mouth gaping at the nerve of the man.

  A shiver rippled through her, a reminder of her state of undress. A fact that was now no secret to anyone in the house. She gritted her teeth. After yesterday’s brush with freezing to death, she knew it wouldn’t do to chance another chill. Quickly, she put on her clothes, as well as the pair of so
ft wool socks that Rolf had included with her things, refusing to credit him with a thoughtful gesture.

  “He just doesn’t want me to die of anything before we’re legally married!” she fumed.

  A dresser against the wall opposite the bed caught her eye. Padding to it she saw what she was looking for, a brush and comb. Standing before the wood-framed mirror she pulled the brush churlishly through her hair. The night-tossed curls succumbed reluctantly, even with her overheated ministrations, framing her oval face obediently. Parted naturally on the side, the long loose waves fell in carefree, yet ordered grace to her shoulders. She inspected the woman who stared back at her from behind the mirrored glass. Her large gray eyes were dark and stormy with anger and humiliation at Rolf’s parting words. She hated him for using her to gain his freedom and for forcing her to agree to this bargain.

  Bargain! That ordinary word had taken on a distasteful and sinister connotation. She ran a hand irritably through her hair and let out a heavy sigh. There was nothing to do but go through with it—and on his terms. Her reflection soured into a deep frown before she remembered his warning and altered her expression to a stiff, unconvincing smile. No good. She tried again. Better. Nodding, she spoke to herself, “I can get through this thing with my head held high.” Squaring her shoulders, she bit out in a whisper, “It’ll just be a matter of a few hours, at most, before we leave here. And, as he said, I’ll never have to trouble myself with the company of that arrogant man again.”

  There was a heightened angry blush in her cheeks as her thoughts centered on her captor. “And once Rolf Erhardt is safely out of East Germany, I’ll file an uncontested divorce, and that will be that. Simple.” Giving a determined nod toward her reflection, she turned quickly away, and with long, purposeful strides, left the room.

  Entering the den, Drew stopped short as Reverend Peabody, his wife and daughter turned in her direction. Both the pastor and Margaret were seated on the couch. Sarah stood quietly before the fire.

  Rolf unfolded his long frame from the chair as she entered. “Kindchen, at last.” His smile was dazzling and Drew couldn’t help but be affected by it, though she knew it was only part of his act.