Reluctant Hostage. Margaret Mayo

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.’