Love's Golden Spell. William Maltese

think you’ll find the time in this instance, though, won’t you, Janet?” he said, sounding very confident—too confident.

      “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s quite impossible,” she said. His father had killed hers. She wasn’t here to dance to his tune.

      “Very well,” he said. His expression had changed little from when they had first entered the room. “More’s the pity that your trip is wasted.”

      “I’d hardly call it wasted,” she said with a nervous laugh. She caught a glimpse of the boy in the man. It wasn’t difficult. He was eighteen when she last saw him. His body had worn the stamp of what it would become, unlike Janet who, at thirteen, was due for major physical changes. “I think a replay of the tapes will show we’ve accomplished a lot in a short time,” she reminded him.

      “I’m afraid I can’t let the tapes leave the house,” he said. His smile widened. “Not without your promise to stay for supper,” he qualified.

      “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said. It wasn’t his threat to hold the tapes that she didn’t understand. It was what her staying for supper had to do with it.

      “It’s simple,” he said. “I’ve always been extremely attracted to clever women. What you almost accomplished this afternoon was a very good show. Admittedly, it was flawed, but that you got this far reveals an admirable piece of planning.”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Janet said, her resolve weakening. She could have turned and walked out of the room, but she remained rooted to the spot.

      “Although I came out fairly well in the interview,” Christopher explained, “I’m aware how clever editing of those tapes can make my father the greatest detriment to wildlife since the invention of the firearm.”

      “But why would I?”

      “Come now, Janet,” he interrupted her, a steely edge to his voice. “If I momentarily failed to recognize your true intent, please don’t make the mistake of continuing to underestimate my intelligence. Considering everything, I’m asking a fair price for letting your friends walk out of here with their tapes intact. Don’t you agree?”

      She couldn’t have heard correctly. “If you think I have ulterior motives, why let the tapes leave here at all?” she asked suspiciously.

      “I thought I made that perfectly clear,” he said, so close she was heady from the lime-based fragrance of his after-shave. “You interest me more than the tapes—certainly more then whatever damage you hope to accomplish by having them.”

      His interest suggested more than supper. “I have no intention of going to bed with you to buy what is rightfully mine,” she said, surprising herself with the vehemence of her outburst. Christopher laughed. She would have preferred disappointment to amusement.

      “Please, Janet, do wait until I ask,” he chided and laughed again. There was less humor in the sound than Janet expected. “I mentioned supper, didn’t I?” he reminded her. “Although I might be persuaded to throw in a visit to the Ivory Room. Wouldn’t that make a marvelous supplement to your interview: a firsthand account of the fabled Van Hoon ivory?”

      She hadn’t seen the Ivory Room. Her father had, and it should have served as a warning. Vincent Van Hoon, a man with that much evidence of mass slaughter in his basement, plus ties to the mining community, wouldn’t have been interested in feasibility studies for a wildlife preserve—no matter how much he had pretended to be so.

      There was a sharp knock. The door opened slightly, and Roger stuck his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve packed everything,” he said. “We’re ready whenever Janet is.”

      “Janet has accepted my invitation to stay a little longer,” Christopher said. “I’ll have my chauffeur drive her back to the hotel later this evening.”

      “Right!” Roger said, not waiting for Janet to verify Christopher’s statement.

      “You had no right!” she said, anger coloring her cheeks. She wasn’t pleased with Roger’s hasty retreat, either.

      “You are going to stay, aren’t you?” Christopher asked, although it wasn’t really a question.

      She wanted those tapes. They were part of her only feasible plan for getting back at the Van Hoons. If Christopher was unimpressed by the damage the tapes could do, that didn’t squelch Janet’s overpowering need to use them. Her condemnation of the hunter-clan, money-mad Van Hoons might yet have repercussions Christopher couldn’t imagine. She hoped so.

      “Yes, I’ll stay,” she said.

      “Good,” he replied and kissed her.

      She didn’t believe it. Not with Jill, Tim, and Roger in the next room. It wasn’t a peck on the lips, either. Nor was it a kiss she could enjoy, despite her curiosity about how kissing the man would differ from kissing the boy. It was aggressive, crushing her lips between her teeth and his. And his arms wrapped around her with a strength that made it impossible for her to move.

      “There!” he said; his smile was the epitome of satisfaction. “Tell the world the Van Hoons attack women as well as wild animals.”

      She couldn’t find her voice to scream. So when he released her, she slapped his face. The sound of flesh colliding against flesh was like a rifle shot. How apropos.

      “How dare you!” she said, her breathing erratic. His continuing smile infuriated her.

      “I’ll be sportsman enough to accept a one-on-one exchange, but don’t try to take advantage,” he warned her.

      “You bastard!” she accused, her voice dripping venom. She went quickly to the door, willing her weak legs to support her. She expected to find Tim, Roger, and Jill in the next room, but they weren’t there. Nor was the camera equipment. She hurried through the French doors and around the house, praying she would be in time. She prayed in vain. The van was gone. She was alone with Christopher Van Hoon, except for the people who worked for him.

      She could count on no one but herself. There was something disturbing about her predicament.

      Christopher stepped out on the front porch like an Olympian god about to bestow his favors on an unwilling maiden.

      “I insist you have someone drive me back to my hotel immediately!” she said.

      “You’ll be driven to your hotel—later,” Christopher said, his smile mocking her demands.” Right now, Ashanti will show you where you can freshen up. We do, by the way, dress for dinner.” The servant who had collected the punch glasses appeared on cue.

      “Dress for dinner?” Janet echoed incredulously. She expected him to tell her he had raided her hotel room for the only dress she’d brought for formal occasions. She wasn’t expecting opportunities for dressing up in the bush, where she was heading the day after tomorrow.

      “I’m sure you’ll find something in the room to fit you,” Christopher said instead. “I’m partial to the black silk myself.”

      “Then you wear it!” She refused to humor him. “I’m returning to my hotel!”

      “Suit yourself,” Christopher said with a shrug. “I just hope you’re up to the walk.” He turned and disappeared into the house.

      Janet looked at the driveway, knowing how far it was to the main highway, let alone to Johannesburg.

      “Miss Westover?” It was Ashanti, waiting patiently for her to obey Christopher’s wishes.

      She didn’t answer. She started walking away from Lionspride and the madman who owned it.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “YOU’RE LUCKY you’re dark complexioned,” Christopher said. He was sitting behind a large oak desk. “That bit of redness will fade, and you’ll look even more beautiful in your new tan.”

      “Call