The Hostage Bride. Kate Walker

as she spoke, barely giving her time to register what was written on it. But, as realisation dawned, sudden inspiration struck, giving her an idea.

      ‘In fact, I’m surprised you ever thought you’d get away with this,’ she went on, talking to fill the silence, to distract him while she thought back over the scheme that had just occurred to her, considering her options, trying to decide if it would work. ‘You must know I’d report you. That I’d tell Mr Venables.’

      She didn’t even know if he’d heard her. Not by so much as a blink of an eyelid did he betray any reaction but remained as silent and stony faced as a statue carved from marble.

      ‘Even if this is just some sort of practical joke, he won’t stand for this behaviour in one of his employees. You’ll lose your job.’

      Something gave him away that time. Some small, sideways slanting look, a flicker of those unbelievable eyelashes. Suddenly the truth dawned on her with an appalling sinking feeling deep in her stomach as if she had just swallowed a heavy, leaden weight.

      ‘It isn’t a job, is it?’ she asked hollowly. ‘I mean, not your job. You don’t work for Edward Venables, do you?’

      ‘I’d sooner crawl down this motorway on my hands and knees,’ Rico declared and the brutal vehemence of his tone left her in no doubt that he meant what he said. A cold shiver slithered down her spine at the realisation that what lay behind that forceful declaration was a powerful antipathy that she would have to describe as nothing less than hatred.

      ‘So this is about Edward, not me?’

      And not, it seemed, about her father. Which was a relief because, after all the trouble Joe Hamilton had got himself into lately, at least he hadn’t got himself entangled with this brigand of a man.

      ‘Does that mean you’re not going to…?’

      She couldn’t complete the sentence as another realisation rushed into her head, erasing her earlier train of thought.

      ‘I have no intention of hurting you, if that’s what you mean,’ Rico put in, misunderstanding the reasons for her silence.

      No, but he could ruin her life just as easily without even touching her, Felicity reflected unhappily. If she didn’t turn up at the cathedral or at the very least let Edward know that it wasn’t through her own choice that she wasn’t there, he would wreak his vengeance on her father. Joe’s crimes would be exposed, and she would have put herself through all this for nothing.

      And the effect on her mother was one she couldn’t even bear to think about.

      The appearance of another roadside sign announcing the approach of the motorway services reminded her of her plan of a few moments earlier. It was now or never.

      ‘I’m thirsty!’ she announced and the way that her voice cracked on the words gave a conviction to her words. ‘It’s so hot—I really could do with a drink.’

      ‘If you look in front of you, there’s a cupboard—it’s a small bar, actually. There are some plastic bottles of mineral water in there.’

      ‘Oh, but—’

      This wasn’t at all what she’d had in mind. What she’d wanted was…

      ‘You didn’t really think I was going to pull in to the services and let you out, did you?’ Infuriatingly, Rico seemed to have been able to read her mind. ‘It’s the water or nothing, sweetheart.’

      ‘I’m not your sweetheart!’ Felicity growled ungraciously, furious at having been caught out so easily. ‘And I have no intention of drinking anything you’ve provided.’

      ‘Then you’ll have to stay thirsty,’ Rico returned with cool callousness. ‘I told you I had no intention of harming you.’

      ‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

      Perversely, her pretence of being thirsty had now become a fact. The sun was beating down on the car and she was uncomfortably aware of the way that for most of the morning her tightly knotted nerves had prevented her from eating or drinking anything but the barest minimum. Just the thought of the cooled water was a temptation she found hard to resist.

      ‘You could have laced it with anything!’

      His sigh was a masterpiece of resigned patience, threaded through with exasperation.

      ‘I give you my word—’

      ‘The word of a kidnapper? A brute—a thug?’

      In the mirror she saw him roll his eyes, just for a second.

      ‘How about if I drank some of it myself?’

      It was tempting. She really was very thirsty.

      He must have seen the doubt in her face, how close she was to weakening, because suddenly he flicked the indicator and moved onto the hard shoulder, slowing the car briefly.

      ‘Give me the water.’

      She could use the bottle as a weapon, Felicity told herself as she opened the bar. She could hit this Rico on the head with it—or shake it hard until the sparkling water was fizzing so wildly that it would explode in his face as soon as he opened it.

      But even as the thoughts crossed her mind, she reconsidered them hastily. If she disabled Rico, however briefly, he was still that side of the glass partition and she on the other. The control for the central locking was on his side, and she very much doubted that, even if she opened it to its fullest, she could squeeze through the gap into the front of the car.

      And she didn’t dare risk the possible repercussions if she angered him without incapacitating him. He might have given his word not to harm her, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to risk pushing him too far.

      ‘The water, Felicity.’

      Rico had swivelled round in his seat so that he was facing her and a dark strand of warning threaded through his tone.

      ‘Did I say you could use my Christian name?’ Felicity demanded, knowing she was only being petty, using the complaint as something to hide behind, to disguise the frustration she felt at not being able to get at him in any other way.

      ‘Señorita Hamilton,’ Rico amended with an elaborate courtesy that only aggravated her already bad mood.

      ‘Oh, here, take your damn water!’

      She thrust the bottle at him ungraciously, trying to avoid the mockery in his dark eyes as she did so.

      But not looking into his eyes meant she had to look somewhere and she was horrified by the way that, in spite of her struggle against it, her downbent gaze would keep sliding to the long, tanned line of his throat above the immaculate white collar of his shirt. The movement of his muscles as he tipped back his head, swallowing deeply, held her transfixed and she couldn’t force herself to look away no matter how she tried.

      A heat that had nothing to do with the sun outside dried her mouth and throat until they felt like parched sand, her whole body in the grip of a fire that would take so much more than some sips of water to extinguish.

      Stop it! she told herself furiously, forcing her eyes shut and screwing them tight. She had to stop thinking this way.

      ‘Here.’

      Rico held the bottle out to her again and she almost snatched it from him. But the realisation of the way that he was observing her, made her pause again and wipe the top of the bottle with over-elaborate care that brought a scowl to his dark face.

      Without thinking she gulped down all that was left in the bottle, grateful for the way that it eased the painful dryness that was tormenting her. And as she drank Rico put the car back into gear and rejoined the motorway smoothly, glancing back at her briefly as she sighed her relief.

      ‘Better?’

      ‘Much better, thank you.’

      It was amazing how much difference