Hank set the tray of food down on the trunk and crossed his arms over his chest. He was comfortably dressed in a shirt and trousers, the dark shirt opened halfway down his bronzed chest. Samantha looked for the scars she had left on his chest but couldn’t see any, and she wondered bitterly if they had gone away.
“Why should I wear my gun in here? What is there in here for me to fear, niña?”
“Oh, you always twist everything around,” she said petulantly. “Can you never answer a simple question?”
“But I always answer your questions—when you ask me nicely.”
“All right! Tell me right now how much longer you intend to keep me here. It’s been almost two weeks.”
“A week and a half.”
“That is almost two weeks! And don’t quibble with me. Just answer the question.”
“You do not like it here, Sam?”
She glared at the grin curling his mouth. “I’m in no mood for teasing, Hank Chavez.”
He shrugged. “I have no answer for you. You must wait…just as I must wait.”
She frowned. “But the trip you went on. It was to see if my father was following your instructions, wasn’t it? Didn’t you find out anything?”
“I found out many interesting things, one of which is that your father thinks he can fool me.”
“What do you mean?” Samantha bounded off the bed. “Didn’t he leave, as you instructed?”
“Yes, he has left Mexico.”
“Well, then, take me to him,” she demanded. “What are you waiting for?”
“He left, Sam, but he has every intention of returning. That will not do.”
“What did you expect?” she hollered at him. “I told you he wouldn’t give up the land.”
“And I say he will,” Hank rasped. “Or he does not see you again!”
Some of the spark went out of her eyes. “So what will you do now?” she asked softly.
“I have sent another message.”
“Saying?”
“That I am aware of his game, that either he sells or he will not get you back.”
“It will never work, you know,” Samantha said with a touch of humor. “My father won’t be browbeaten into anything.”
“Then you will stay here indefinitely.”
“Oh, no.” Samantha was smiling now, delighting in his scowl. “Father will sell, all right, and probably to that cousin of yours. That is how you have it planned, isn’t it? Your cousin will be there to make an offer my father is forced to accept? But it won’t work, Hank, not by a long shot.”
“Antonio will have a signed deed.”
“A deed my father can break in any court,” she taunted. “That deed won’t be worth a damn, Hank, because it will have been signed under duress. And my father will have your message to prove that he was forced.”
“You are only guessing. Antonio is not involved. The deed will be good.”
“They don’t know he’s involved, my friend, but I do.” Samantha grinned.
“I told you he knows nothing!” Hank shouted.
“Do you think anyone will believe that? I don’t, so why should anyone else?”
“It is the truth!”
“Perhaps. But it doesn’t really matter. Just linking your name with your cousin’s will do the trick. And I will be there to do just that.”
He caught her arm so suddenly that she cried out in surprise. His eyes blazed with dark fury. Samantha cringed, damning herself for goading him.
“You cannot link me with Antonio if you are dead,” Hank hissed through gritted teeth.
Samantha paled, but somehow she realized he was bluffing. “You wouldn’t kill me.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “You might rape me like a savage, as you did before, but you won’t even hit me. I’ve hurt you many times, but you’ve never struck me.”
“There is a first time, chica,” he warned her.
“No. You just don’t have it in you.”
He shoved her away from him. “Perhaps you are right in this. I do not have the stomach to kill a woman—even you. But a man, Samantha Kingsley—a man I would have no compunction in killing.”
“So?”
He walked over to her slowly and raised a finger to trace along her jaw line. Samantha twisted her face away from his hand, but she stood her ground. She wouldn’t be intimidated by him.
“Do you love your father, Sam?”
“What kind of question is that?” she snapped. “Of course I love him.”
“And you would grieve if he died suddenly?” he asked softly.
She gasped. “You bastard!”
Samantha flew at him, intending to scratch his eyes out. But Hank’s arms circled her, sealing her in a grip that left her breathless.
“You vile, despicable animal!” she gasped furiously, squirming to break away. “You’ll never get near enough to him to kill him. Never!”
“You think not? If I can steal noisy chickens, and leave my mark on doors with twenty vaqueros nearby, then I can easily reach one man. It would solve this new problem you have made for me, would it not?”
“You can’t do it!” she stormed. “You will accomplish nothing if you do!”
“On the contrary, niña. I can kill him after he sells the land.”
“As his daughter, I can still take it to court. You won’t win.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But your father will already be dead, and as a direct result of your stubbornness.” He released her abruptly. “Is that what you want?”
“Oh, damn you!”
She fell back against the bed. “Just remember, Sam. If I let you return to your father, I can still kill him anytime. And I will, if he goes anywhere near a court. If you love him, you can convince him not to cause me any trouble.”
After he left, Samantha stared at the tray of food, too upset to eat. Lord, why did she always have to open her big mouth? If she had just kept quiet, she would have been returned to her home, and Hank would have found out too late that his scheme wouldn’t work. He would never have thought of killing her father. Now he held the ace card. But she couldn’t let him get away with all this. There had to be some way she could turn the tables on him. There just had to be.
Chapter 25
DIEGO was invited to dinner that night, and Samantha was uncomfortable being near him. She didn’t understand why he was there. She couldn’t stand being near the woman-beater.
She hoped to avoid eating with them, but when she tried to take her own food to her room, Hank pulled out a chair and insisted she stay. She didn’t understand it, for after that, he ignored her completely, and she was excluded from the conversation.
They switched to Spanish after a while, and Samantha’s cheeks burned, for the talk was of her. Diego was complimentary in a vulgar way, but Hank was insulting. She wanted to curse him, to ridicule him in turn, but she couldn’t say a damn thing because she wasn’t supposed to understand Spanish. But Hank was pushing her, pushing her to her limit. She didn’t have to sit there and take it.
Without a word she left the table and went to her room. Hank followed, and when she turned to close the door, his hand held it open.
“Why leave so early, Sam? I was enjoying your company.”
“I wasn’t enjoying yours—or his!” she snapped. “I won’t sit there and be talked about behind my back!”
“And how do you know we spoke of you?”
“Because you couldn’t say two words without your eyes falling on me. I’m not that dense.”
“Perhaps I like looking at you.”
“Liar!” she hissed.
His eyes were laughing at her, gleaming with devilry. “You do not think you are worth looking at?”
“I know that you hate me as much as I hate you,” she fumed. “And if I can’t stand the sight of you, then I know the feeling must be mutual. So stop playing with me. I won’t have it!”
“It is only fair that it should so
metimes be my turn to play games, Sam. Is that not so?”
“No, damn you, no!” she cried. “You have already had your revenge.” Then she lowered her voice to a whisper so Diego couldn’t hear. “You took from me what I would never have given to you. You were a savage animal!”
Hank caught her shoulders to pull her close, and his voice was low and threatening. “That is not so. You were the little savage, chica, and I have the marks to prove it. Perhaps I should refresh your memory of how it really was.”
“You do and I’ll mark you up worse!” she cried on a rising note of panic. “I swear I’ll tear you to shreds!”
He laughed and let her go. “I do not think so, querida. I think next time I will make you purr like a kitten.”
“A kitten has claws, Hank. Now go away. I’m sick to death of your threats.”
She pushed the door shut on him, then waited to hear the lock turn. But it didn’t. She heard him laugh as he walked away, and soon the two men were talking again. Samantha continued to wait, pacing the floor nervously. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until that door was locked. She couldn’t trust Hank not to bother her, and she wasn’t going to let him find her in bed.
Hours passed. She could hear low conversation, an occasional loud laugh, a bottle slamming against the table. Were they getting drunk? She chilled. What would a drunken Hank be like? Would he forget that he hated her? Would he come in here and…no!
She sat down on the bed, then jumped back up again. She looked for a weapon but already knew there wasn’t anything useful except the candle holder, and it wasn’t heavy enough to do any real damage.
Looking at the candle burned down to only an inch made her realize how late it was getting. She moved to the door to see if she could hear what was being said, but the voices were mumbled. It must be near midnight. Were they never going to sleep?
Just then, she heard the door in the other room close, and she stepped back, startled. Was Diego finally gone?
She ran to the bed and snuffed out the candle, then slipped quietly under the covers, careful to hide the fact that she was still clothed. If Hank opened her door, he would think she had long been asleep. Lord, don’t let him open the door.
She was stiff as a board, waiting, hoping to hear the door being locked. But no sound came from the other room, and she began to wonder if Hank had fallen into a drunken stupor. And then it hit her. If he was in a deep, drunken sleep, she could easily slip past him. She could escape!
Throwing the covers off in sudden excitement, Samantha rushed to the door again. Very slowly she opened it, holding her breath. Her heart sank. Hank was still sitting at the table, his back to the outside door. Two empty bottles were before him, but he didn’t look drunk. The candles on the table had gone out. Only the logs burning in the fireplace lit the room with a dim yellow glow.
“Were you going someplace?”
She jumped.
“Come and join me, gatita,” he continued in a lazy voice. “I have been waiting for you.”
He didn’t sound drunk, and Samantha asked hesitantly, “What do you mean, waiting for me? What makes you think I haven’t been sleeping?”
He chuckled in a grating manner. “Because the candle in your room has burned all night. The light could be seen under the door, along with your shadow as you passed back and forth, back and forth.”
She blushed and replied stiffly, “So I wasn’t tired.”
“Be truthful, Sam.”
“All right,” she said with a touch of anger as she came forward. “I was waiting for you to lock the door.”
“You could have slept with the door open.”
Samantha reached the table, standing across from him, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. “In order to do that, I would have to trust you. But I don’t.”
Hank’s gray eyes lit up with amused laughter. “Why does my locking the door make you feel secure, Sam? I can open it at any time.”
“But you never have before,” she pointed out. “Not after you shut me in for the night.”
“True,” he conceded.
“So why didn’t you lock the door?”
“You were not going anywhere, nor was I. There was no…hurry.”
His casualness annoyed her. “You could have got drunk and passed out.”
“And you would have taken advantage of that? No, mi gatita, I do not get drunk on a little tequila. At any rate, Diego is the drinker. I have simply kept him company, listening to him talk. You see, he misses his woman, now that she is gone.”
“I’m afraid I can’t manage any pity for him on that score,” she replied drily.
“That is because you have no heart.”
She ignored that. “Is that why you invited him here, to listen to his problems?”
“No, querida mía,” Hank said in a too soft voice now. “He was here to distract me from a problem I have, to keep me from doing anything about it.”
Samantha blanched, wishing she didn’t understand. But she did. Diego was supposed to keep him from her. But Diego was gone now.
“I had thought you would go to sleep,” he continued in that same soft tone as he rose slowly from his chair. “I had hoped I would then have the decency not to disturb you.”
“Then you should have locked the door!” Samantha cried, in the grip of something she didn’t quite understand.
“Perhaps, after all, I did not want you to be asleep,” he murmured.
Samantha stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “You can just get those thoughts out of your head right now!”
“I wish I could. Truly, Sam.”
He took a step around the table, and Samantha turned and walked to her room. She got there first and closed the door, but he pushed it open, shoving her into the room as he did. The back of her legs hit the bed, and she lost her balance, falling onto it. She sat up and stared at him as he stood framed in the doorway, the dim glow of the fire behind him. Her heart began a wild hammering beat, and she tingled from the racing of her blood.
He started forward, leaving the door open, pulling his shirt from his pants as he moved toward her. Samantha moved back on the bed as far as she could go, trapping herself in the corner as she had done before.
As she watched Hank remove his shirt, she was aware of a quick rising in her spirits. All that he had implied about his leaving the door unlocked was, she told herself, quite true. Of course she hated the man. Of course she despised this kidnapper, this bandit. But she would not deny the strong feelings she had for Hank, wouldn’t deny it to herself now as she had refused to deny it to herself on that other occasion, under the tree. If there was one thing Samantha never did, it was lie to herself. She wanted Hank, and he would see to it that she was not disappointed.
Fearing that he could read her thoughts, she turned her face to the wall, feigning indifference. He would have to make the first move…and the second. He would have to woo her. She would never let him know outright that she desired him as fully, perhaps, as he desired her. Never!
He removed one boot, then the other. The sound of them hitting the floor was so final, it seemed to be sealing their fates. His pants dropped, and he kicked them aside.
“Why?” she demanded. “Are you so starved for a woman that you can’t wait for one who truly wants you?”
He lay down beside her, and soon she found her blouse discarded. She could see now the four faint scar lines on each side of his chest.
“As a matter of fact, you were the last woman I touched,” he admitted frankly. “You set a fire in me then. You have set another in me now. Wait for another woman? No, my sweet one. You will put out the fire.”
“You…you’re a disgrace,” she gasped, but there wasn’t much strength in the protest.
“I will not do anything I have not done before.”
“That—”
“Are you ever going to stop talking, Samina?” he breathed softly.
After that, neither of them said another word. She lay across the bed,
and he moved to lie on top of her, gently, not pressing with his whole weight. He looked deeply into her eyes, and she gazed directly back without looking away. There were no clothes between them. She could feel the heat of his body down the length of her.
When Hank’s face came close to hers she closed her eyes expecting to be kissed, but his mouth moved to her neck instead, and quickly that sensitive area was shivering with gooseflesh.
When his mouth closed over the fullness of one breast and his tongue danced circles around the erect nipple, Samantha began squirming closer to him. She had indeed set a fire in him, and he was kindling one in her. Her mind fought it, but her body was responding to his touch, his lips burning, searing her flesh. And when he forced her legs apart to slip between them, the hardness of him caused deeper heat, making her gasp.
She could feel that hard shaft against her, probing, but he didn’t enter her. The smooth round tip of him rested, teasing her, torturing her with waiting, with wanting that first plunge.
She wanted him. He had made her want him despite herself.
His mouth moved back to her neck. “Your skin is satin,” he breathed by her ear. “I have not forgotten, querida. I have remembered—everything.”
Her resistance had faded completely, and he knew it. Her hands grasped his neck, pulling him closer. It was time to end the torture, and as he thrust deeply into her, her body arched, wanting more of him. She was equal to his movements, her passion wild. It was love in its most primitive state.
Hank only barely felt her nails biting into his neck as she reached her peak, for he was in the grip of his own exquisite release. But when the pleasure subsided, the burning sting of her nails took over, and he knew she had drawn blood again. But it was worth it. Damned if this woman wasn’t worth anything.
Her breathing was slowing gradually, and her fingers were moving in his hair as he rested his head on her shoulder.
He leaned on his elbows to look down at her. Her eyes opened, and, in the faint light, he saw dark, shimmering pools of green that he would lose himself in if he was not careful.
He touched her cheek with a feathery caress. “You have marked me again, gatita,” he murmured.