Destination Wedding (2 page)
“It’s our best lead so far,” Frank Decorah answered from the wall monitor.
“Then we can get her back.”
Frank gave him a sympathetic look. “I know you want to move quickly, but we have to verify that he took her. And if it’s him, we have to figure out where he’s holding her.”
As they watched the screen, another picture flashed into view. It was of a good looking man with jet black hair tamed in an expensive cut.
The dark hair made him look like he was in his mid-forties, but the lines in his face told Nick that he was probably a bit older. Probably the hair was dyed. He stared at the camera with ice blue eyes, and his whole demeanor exuded an air of arrogance that set Nick’s teeth on edge. He was obviously a man who was used to giving orders—and getting what he wanted.
Did that include Camille Norland?
Samuel looked up and saw his other daughter huddled in the armchair in the corner, looking miserable.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he snapped. “You should be in bed, resting.”
“Resting? I can’t rest. This is my fault, and I have to know that Camille’s going to be safe.”
Nick needed to know that, too. Because now that Camille was gone, a hole had opened up in his heart.
oOo
Camille drifted in a comforting dream. She clung to it because she instinctively knew that if she allowed herself to wake, she wouldn’t be able to cope with her current reality.
Sinking deeper into sleep, she snuggled more tightly into a man’s powerful arms and knew that it was Nick Cassidy holding her. She didn’t open her eyes and look at him, but she caught the familiar citrus scent of his aftershave and felt the well-toned muscles of his hard body.
“Finally,” she whispered. “You finally came to me. What changed your mind?”
“I had to,” he answered in a thick voice.
She snuggled closer, pleased by the desperation she heard.
“We both know this is wrong,” he said. “I work for your father. I can’t be intimate with his daughter.”
The rough way he said the word “intimate” sent a hot chill skittering over her skin.
“If you weren’t working for my father, we never would have met—and been attracted to each other.”
He made a sound of acknowledgment deep in his chest, a sound she took for surrender.
“It’s okay. You know it’s what we both want.”
She cupped her hands around the back of his head, bringing his lips to hers, wordlessly telling him that they belonged together. The brush of her mouth against his was like the completion of an electric circuit, the power flowing from him to her as he took command, his mouth ravaging hers in an act of pure passion. She opened for him, welcoming the invasion of his tongue, the touch of his hands as they stroked and caressed her. Finally, after all these months of circling each other like dancers in a stylized ritual, he was going to make love with her.
She rolled to her back, giving him access to her body, waiting for one of his hands to claim her breasts and the other to slide downward into the hot core of her. For a charged moment, he hovered over her.
Then to her utter disappointment, he pulled away. When she reached for him, she grabbed only cool air, and she knew he had never really been there at all.
She wanted to sob out his name, but she understood that calling to him in this place would be dangerous.
This place? Her eyes blinked open. Her head pounded, and her vision slowly came into focus. What had happened to her? And where was she? The last thing she remembered was going shopping with Eden. Then . . .
She made a small sound as her most recent memories rushed back to her. They’d just gotten out of the car when two vans had boxed them in. Tough-looking men had grabbed her, and that was the last thing she remembered before waking up here.
She pushed herself up and looked around a luxurious bedroom. It reminded her a little of her room at home with French Provincial furniture and delicate pale blue and yellow fabrics. Like someone knew her taste and had copied it. But this wasn’t home. The bed was in the wrong position—across from the window. And the antique dresser was pretty but not something she’d seen before.
She was still thinking about that when she turned her head in the other direction and saw something she
really
couldn’t figure out. Hanging from a high stand was a stunningly beautiful wedding dress with white Duchesse lace and seed pearls layered over the long skirt. It was obviously from a designer studio and looked like it had cost the earth.
What was it doing here? And more to the point—what was
she
doing here?
Frantic scenarios raced through her foggy mind. Had that assault at the shopping mall given her amnesia? What if she was supposed to get married and . . . She couldn’t finish the thought because it had no logical conclusion. She remembered the last guy she’d dated. The son of one of her father’s golf buddies. A totally suitable match as far as the dads were concerned. But there hadn’t been any spark between her and Rick, and they’d mutually agreed that it wasn’t going to work out.
As she pushed herself up to get a better view of the room, the covers fell away and she was caught in another moment of confusion. Earlier she’d dressed in a powder blue tee shirt and navy shorts. They had disappeared, and now she was wearing a lacy nightgown.
She looked down at her front, seeing her nipples through the almost transparent bodice. In the next second, she heard the doorknob turn and yanked the covers up to her neck.
A tall man stepped into the room, and she blinked, trying to process who he was. Then his face registered, and she made a choking sound.
It was Victor Zanov, the arrogant Russian guy Dad had asked to the estate once before he’d invited himself back a couple of times. He was dressed in white slacks and a beige and yellow striped sports shirt much like the clothes he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him. When he’d come to their house, Dad had asked her to be nice to him. Which was difficult because his touch made her skin crawl, and she knew from the way his icy blue eyes warmed in her presence that he had the hots for her. He’d asked Dad for her hand in marriage, and when they’d discussed it, she’d said, “no way.”
My God, had Victor Zanov decided he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer? The audacity of that idea took her breath away. Under the covers, she clenched her fists, struggling for calm, unwilling to be the first to speak.
When she said nothing, he filled the silence. “I’m sorry for the devious method of bringing you here, my sweet.” He spoke in excellent English, but with the pronounced Russian accent that she remembered.
The endearment made her cringe. “You don’t think kidnapping me is immoral and illegal?” she managed to ask.
He raised one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “I spoke to your father about marrying you, and he was opposed to the idea. But I’m sure he’ll come around—after you give him some cute little grandchildren.”
The enormity of the statement made her gasp.
Ignoring her reaction, he went on. “I’ve arranged the ceremony for tomorrow.”
While she struggled to process that news, he continued to fill her in on his plans. “It will be an elegant but small affair. A few of my closest friends and associates will be coming in by boat. But I think you’ll find the reception festive.”
She tried to hold her voice steady when she answered, “I can’t marry you.”
“Of course you can, and you will.”
“I have to go home. My father will be frantic. Did you tell him where I am?”
“I will—after I insure that you’re mine.”
The way he said it made her go cold all over. Then another terrible thought struck her, and she caught her breath. “What happened to Eden?”
“She’s perfectly safe. My men left her with that bodyguard, Mr. Cunningham. And as for going home, this is your new home. You’re here on my private island in the Caribbean. It’s even better guarded than your father’s estate.”
Before she could respond, he added, “Of course, if you’re totally opposed to marrying me, I can drop you off where I picked you up and fetch Eden instead.”
Camille drew in a sharp breath. “Eden?”
“Yes. She’s my second choice, of course. But she’s almost as lovely as you are, and I think she’d be quick to comply.”
Camille took in his words. Her younger sister had never been strong. This man would break her spirit, and then her health would go downhill. But could he even get Eden? Dad probably had her locked up at the estate. Still, if there was a chance of Eden’s getting kidnapped, Camille had to protect her.
When she gave a little nod of acquiescence, he continued in a satisfied voice. “I’m glad you’re being pragmatic. And of course, I’ve thought of your every need. The closet is full of clothes that are perfect for you. And you’ll love the facilities here. It’s like your father’s estate, but on a far more luxurious level. You’ll love the pools, the gardens, the food. Our chefs are excellent. You can have the best of any cuisine you like, although I hope you’ll want to try some of my Russian favorites like black caviar and chicken Kiev.” He paused and gave her a considering look. “And as for the intimate aspects of marriage, you’ll find I am an excellent lover. I’m looking forward to teaching you some pleasures you might not have encountered before.”
The words and their wealth of meaning struck her like a dagger in the chest, and she fought not to scream that he was the last man on earth she’d want to make love with.
Maybe her expression warned him that he was going too fast. “I’ll give you some privacy now. You can get dressed—or if you’d like to make love with me before the wedding, you can stay in bed. Either way, I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”
When the door closed behind him, she was alone again—and struggling not to scream.
She could feel tears stinging the backs of her eyes, and she took a moment to will them away. She
would not
cry. Crying would do her no good.
She had to stay focused—on escape. Maybe she couldn’t do it before the wedding. And, oh Lord, maybe not even before the wedding night. Would she have to let him rape her? Because that’s what it would be. Her whole body clenched as she imagined Victor Zanov’s hands on her breasts, his mouth covering hers.
He wasn’t a bad looking man. He was smart—or perhaps cunning was a better word. She knew he’d taken advantage of the chaos in Russia after the breakup of the Soviet Union to make millions. Now he obviously kept himself fit, and his features would have been pleasing if they hadn’t concealed what she knew was a ruthless determination. In the safety of her home, she hadn’t understood the depths of that determination.
She tried to dredge up what else she knew about him. It wasn’t a lot because she hadn’t really been interested in him. Dad had met him at an international energy conference, and they had been friendly in the way of men who had business interests in common. Zanov had access to sources of oil that her father wanted to use in some of his European manufacturing plants. They’d struck a deal for the oil, but Zanov had pressed for a personal relationship.
When he’d broached the subject of marrying Camille, he’d probably expected her father to let his new friend have the daughter. After all, hadn’t Victor made an honorable proposal? But Dad was not the kind of parent who would force his daughter into a loveless marriage for business considerations.
She glanced toward the door, remembering her captor’s words of warning before departing.
Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. But the knockout drug was still having an effect, and a wave of dizziness struck her as her bare feet hit the tile floor. If she hadn’t braced her hands against the bed, she would have fallen over. When she was feeling steadier, she crossed to the door and tried the knob. It was locked from the outside.
Turning she hurried to the window and pulled the drapes aside. The expanse of glass was large, but the panes were covered with bars.
Next she stepped into the bathroom. It also had a window, that opened into a walled courtyard completely surrounded by the house. To get out that way she’d have to somehow get up to the roof and crawl across.
How many minutes had passed since Zanov had left her? She wasn’t sure about the time, but she was sure he wasn’t going to find her in this sexy gown.
She washed quickly in the bathroom, then found a walk-in closet filled with clothes. In a chest of drawers were panties and bras that fit. After pulling them on, she grabbed a pair of white slacks and a long-sleeved turquoise blouse, both of which were the perfect size and color for her. She could have put on sandals but she choose socks and running shoes—in case she did get a chance to make a break for it.
Again she struggled not to sob—or laugh hysterically. How many women in the twenty-first century would find themselves in a situation remotely like this? Maybe in medieval Europe or something. But not now.
You couldn’t kidnap an American citizen and force her to marry you. But Victor Zanov had done it. And he’d said this was his private island. Did that mean he made the laws here—and they could be anything he wanted?
She clenched her fists, wanting to pound her hands against the walls. But she couldn’t indulge in meaningless gestures, she had to keep her cool—and think her way out of this.
Still, it was hard to stay calm in the face of his boast. He’d talked about pleasures she might not have tried. What did he mean by that? Would he force her to do things she found disgusting?
She thrust those questions out of her head. Better to focus on escape. She knew Nick would move heaven and earth to rescue her. But would he have any idea where to look?
In the Norland command center, Nick paced back and forth, struggling for calm.
It didn’t help when Teddy announced from the TV monitor, “They filed a false flight plan.”
Samuel Norland answered with a string of curses.
“But I’m checking destinations within the flight range of the aircraft.”