The Bedroom Barter

Because only a couple of hours ago Chellie had sung about wanting ‘someone to watch over her’, and that was precisely what she’d got. And every instinct was warning her that, among so many others, this could be her worst mistake so far.

The sooner I get away from him, the better, she thought, her throat muscles tightening. But that’s not going to be so easy. Because I seem to have passed seamlessly from Mama Rita’s clutches into his.

Oh, God, how could I have been such a fool? And is it too late to redress the situation somehow?

She drew a breath. ‘What did you do with Manuel’s keys?’

‘Threw them into an open drain.’

‘Oh.’ She moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘That’s—good.’

‘I thought so,’ he returned with a touch of dryness.

She looked down at the cobbles. ‘This boat we’re leaving on—where is it exactly?’

‘It’s moored at the marina,’ he said.

‘Isn’t that the first place they’ll look?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘Because they have no reason to connect me with boats.’

‘You don’t seem very concerned.’

‘And you’re tying yourself into knots over possibilities,’ he retorted.

Chellie subsided into silence again, biting her lip. Then she said, ‘My passport—you did find it?’

He sighed. ‘I told you so.’

‘Then—could I have it, please?’

He gave her a swift sideways glance. ‘Thinking of making an independent bid for freedom, songbird?’ He shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t get half a mile.’

Knowing he was right did nothing to improve her temper. Or alleviate the feeling that she was cornered.

‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘like Mama Rita, I feel I need something to guarantee your good behaviour.’

She gasped. ‘Are you saying you don’t trust me?’ she demanded huskily.

‘Not as far as I could throw you with one hand, sweetheart.’ He paused. ‘Any more than you trust me.’ He slanted a grin at her. ‘Grind your teeth if you like, but I’m still your best bet for getting out of here unscathed, and you know it. And what’s a little mutual suspicion between friends?’

‘I,’ Chellie stated with cool clarity, ‘am not your friend.’

He shrugged again. ‘Well, my Christmas card list is full anyway.’

‘However,’ she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘I’d still like my passport back.’ She paused. ‘Please.’

‘My God,’ he said softly. ‘The authentic note of the autocrat. That didn’t take long to emerge. From downtrodden victim to “she who must be obeyed” in one easy step.’ His voice hardened. ‘And what am I supposed to do now, darling? Turn pale and grovel? You should have tried it with Manuel. He’d have been most impressed.’

‘How dare you.’ Her voice shook.

They had stopped walking. Suddenly Chellie found herself being propelled across the quayside and into the shadows between two wooden buildings, where he faced her, his eyes glittering, his hands gripping her shoulders, immobilising her completely. Making her look back at him.

‘Oh, I dare quite easily,’ he said. ‘Because someone should have stopped you in your tracks a long time ago. And then perhaps you wouldn’t need me to get you out of this mess now.’

‘I don’t need you,’ Chellie flung back at him recklessly. ‘There’ll be other boats. I can find a passage out of here without your questionable assistance.’

‘Yes,’ he said, grimly. ‘But probably not tonight. And that’s only one of your problems. Because how long can you afford to wait? How long before word gets round that a girl with eyes like a cat and a bad haircut is trying to leave port and Mama Rita tracks you down?’

He paused. ‘And there’s the small question of cost,’ he went on remorselessly. ‘You’ve no real cash, so are you really prepared to pay the alternative price you might be charged? If so, you could find it a very long voyage.’

‘You’re vile.’ She choked out the words.

‘I’m a realist,’ he returned implacably. ‘Whereas you …’ He gave a derisive laugh. ‘In spite of everything that’s happened, you still haven’t learned a bloody thing, have you, sweetheart?’

She said in a stifled voice, ‘Please—please let go of me.’

‘Afraid I might want to teach you a valuable lesson?’ He shook his head derisively. ‘Not a chance, sweetheart. You’re not my type.’

But he made no attempt to release her, and Chellie, trapped between the hard male warmth of his body and the wall of rough planking behind her, felt herself begin to tremble inside.

Suddenly the world had shrunk to this dark corner, and the paler oval of his face looking down at her. The sheer physical nearness of him.

She was dimly aware of other things too. Men’s voices shouting angrily and the loud blare of a vehicle horn. But all that seemed to be happening in another world—another universe that had no relevance to her or the quiver of need that was growing and intensifying within her.

She saw his head turn sharply, heard him swear quietly and succinctly under his breath, then, before she could even contemplate resistance, he swooped down on her, and for one startled, breathless moment her mouth was crushed under his.

But not in anything that could be recognised as a kiss. That was the real shock of it all. Because the tight-lipped pressure of his mouth on hers was simply that—physical contact without an atom of desire or sensuality.

A harsh, untender parody of a caress.

And one that was over almost as soon as it had begun.

Chellie leaned back against the wall, her legs barely able to support

her, looking up at him, trying and failing to read his face.

She said in a voice she barely recognised, ‘What was—that about?’

He said, ‘That was Manuel in a Jeep, with another guy driving him.’ He paused. ‘Bald, built like a bull. Do you know him?’

‘Rico. He’s a bouncer at the club.’ Chellie spoke numbly, trying to drag together the remnants of her composure without success. ‘Did they see us?’

‘I think they might have stopped if so,’ he said drily. ‘Besides, I made sure you were well hidden.’