Sweet Hostage Read online

  She’d been pretty certain he’d be at this gala tonight. And she’d chosen to wear this dress.

  The daring design outdid anything in her closet. Her roommate had taken one look at it in the shop window, and dragged her inside to try it on. And had practically clapped her hands in glee when it fit as though it had been made for her. It had been outrageously pricey, but she’d let Deirdre talk her into it, and into the slim, sexy heels she now wore. Even then, she’d nearly chickened out; her roommate, sensing her impending cowardice, bullied and shoved her into the dress, the shoes, and then the cab.

  “I won’t be home,” Deirdre had reminded her for the fourth time, before slamming the cab door shut. “I’ll be in Mosul all week. So . . .”

  Yeah, right. Like she would bring someone home with her.

  “Ah, Miss Gibson. And how did you find the young major?”

  Shelby turned to Admiral Leighton, who had walked up to the buffet with an empty plate. “An excellent dance partner. I see your appetite has returned.”

  He grinned, unrepentant. “He’s handsome, too.”

  Shelby suppressed a grin. A diehard sentimentalist, Admiral Leighton saw romance blossoming everywhere.

  “He was a bit too full of himself,” she told the older man. Told herself, too. “Not my type at all.”

  The admiral chuckled. “Well, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, my dear.”

  “Let me freshen your drink, Admiral,” she said diplomatically. She found one of the floating servers and motioned him over. Exchanging his nearly empty flute for a fresh one, she took a glass of champagne for herself as well. Several members of the admiral’s staff joined them, and Shelby smiled and chatted and tried to ignore Trevor Carswell.

  It proved impossible.

  No matter where she was in the ballroom, she sensed his presence. Each time she glanced in his direction, his gaze tracked her. He didn’t approach her, though. Was he as rattled by their dance as she had been?

  Not likely.

  She snagged another drink. Her third, or her fourth? It hardly mattered. Practiced in the art of appearances, in reality she was doing little more than taking a sip or two of each.

  Usually virtually invisible at these events, her dress brought men flocking around her, flirting outrageously as they tried to move in for the kill. She could hear Bruce’s voice whispering into her ear. “Be a good girl for me, hon. Be nice to my friends.” A commodity. That’s all she’d ever been to him. And her father, before that. “Find a man to take care of you, Shel. You won’t have your looks forever.”

  She drew the line at Louis Jowat, however. Couldn’t believe he’d even had the gall to ask her to dance. She muttered a quick apology and all but ran for the ladies’ room.

  She saw Trevor sitting at one of the tables, deep in conversation with an Azakistani staffer she knew by face only. He looked up, right at her, as attuned to her as she was to him. The sharp concern in his eyes startled her.

  Shelby made it to the ladies’ lounge and sank into one of the chairs.

  What the hell was it about the SAS major that drew her in so thoroughly? She’d worked with plenty of attractive men; he was far more than just a handsome face. His gentle strength, his impeccable manners, his sharp intelligence all appealed to her.

  Well, she couldn’t hide in here forever. And she needed to know what she would do when she exited the room.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be there. Maybe he’d lost interest.

  Leaning against the hallway wall, Trevor straightened when he saw her, and zeroed in on an intercept path. “Are you all right?”

  She forced an airy laugh. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He just looked at her.

  “I’m fine. Really. Just tired.”

  He frowned. He had a sensuous mouth. A thin upper lip, and a full lower one. He was probably a very good kisser. “Something I said earlier upset you. I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t know what he saw in her face, but the concern in his didn’t lessen. “It really had nothing to do with you, Major. Just old memories.”

  “Trevor.”

  She gave a wan smile. “Trevor, then.”

  “I didn’t intend to upset you. It was mention of your fiancé, wasn’t it.”

  It was a statement, but she answered anyway. “I’m silly to let it upset me. Because you’re right. I deserve much better.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, though he didn’t smile. “How long ago was this?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him. Tell me about yourself instead.”

  This time he did smile. “I’m pretty uncomplicated. What you see is what you get.”

  She laughed, thoughts of Bruce fading from her mind as she relaxed. “Far from it. Don’t forget, I read ­people for a living. You’re about as far from uncomplicated as it’s possible to get.”

  “Then get to know me.”

  The heat in his eyes nearly scalded her. A man passed them in the short hallway, heading for the restroom. Trevor moved closer to her to let him pass. She put a hand on his chest and he halted. Before she could stop herself, her hand smoothed over his chest to his shoulder. His hand came up to cover hers, pressing it more firmly against him. His other arm snaked around her waist, snugging them together. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to unwrap her like a present,

  Back away. Don’t stare into those deep brown eyes. Don’t—­

  She found herself hypnotized. For long moments, they just stood there, staring at one another. His scent, clean and masculine, teased her nostrils, as it had during their too-­brief dance. She leaned in, reaching for his lips.

  If she’d thought they were close together before, he now enveloped her, the hand at her waist coming up to cup the back of her head as he crowded her into the wall. His lips found hers and he devoured her, licking into her mouth. She tasted the champagne on his breath as it mixed with hers. Heat shot through her core as their tongues dueled.

  All too soon, he lifted his head, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck as he withdrew. His gaze traveled from her hair to her lips, parting as she watched him, and to her breasts with their sensitized nipples straining at the fabric. The hunger lingered in his eyes, in his body.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Go somewhere quieter, with fewer prying eyes.”

  She found herself nodding, but immediately shook her head. The dead-­last thing she should do was give this man any encouragement. He would be all over her. And then he would trample all over her, and leave her mangled.

  “I’ve done my duty,” she said. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night.”

  “I’ll escort you out.”

  “All right.” The truth was, she wasn’t ready for the evening to end. A few more minutes with him before he put her into a cab would be all right, wouldn’t it?

  They walked together through the lobby and out into the hot night. A taxicab immediately pulled up, and Trevor held the door for her as she slid inside.

  “May I share the taxi with you?” he asked.

  “Where do you live? Oh, never mind. Get in.”

  She scooted over, and he folded more than six feet of muscle and sinew in next to her.

  “Where to, guv’nor?”

  She gave the cabbie her address, then sat back. Their shoulders brushed. The woman in her purred as his arm came around her, pulled her to his chest. She deepened the contact.

  All too soon, the taxi pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment building. Reluctantly, she sat up, reaching into her clutch for some crumpled bills. “Thank you for the escort home.”

  He put a hand over hers as he handed the driver money, then slid out and held the door for her. “I’ll walk you up.”

  “That’s not . . .” She was going to say necessary, but one look into his face shut
her up. The gentleman in him would see her to the door, end of discussion. She slid over the seat to the door and swung her legs to the pavement, holding the sides of her skirt together at the slit. Trevor’s gaze followed her hand. She edged out of the taxi and swallowed her protest when he took her arm.

  Suddenly nervous, she led the way to the elevators. Trevor pressed the up arrow, guiding her inside when the doors swished open.

  “They’re pretty reliable,” she said. “A lot of embassy personnel live here, so they keep things running pretty well for us. One of the mail room guys got stuck a few weeks ago, though. He was in there for hours. We took turns sitting on the ground and shouting to him.” She was babbling. Great. Shelby clamped her mouth shut and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

  The doors slid open and he put his hand at the small of her back to guide her out. Her skin became instantly sensitized.

  “Which flat?”

  She pointed left. “Five-­twelve.”

  At the door, she opened her evening bag and rooted around inside. Lipstick, compact, comb. Rats. Where was her key?

  He pulled the bag from her and plunged a hand inside. And voila! Her key appeared. He inserted it and twisted. Her door opened and she stepped inside.

  “Okay, we’re here. I’m safe.”

  He loomed large in the doorway, but made no move to enter. “Good night, then, Shelby.”

  As he started to turn, she reached out a hand. “Would . . . would you like some coffee?”

  He smiled, and her heart beat faster.

  “A coffee would be brilliant.”

  Closing and locking the door behind him, she led the way to the kitchen. “Truthfully, I usually just stop at Starbucks on the way to work.”

  She pulled down a bag of their winter blend, which always amused her here in Azakistan, where the temperature hovered at a balmy hundred-­and-­two. Setting the bag of coffee on the counter, she chewed her lip as she turned back to him, and found his gaze traveling from her hair to her lips, parting as she saw his perusal, to her breasts, down her legs to her feet in the very high heels. The hunger lingered in his eyes, in his body—­but tightly controlled.

  She gazed at him, shocked at her body’s reaction. Heat pooled low, her nipples straining at the fabric. Well, she allowed, it had been awhile. A long while. An extremely long while, now that she thought about it. When was the last time she’d liked a man enough to invite him into her bed?

  “I’m out of filters.” She flushed a deep red when his glance flickered to the counter, where the pack of filters sat beside the coffeemaker.

  “Some wine, then?”

  She forced herself to hold his gaze. “I was thinking . . . dessert.”

  His slow smile, sensual and knowing, caused her heart to pound in her chest. Without another word, she took him by the hand and led him down the hall and into her bedroom.

  SHELBY STIRRED TO the soft chirr of a phone. The mattress shifted, and the solid warmth at her back disappeared. She made a muted sound of protest and opened her eyes just far enough to see Trevor pad, naked, across the floor. She took the time to admire his firm, yummy butt as he bent to slide a phone from his pants pocket. Damn, the man was fine. Hard muscles, tight ass, strong legs. She stretched like a luxuriating cat, full bodied and contented, feeling a delicious soreness and a smile.

  “Carswell.”

  He kept his voice low, his back turned so as not to disturb her. Where had the hard military man gone? The Trevor she’d experienced last night had been warm and caring. Sweet and attentive.

  It had surprised her. Despite devouring her with his hot gaze at the gala and the fire that had ignited when he’d kissed her, if she had said no—­if she had so much as shaken her head—­he would have walked right out of her apartment.

  Last night had been a revelation. Her fingers trailed down her neck to her breasts, eyelids drooping in pleasurable memory. He’d been more concerned with her gratification than his own, bringing her to heights she’d never experienced. So that’s what great sex felt like, she mused. Her other encounters paled in comparison. She hoped he finished the call quickly and returned to bed. Maybe she could seduce him into a repeat performance?

  “Jesus! Where are you?”

  The sudden tension in Trevor’s voice roused her.

  “Right. All right. It’ll . . . yes. Me. I can. I’m in Ma’ar ye zhad, not more than an hour from you.” After a pause, Trevor exhaled a soft laugh. His voice dropped, became softer. “I remember, princess. We do seem to be making a habit of it. Do you need me to bring anything?” Trevor chuckled at whatever he heard on the other end, a low, masculine sound men only used with women. “Hang tight. I’ll be along shortly.” He disconnected.

  That men only used with women they had slept with, or wanted to sleep with.

  Shelby’s heart fragmented. The disappointment crushed her, more so because it surprised her. She knew better than to fall for a man like him. She’d warned herself to steer clear of him. Career soldiers did not commit. They were faithful to the military. Everyone else took on the role of a mission—­get in, get out. Pun intended.

  They had one-­night stands, sure. The affair might even last a few weeks, but, in the end, he would pack up and go and never look back.

  He pulled his pants on with a contained urgency, tucking in his shirt before buckling his pants. Draping his jacket over one arm, he picked up his shoes. Shelby closed her eyes.

  She felt more than heard him cross to the bed. He hesitated there for what seemed like forever, then bent and brushed his lips across her cheek. Shelby kept her eyes shut and her breathing even. Go away. Just go away.

  Apparently he heard her mental command, because he crossed to the bedroom door and eased it open. She didn’t hear him tiptoe through the rest of the apartment; didn’t even hear her front door open and close. But she knew as soon as she was alone.

  Shelby rolled onto her back, arm up and over her eyes. The man she had spent an incredible night with, with whom she had shared amazing sex, had just left her bed to go to another woman.

  Guess the amazing part had just been on her end.

  Looking at the bedside clock, she saw it was barely three in the morning. Maybe it had been a work emergency? She exhaled a disgusted laugh. Yeah, sure. And pigs would fly to the moon. A hot tear slid from the corner of her eye and down into her hair.

  Well, what had she expected? One night with her would make him fall in love? Who was she kidding? Men—­real men, decent men—­didn’t fall in love with her. And the rat bastards—­like him, like the hometown boys of her youth, like her ex-­fiancé—­got what they wanted and vanished into the night. At three in the morning.

  She turned onto her side, hugging her pillow to her. This time the tear slid across her nose and down the opposite cheek. Shelby didn’t bother to brush it away. She knew the numbness and disbelief would eventually dissipate, to be replaced by a hot wash of anger. She even welcomed it. Anything was better than the shards of hurt impaling her.

  Maybe his departure had come earlier than she had expected, but at least sneaking out in the middle of the night had allowed them to skip the awkward next-­morning bit. The embarrassed stammering as they realized they each knew next to nothing about the other one. The question of whether she’d cook him breakfast. The humiliation of seeing him dart glances at the front door, wishing he were elsewhere.

  Yes, better to accept the night for what it had been. Scratching an itch; nothing more, nothing less. A pleasant interlude that meant absolutely nothing. She sat up abruptly, squaring her shoulders. She would face the day as she always did, with a brave face, no matter how she felt inside. And no one would know.

  No one ever knew.

  Chapter Five

  June 13. 6:15 p.m.

  August Museum of Modern Art

  WHAT IN BLOODY hell was Shelby doing here?
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br />   Trevor tried to unclench his jaw. This whole bastarding situation had spiraled out of control. Eric’s plan to set off a bomb in the museum—­which he still hadn’t figured out how to stop—­had now turned into a hostage standoff with police. Eric was strung tight as a bow; anything could tip him over the edge into violence. His team was worse.

  A telephone began to ring in the lobby. A bullhorn screeched feedback from the front doors. “Inside the building. Pick up the telephone.”

  “Should we pick up, Eric?” Fay Star probably wasn’t any older than twenty-­four, but her thin face decorated with prison tattoos made her look older. The pentagram on her forehead and blue dots running along her cheekbones could have meant anything or nothing. Her hair twisted messily around her head, held up by a careless rubber band.

  “Bugger ’em. They can kiss my arse.”

  Trevor glanced in Shelby’s direction. She must be scared out of her wits. She crouched behind one of the pedestals with a wild-­eyed girl and a man in a suit. Her eyes tracked him, lips parted as she sucked in short, sharp breaths. There was no way to reassure her. He forced himself to turn away.

  “We’re going to have to talk to the police, Eric,” he said. ­“Sooner’s better.”

  Nathan Scopes joined them near the front of the gallery, peeking around the corner into the lobby. His bright red hair was buzzed close to his head, but his usual cocky grin was missing. He scratched two fingers through his scruffy beard. “Must be two dozen coppers out there. What, they got nothing better to do?”

  “I think we have their full attention,” Trevor said drily.

  “Someone need to shut that fekking blower off,” Crawley grumbled. As though on cue, the telephone stopped ringing.

  “Jukes,” Eric called. “Get us on their network.”

  Jukes whipped his laptop out from under his unbuttoned camouflaged jacket. He cleared space on a pedestal by shoving the sculpture off it. The bronze abstract of a ­couple twined together hit the floor with a bang. Several of the hostages let out cries or screams. Shelby winced.