go home?” The almost tender look in his eyes sharpened rather than lessened her pain. She’d let herself be fooled by him once. Her sanity…her very heart depended on her not making the same mistake twice.
“Yes, I am,” she said.
As he swung her up in his arms and carried her toward their waiting plane, she glanced over his shoulder, trying to catch one last glimpse of Morocco.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be back soon,” he said.
Her lips twisted. “I highly doubt that.”
He gave her a sharp look but didn’t alter his stride as he climbed into his plane.
…
In the hollowed-out trunk of a baobab tree at the edge of the Nawakan jungle, where the dense green gave way to the savannah, Charles Mwana stared at the cutout picture of the woman he’d poured his heart out to. The woman who now knew all of his plans for Nawaka.
His gaze didn’t stray from her perfection of her face, but his throat moved. The rumble emerged from his very soul, growing louder with each second.
Outside his hideout, a family of impala froze in unison, their doe eyes wide and watchful. At the frightening, unholy roar, they scattered into the golden dusk.
Before the echo had died, he was reaching for his satellite phone.
Chapter Four
A LTHEA, THE G REEK I SLES
“Why the hell have you brought me here?” Belle twisted in her seat to face Nick, her freshly washed and dried hair whipping about her face.
After taking a much-needed shower in Nick’s G550 Gulfstream’s lavish bathroom, she’d entered the bedroom of the large cabin and found a pair of cream linen trousers with a matching jade camisole and sweater set laid out on the bed. They looked new, but she hadn’t summoned the courage to ask Nick who they’d belonged to. She’d also found an abundance of expensive female toiletries, which only pressed home the reminder that Nick was very much a red-blooded male, who likely hadn’t been without female company in the time they’d been apart.
Her hurt veered to anger as, with lazy indifference, he lowered his newspaper and arched a masculine brow at her.
“I asked you a question! You said you were taking me home, so why are we landing on Althea?” she demanded.
Beyond her window, the turquoise waters of the Aegean sparkled below the low-banking jet. Beautiful, breathtaking…but a far cry from the gray expanse of the English Channel she’d expected to see.
She heard the mechanical whine of the landing gear as it lowered, and panic clawed at her.
She didn’t want to be here on Nick’s private island off the Greek coast, where the only other inhabitants were the cook and housekeeper Demetra, her husband and the island caretaker Yannis, and two maids who lived in a small cottage behind the large, rambling villa.
She didn’t want to be here, in the place where memories abounded everywhere—of the glorious delirium of her honeymoon, of the long days spent exploring the island and swimming in the ocean, and especially the long, steamy nights making love with Nick. She looked out of the window again, to make sure her eyes hadn’t deceived her.
They hadn’t.
“Yes, you wanted to go home,” Nick drawled from his seat beside her, “so that is where I’ve brought you. Althea will always be your home, pethi mou .”
“You know I damned well didn’t mean here, or you chose to deliberately misunderstand. I meant my apartment in Brighton, the place I’ve been living for the past six months. Tell your pilot to change course immediately.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” he informed her, and with a flick of his wrist disposed of the newspaper on a nearby table. “After what you’ve been through, you need time to recuperate. I’ve seen your flat. You can barely swing a cat in there, never mind hold a man of my size. You’ll recuperate here, in your home , in comfort.” His tone coaxed indulgently, as if he addressed a petulant child.
Feeling the steel trap of his indomitable control close around her, she bit out
“Yes, I am,” she said.
As he swung her up in his arms and carried her toward their waiting plane, she glanced over his shoulder, trying to catch one last glimpse of Morocco.
“Don’t worry. We’ll be back soon,” he said.
Her lips twisted. “I highly doubt that.”
He gave her a sharp look but didn’t alter his stride as he climbed into his plane.
…
In the hollowed-out trunk of a baobab tree at the edge of the Nawakan jungle, where the dense green gave way to the savannah, Charles Mwana stared at the cutout picture of the woman he’d poured his heart out to. The woman who now knew all of his plans for Nawaka.
His gaze didn’t stray from her perfection of her face, but his throat moved. The rumble emerged from his very soul, growing louder with each second.
Outside his hideout, a family of impala froze in unison, their doe eyes wide and watchful. At the frightening, unholy roar, they scattered into the golden dusk.
Before the echo had died, he was reaching for his satellite phone.
Chapter Four
A LTHEA, THE G REEK I SLES
“Why the hell have you brought me here?” Belle twisted in her seat to face Nick, her freshly washed and dried hair whipping about her face.
After taking a much-needed shower in Nick’s G550 Gulfstream’s lavish bathroom, she’d entered the bedroom of the large cabin and found a pair of cream linen trousers with a matching jade camisole and sweater set laid out on the bed. They looked new, but she hadn’t summoned the courage to ask Nick who they’d belonged to. She’d also found an abundance of expensive female toiletries, which only pressed home the reminder that Nick was very much a red-blooded male, who likely hadn’t been without female company in the time they’d been apart.
Her hurt veered to anger as, with lazy indifference, he lowered his newspaper and arched a masculine brow at her.
“I asked you a question! You said you were taking me home, so why are we landing on Althea?” she demanded.
Beyond her window, the turquoise waters of the Aegean sparkled below the low-banking jet. Beautiful, breathtaking…but a far cry from the gray expanse of the English Channel she’d expected to see.
She heard the mechanical whine of the landing gear as it lowered, and panic clawed at her.
She didn’t want to be here on Nick’s private island off the Greek coast, where the only other inhabitants were the cook and housekeeper Demetra, her husband and the island caretaker Yannis, and two maids who lived in a small cottage behind the large, rambling villa.
She didn’t want to be here, in the place where memories abounded everywhere—of the glorious delirium of her honeymoon, of the long days spent exploring the island and swimming in the ocean, and especially the long, steamy nights making love with Nick. She looked out of the window again, to make sure her eyes hadn’t deceived her.
They hadn’t.
“Yes, you wanted to go home,” Nick drawled from his seat beside her, “so that is where I’ve brought you. Althea will always be your home, pethi mou .”
“You know I damned well didn’t mean here, or you chose to deliberately misunderstand. I meant my apartment in Brighton, the place I’ve been living for the past six months. Tell your pilot to change course immediately.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” he informed her, and with a flick of his wrist disposed of the newspaper on a nearby table. “After what you’ve been through, you need time to recuperate. I’ve seen your flat. You can barely swing a cat in there, never mind hold a man of my size. You’ll recuperate here, in your home , in comfort.” His tone coaxed indulgently, as if he addressed a petulant child.
Feeling the steel trap of his indomitable control close around her, she bit out
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