Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The noise at the door tore Chloe from her fitful sleep, and she froze.
She knew this was going to happen—someone was coming to hurt her, maybe kill her, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Scrambling off the cot, she backed into the far corner of the room, crouching to fend off whatever was coming.
The door slammed open, and Bastien stood there, fury practically vibrating through him. For a moment, her heart stopped. He wouldn’t be the one to kill her, would he? He was the one who’d ordered her locked away—why would he care one way or another?
He strode into the room, and she cowered in the corner. He had a gun in his hand…
Which he tucked in the back of his pants as he approached her, the way one would approach a wild animal. “Did anyone hurt you?” he asked gently, squatting down in front of her.
She looked at him warily, then shook her head. “You told them to lock me up…”
“I did not. I told Luc to put you on a plane to America,” he said, and she knew it was the truth. “He was supposed to provide you with a passport and enough money to get home.” He put out his hand to her, and she hesitated, then let him pull her up. “Can you walk?”
He could carry her—he was strong enough—and she really liked the idea, but she resisted. “Yes,” she said. “Where are we going?”
“Back to my rooms.” She heard Maddelena let out a shriek of rage in the background and realized they weren’t alone. Luc was there as well, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and she wanted them all gone.
“Okay,” she said quietly. For the first time in three days, she felt safe, and she took a hesitant step forward. She’d underestimated her strength—her legs were shaky and she felt dizzy, and Bastien scooped her up into his arms, and she was home again.
He carried her through the long hallways effortlessly, but once they reached the main part of the house, she offered to walk. He simply held her tighter, moving through the place with determination, until they reached his rooms.
It was ornate and Moorish, with deep, bright colors and a wide, rumpled bed, and she wanted to lie in it with his arms around her.
“I really have to pee,” she said, and he laughed, setting her on her feet.
“The bathroom’s through there.”
“Can I take a shower?”
“You can do anything you want.”
She looked up at him, and she wanted to go into his arms. She resisted the need. “I want to leave here,” she said in a small voice.
“I know you do. I promise, I’ll personally put you on a plane back home.”
“No,” she said. “I want to leave here, I don’t want to leave you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, probably in exasperation, then opened them again, and for a moment he was Bastien once more, all trace of Jean-Marc gone.
“You can’t,” he said. “This is no place for an American housewife.”
He made it sound like an insult, but she shook her head. “We can both leave,” she said. “Go away someplace, and…”
“Why would I want to leave with you?” The words were cold, cruel, and she shut her mouth in defeat.
“I can’t think of a single reason why,” she said after a moment, turning away from him. She started toward the bathroom, but at the last minute, he caught her arm, turning her back to face him.
“I want you safe,” he said. “And safe means far away from me.” His voice was flat, implacable, and she knew there was no way she could change his mind.
“What if I only feel safe with you?”
“Don’t do this, Chloe,” he said, and the sound of her name was a benediction. “You have to leave. I have to know you’re okay. This is a dangerous life I live, and it’s a short one. You don’t belong with me.”
“But you belong with me.”
“I’m not your husband,” he warned her, and she made one last attempt, reaching up and placing her mouth against his. His reaction was instantaneous, cupping her face and kissing her gently. “No,” he said.
She couldn’t argue with him any longer—it would get her nowhere. “I really have to pee,” she said helplessly.
“Then go. You’re not going to change my mind.”
And she knew she couldn’t.
The bathroom was large and sybaritic, and after she relieved herself, she looked around, taking in its rather barbaric splendor.
Colorful tiles were everywhere, but pride of place was held by a deep copper bathtub, and she immediately started running the water.
She wasn’t giving up—she’d never give up on him. She just needed to regroup.
She’d never had a more luxurious bath in her life—the copper kept the water warm, and she lolled in it, washing her hair, sitting in its warm depths until her skin wrinkled and the pain in her heart began to ease.
Whether he realized it or not, Bastien was beginning to remember.
He wanted her—she had no doubt of that—but he was too stubborn to admit it.
If she weren’t careful, he really would put her on a plane out of here, away from him.
She finally gave up the comfort of the warm bath, emerging and wrapping a huge towel around her body and another around her hair.
She was half-tempted to walk back into the room naked, but she wasn’t sure of her reception.
He seemed determined to get rid of her, and she would have to work fast to stop him.
If he wouldn’t come with her, she’d stay in this over-the-top Moorish castle until he changed his mind.
The bedroom was empty. He’d pulled the bed together, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or to cry.
He was the one who made their bed when they were at home in North Carolina, even when she was still sleeping in it.
She was haphazard in her housekeeping, he was tidy, but between the two of them, they made it work.
Hardly enough to keep them together when he didn’t know who the hell he was, but at least it was a hopeful sign.
He’d left clothes on the bed—his clothes, and she pulled them on.
Fortunately, they were sweats—he was lean and his pants weren’t made for a woman’s curves, but it felt so good to be in clean clothes again.
It felt good to be in his clothes. There were no windows in the room, and she had no idea what time it was—probably still in the middle of the night.
He was gone, God knew where, and she wasn’t going to leave this temporary haven to go searching for him.
She lay down on the bed with a moan of delight—after the threadbare cot, it was heaven.
The only thing that would make it better was if Bastien were with her.
She lay her head down on the pillow, pushing her damp hair away from her face.
He would come back for her. He would always come for her, whether his mind knew her or not.
His body was hard-wired to protect her, and she wondered why she had ever doubted him.
He was hers, whether he knew it or not, and he always would be.
The man calling himself Jean-Marc shook his hand, trying to loosen it. Luc lay on the floor, cradling his jaw, and Jean-Marc stood over him, his fury still simmering.
“Are we good?” Luc said, sitting up. “Or do you want to hit me again? I was just following orders. In fact, she’s alive because of me—Jefe wanted me to dispose of her. You ought to be more grateful.”
“I don’t think Chloe will feel the same way.” His voice was cold, but he held out his hand to help Luc to his feet.
“Fuck Chloe. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Jean-Marc. You’ve never been this screwed-up over a woman before. She’s a hostage, remember. And I never trusted her story about a missing husband—people just don’t look that much alike.”
“I’m not screwed-up,” he said. “I just don’t like it when my orders aren’t followed.”
“But Le Faucon’s orders trump yours, any day. It was sheer luck that I talked him into keeping her alive.”
“And how did you do that? Le Faucon is not a man known for mercy,” Jean-Marc said.
“I told him you were hung up on the woman, and you’d be angry if he killed her.”
“He’s not afraid of my anger,” he pointed out.
“I may have overstated the case,” Luc said. “I told him she could be a useful tool, and it was unwise to waste her.”
“Unwise?” Jean-Marc echoed. “Exactly what did you think she could do?”
“Keep you in line. Admit it—she means too much to you, though I don’t know how that happened. Was it because she saved your life back at the gala? I’ve saved your life half a dozen times and you haven’t shown me any tender feelings.”
Jean-Marc was not amused. There was a bruise beginning to form on Luc’s jaw, and he considered adding to it with a black eye. “I’m not interested in fucking you.”
“Is that all it is?” Luc asked. “Because Maddelena…”
“Maddelena is a reptile,” he snarled. “Don’t compare the two.”
“See, there you go again. She has too much power over you, Jean-Marc. Let her go.”
“That’s what you were supposed to do,” he said coldly. “Instead, you brought her back here and locked her up.”
“Le Faucon…”
“Enough about him. You should have warned him about me—I don’t like surprises.”
“Neither does he. And I’m stuck in the middle.” Luc’s voice was very close to a whine.
“You don’t need to worry about it. As soon as I can, I’m taking Chloe to the airport and making sure she gets on a plane. I’ll be happy to see her go, and she’ll be delighted to leave me.”
“You’re an idiot,” Luc said. “She’s head over heels in love with you.”
“Then she can go back to America and be in love with me there.”
“I still don’t trust her. She knows more than she’s saying. This cock-and bull-story about a husband…”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Jean-Marc said. “She’ll be gone soon, and you can forget all about her.”
“Not soon enough. And the question is, will you forget all about her?”
“Have you ever known me to be influenced by a woman?” Jean-Marc shot back.
Luc shook his head slowly. “Not until now. She could be the death of you if you’re not careful.”
“I’m trembling with fear.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Luc said, and Jean-Marc considered hitting him again.
“Wake up.”