Hot-Blooded Husbands. Michelle Reid
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car had almost reached the end of the street where the new harbour was situated. There were several large yachts moored up—and Leandros Petronades’ elegant white-hulled boat was easy to recognise because it was lit up like a showboat for the party. Yet it was the yacht moored next to it that caught her attention. It was huge, as Ethan had said—twice the length and twice the height of its neighbour. It was also shrouded in complete darkness. With its dark-painted hull, it looked as if it was crouching there like a large sleek cat, waiting to leap on its next victim.
The car turned and began driving along the top of the harbour wall taking them towards a pair of wrought iron gates, which cordoned off the area where the two yachts were tied.
Climbing out of the car, Leona stood looking round while she waited for Ethan to join her. It was even darker here than she had expected it to be, and she felt a distinct chill shiver down her spine when she realised they were going to have to pass the unlit boat to reach the other.
Ethan’s hand found her arm. As they walked towards the gates, their car was already turning round to go back the way it had come. The guard manning the gates merely nodded his dark head and let them by without a murmur, then disappeared into the shadows.
‘Conscientious chap,’ Ethan said dryly.
Leona didn’t answer. She was too busy having to fight a sudden attack of nerves that set butterflies fluttering inside her stomach. Okay, she tried to reason, so she hadn’t put herself in the social arena much recently, therefore it was natural that she should suffer an attack of nerves tonight.
Yet some other part of her brain was trying to insist that her attack of nerves had nothing to do with the party. It was so dark and so quiet here that even their footsteps seemed to echo with a sinister ring.
Sinister? Picking up on the word, she questioned it impatiently. What was the matter with her? Why was everything sinister all of a sudden? It was a hot night—a beautiful night—she was twenty-nine years old, and about to do what most twenty-nine-year-olds did: party when they got the chance!
‘Quite something, hmm?’ Ethan remarked as they walked into the shadow of the larger yacht.
But Leona didn’t want to look. Despite the tough talking-to she had just given herself, the yacht bothered her. The whole situation was beginning to worry her. She could feel her heart pumping unevenly against her breast, and just about every nerve-end she possessed was suddenly on full alert for no other reason than—
It was then that she heard it—nothing more than a whispering sound in the shadows, but it was enough to make her go perfectly still. So did Ethan. Almost at the same moment the darkness itself seemed to take on a life of its own by shifting and swaying before her eyes.
The tingling sensation on the back of her neck returned with a vengeance. ‘Ethan,’ she said jerkily. ‘I don’t think I like this.’
‘No,’ he answered tersely. ‘Neither do I.’
That was the moment when they saw them, first one dark shape, then another, and another, emerging from the shadows until they turned themselves into Arabs wearing dark robes, with darkly sober expressions.
‘Oh, dear God,’ she breathed. ‘What’s happening?’
But she already knew the answer. It was a fear she’d had to live with from the day she’d married Hassan. She was British. She had married an Arab who was a very powerful man. The dual publicity her disappearance could generate was in itself worth its weight in gold to political fanatics wanting to make a point.
Something she should have remembered earlier, then the word ‘sinister’ would have made a lot more sense, she realised, as Ethan’s arm pressed her hard up against him.
Further down the harbour wall the lights from the Petronades boat were swinging gently. Here, beneath the shadow of the other, the ring of men was steadily closing in. Her heart began to pound like a hammer drill. Ethan couldn’t hold her any closer if he tried, and she could almost taste his tension. He, too, knew exactly what was going to happen.
‘Keep calm,’ he gritted down at her. ‘When I give the word, lose your shoes and run.’
He was going to make a lunge for them and try to break the ring so she could have a small chance to escape. ‘No,’ she protested, and clutched tightly at his jacket sleeve. ‘Don’t do it. They might hurt you if you do!’
‘Just go, Leona!’ he ground back at her, then, with no more warning than that, he was pulling away, and almost in the same movement he threw himself at the two men closest to him.
It was then that all hell broke loose. While Leona stood there frozen in horror watching all three men topple to the ground in a huddle, the rest of the ring leapt into action. Fear for her life sent a surge of adrenaline rushing through her blood. Dry-mouthed, stark-eyed, she was just about to do as Ethan had told her and run, when she heard a hard voice rasp out a command in Arabic. In a state of raw panic she swung round in its direction, expecting someone to be almost upon her, only to find to her confusion that the ring of men had completely bypassed her, leaving her standing here alone with only one other man.
It was at that point that she truly stopped functioning—heart, lungs, her ability to hear what was happening to Ethan—all connections to her brain simply closed down to leave only her eyes in full, wretched focus.
Tall and dark, whip-cord lean, he possessed an aura about him that warned of great physical power lurking beneath the dark robes he was wearing. His skin was the colour of sunripened olives, his eyes as black as a midnight sky, and his mouth she saw was thin, straight and utterly unsmiling.
‘Hassan.’ She breathed his name into the darkness.
The curt bow he offered her came directly from an excess of noble arrogance built into his ancient genes. ‘As you see,’ Sheikh Hassan smoothly confirmed.
CHAPTER TWO
A BUBBLE of hysteria ballooned in her throat. ‘But—why?’ she choked in strangled confusion.
Hassan was not given the opportunity to answer before another fracas broke out somewhere behind her. Ethan ground her name out. It was followed by some thuds and scuffles. As she turned on a protesting gasp to go to him, someone else spoke with a grating urgency and Hassan caught her wrist, long brown fingers closing round fleshless skin and bone, to hold her firmly in place.
‘Call them off!’ she cried out shrilly.
‘Be silent,’ he returned in a voice like ice.
It shocked her, really shocked her, because never in their years together had he ever used that tone on her. Turning her head, she stared at him in pained astonishment, but Hassan wasn’t even looking at her. His attention was fixed on a spot near the gates. With a snap of his fingers his men began scattering like bats on the wing, taking a frighteningly silent Ethan with them.
‘Where are they going with him?’ Leona demanded anxiously.
Hassan didn’t answer. Another man came to stand directly behind her and, glancing up, she found herself gazing into yet another familiar face.
‘Rafiq,’ she murmured, but that was all she managed to say before Hassan was reclaiming her attention by snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her towards him. Her breasts made contact with solid muscle; her thighs suddenly burned like fire as they felt the unyielding power in his. Her eyes leapt up to clash with his eyes. It was like tumbling into oblivion. He looked so very angry, yet so very—
‘Shh,’ he cautioned. ‘It is absolutely imperative that you do exactly as I say. For there is a car coming down the causeway and we cannot afford to have any witnesses.’
‘Witnesses to what?’ she asked in bewilderment.
There was a pause, a smile that was not quite a smile because it was too cold, too calculating, too—
‘Your abduction,’ he smoothly informed her.
Standing