Free Hostage to Love (Entangled Suspense) by Maya Blake Page A

quarry? She’d seen the look in his eyes during their last conversation. The rabid fascination…the hunger…
    No . She refused to think about that…
    Pulling in a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she summoned a smile when Demetra looked up.
    “ Kalispera, Kyria Andreakos.”
    “Good evening,” she responded to the lyrical greeting.
    “Sit, sit.” Demetra indicated a chair at the large, aged pine table in the middle of the vast space. Belle sat, grateful to get off of her torn and blistered feet, and accepted the glass of chilled homemade lemonade the woman set in front of her.
    “ Efkharisto ,” she thanked her and sipped the drink gratefully.
    “ Moussaka , your favorite, yes?” Demetra prompted in her broken English.
    “Yes, I’m looking forward to it. It smells lovely.” She rubbed her stomach for emphasis and earned herself a beaming smile.
    When Demetra’s gaze shifted beyond Belle’s shoulder, she didn’t need to be told Nick had entered the room. The hairs on her neck had risen in full alert. She sucked in a tremulous breath as he drew near, her senses reacting to his masculine scent. Her pulse leapt as she felt his warmth against her back.
    “Not as lovely as you smell.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, his touch causing her senses to spin. “Although I expected you to sleep longer. Why didn’t you ring down for me to come and get you?”
    She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t when it only further imprinted the heat of his hands on her naked skin. She’d found the clothes she’d worn during her honeymoon in the exact place she’d left them—why Nick had kept them she had no idea—and the mohair-lined slippers Demetra had supplied cradled her lacerated feet perfectly. “As you can see, there was no need. I’m quite capable of dressing myself and walking on my own two feet.”
    “Nevertheless, you shouldn’t put too much stress on your injuries. Some of those cuts are quite deep,” he said imperiously.
    “Sure, I’ll bear that in mind.”
    If he heard the flippancy in her tone, he chose to ignore it.
    “Did you sleep well?” He leaned close, his breath caressing her ear.
    She tried to hide her shiver. “Yes, I did, thank you.” She cleared her throat, eager to dispel the lump lodged there, and moved away from him on the pretext of sipping of her drink. His hands slid off her shoulders, but he didn’t leave her side. Instead, he came around to stand in front of her. One long forefinger tilted her chin to inspect her face, as if he were verifying for himself that she had indeed slept well.
    For a brief moment, she wished she’d at least put on some lip gloss, maybe a stroke of mascara. Then she pushed the thought away. What did it matter what she looked like? He’d never seen her as more than a possession to be owned and controlled—and forgotten when she’d dared to challenge him.
    “No jet lag?”
    “I think I’m too grateful to be in one piece to worry about jet lag.”
    His eyes darkened before his lids swept down to veil his expression.
    Belle took the opportunity to conduct a survey of her own. He’d also taken a shower at some point; his damp hair curled at his nape. He’d changed into dark blue chinos, which sat low on his hips and clung to powerful thighs. The top buttons of his white short-sleeved shirt were open, revealing the golden column of his throat and a whirl of dark hair just below.
    Her gaze reluctantly came back to his as he glanced back up. That was when she saw the apprehension lurking in his eyes. It was faint, buried beneath the usual self-assuredness he wore like a second skin, but Belle still saw it.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “You mean besides the fear that if you continue to glare at me like that I’ll turn to stone?”
    “Don’t treat me like a child, Nick. Is something wrong?”
    “It’s nothing for you to worry about.” When her lips pursed, he shrugged. “I’ve spent the last couple of hours