An Inconvenient Husband

She had closed them before she left. Hadn’t she? She shrugged. Well, maybe not. She bit her lip, feeling uneasy. Something felt...wrong. Some ghostly awareness feathered across her skin, as if something unseen was right here with her—a presence, an energy in the air. She surveyed the room. There was nothing unusual. Everything was just the way she had left it.

She went into the adjoining bathroom, found some aspirin and swallowed it with a glass of water, making a face at herself in the mirror. “You are a nut case,” she said out loud.

There were no ghosts in her room; they were in her mind. She felt haunted by shadows from the past, that’s what it was. She’d been thrown off her equilibrium because she’d seen Blake again.

“You haven’t seen him in four years,” she told her reflection. “You’re divorced. So what’s the big deal?”

She took off her clothes and got ready for bed. She drifted off into a restless sleep, full of images of Blake-Blake sitting by a fire and reading a book. Blake pouring wine, giving her a secret smile. Blake sprawled on the bed, naked, asleep. She wanted to touch him, run her hand over his body, feel his warmth, his strength. She reached out, but her hand did not make contact, no matter how hard she tried, as if some force field protected him from her touch. She awoke, crying.

It took a long time to get back to sleep.

The next morning she was dragged into consciousness by the call to prayer broadcast from the mosque’s minaret. It was almost six, and the faint glimmer of dawn filtered through the thin curtains. She listened to the monotonous chanting, knowing the meaning, but not understanding the Arabic words.

She lay still in bed, until the sun washed the room in the bright light of a new day.

“You just disappeared,” Nazirah accused her an hour later as they were on their way to the Central Market in town. The chauffeur-driven. car was compliments of Nazirah’s father.

“I had a headache.”

“I saw you talking to that guy. Did he tell you who he is?”

“A consultant on a World Bank contract. He’s here only temporarily.” Nicky tried to sound bored. She did not want to discuss Blake. She did not even want to think of him.

“What else did he tell you?”

“He loves curry puffs,” she said with sudden inspiration. “And he’s crazy about satay with peanut sauce.” All of which was true, but it certainly was not newly garnered information.

“Is that what you talked about with an interesting man? Food?” Nazirah’s tone indicated a severe lack of admiration for this particular tactic.

“Food’s a great subject,” Nicky said brightly. “Everybody has to eat it. It’s uncontroversial, but everybody has an opinion.”

Nazirah rolled her eyes.

Nicky laughed. “You can learn a lot about people by finding out what kind of food they like. Whether they’re adventurous, have imagination, are conservative, romantic, boring stick-in-the-muds. I did an article about how to use food in character analysis last month. I think I did my readers a great service.”

“And what did you find out about him?” Nazirah asked doubtfully. “What kind of food does he like and what does it say about his character?”

“He likes everything,” Nicky said casually, which was basically the truth. “Which makes him a conservative, imaginative adventurer with stick-in-the-mud tendencies.”

Nazirah laughed. “And how does he do in the romance department?” Amusement glimmered in her blue eyes.

“Romance?”

“Is he a romantic?”

Nicky braced herself mentally. “He has his moments,” she stated in a businesslike tone. “Flowers, chocolates, jewelry, that sort of thing.” Sometimes luxury cookbooks, and odd knickknacks from exotic places in the world.

“Mmm. What about love letters and poetry? What about sexy phone calls?” Nazirah lowered her voice. “I love sexy phone calls.”

Nicky’s chest tightened and she swallowed at the sudden painful lump in her throat. She looked away. “Nope.”

“Is he a good lover?”

Her heart turned over. Good God, she had to change the subject. The last thing she wanted to think about was Blake’s talents in bed. “Listen,” she said impatiently, “there are limits to what you can find out about a man by knowing his food preferences. If you’re so interested in the man, go out with him, sleep with him and find out for yourself.” Good Lord! she thought in a panic. What am I saying?

Nazirah stared at her. “Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” Nicky bit her tongue. Oh, God, she was giving herself away.

“Sure seems like it. I was just making conversation, having a little fun with this idea of yours.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nazirah was silent for a moment. “I’m not trying to make you angry, but if you’re interested in him, I’ll stay clear of him.”

“I’m not interested in him. You can have him.” Nicky heard the snappish tone of her own voice, took a deep breath, and forced a smile. “Maybe your mother can ask him to dinner. He loves home-cooked meals.” She bit her lip. “He told me,” she added.

Confusion, hesitation chased each other across Nazirah’s face. “You know this man, don’t you?” she asked softly.

“No,” Nicky said, feeling herself turn cold. “I only thought I did.”

She’d been twenty-one when she’d met Blake at a party given by her parents in Washington, D.C. At the time Blake worked with her father at USAID and her father thought the world of him. One look at Blake and Nicky had thought the world of him, as well. Her heart had nearly stopped and she’d almost forgotten to breathe. The world around her had ceased to exist. The glass of wine she’d had in her hand had slipped and fallen to the floor, the glass not breaking but the wine soaking irreverently into her mother’s priceless Persian prayer rug.

Blake had found her another glass of wine and had not left her side for the rest of the evening. The days and weeks that followed had blurred into a whirlwind of love, laughter and passion.

She’d been in love plenty of times, but nothing compared to this. This was the real thing! She loved this man with all her soul. She knew it. Absolutely.

A month later they were married.

Nazirah stopped asking questions and for a while they drove on silently through the city and Nicky looked outside taking in the sights and the people.

She was in love with Kuala Lumpur, with its wonderful mixture of architecture illustrating the country’s turbulent colonial history. Contemporary high rises blended in with Moorish mosques, Chinese temples and Victorian buildings left by British colonial rule. Lush tropical greenery shaded the roads and buildings.

Her stomach growled inelegantly and Nazirah grinned. “Didn’t you have breakfast?”

“No. I didn’t want to spoil my appetite.” There’d be plenty of food to eat at the market, and Nicky was ready for some. It was only fair that if she was going to write about the food, she should try it first. She had her notebook and pen ready, as well as a good dose of enthusiasm to help her along. Open markets were her most favorite places. She grinned at herself. It was going to be an exciting day. She could feel it already.

Lighted minarets stood silhouetted against the dark night sky like an image from the Arabian Nights as Nicky rode home in a taxi that night. She felt exhausted but exhilarated, and she didn’t think she was going to eat again for a week.

The large gates stood open and the car drove noiselessly up the drive toward the front door of her father’s house. Nicky got out, paid the turbaned Sikh driver and moved up the veranda steps. The night watchman lay asleep on his mat and didn’t stir as she let herself in. Poor guy. He probably had a day job, as well, to make ends meet.

The house was silent. Her father had flown to Singapore for business and wouldn’t be back until sometime tomorrow. The house felt empty and lonely. She sighed and turned on the brass table lamps in the living room and dropped her notebook and purse amid the silk embroidered cushions on the sofa. She might as well work on her notes tonight, but first she’d get out of her clothes and shower off the days’ heat and dust.

Quickly she moved through the hall to her room, opened the door, switched on the light and froze.

Her heart made a sickening lurch, then started racing when a rush of adrenaline flooded her. Chaos. Drawers had been turned over, clothes strewn everywhere. The French windows stood wide open, the lacy white curtains wafting eerily in the breeze.

Never had anything like this happened to her before and for an interminable moment her legs would not move and she stood rooted to the floor, her heart pounding like a sledgehammer.

Burglars, was her first thought. Burglars searching for money, jewelry.

Jewelry! Her mother’s diamond necklace! Oh, God, no! It was an heirloom, passed on from mother to daughter for several generations. She rushed over to the dresser, found the velvet jewelry bag emptied out on the top—her rings, earrings, her mother’s necklace. It was all there. Nothing had been taken. Relief washed over her, then utter confusion. If the burglars hadn’t wanted her jewelry, then what had they been looking for? The rest of the house had been untouched. Or at least the living room had appeared to be and that’s where the TV was, and the VCR and the CD player.

What did they want in her room?

Her legs were trembling as she scanned the room, trying to see, to understand. I’ve got to do something, she thought. I’ve got to call somebody. The police. She reached for the bedside phone, realizing at the same time that 9-1-1 would do her no good outside the United States, that she didn’t know the local emergency number, if there even was one.

She realized something else, as well. The phone was dead.

Never before had she known such fear.

And then it got worse.

Movement behind her. As she swung around, a hand clamped over her mouth and she was bodily lifted off the floor and carried out of the bedroom door.

CHAPTER TWO

PARALYZED by fear, Nicky felt herself being carried through the hall and living room and out the front door. She was gasping for breath as the two powerful arms that held her pressed her face forcefully against a hard chest. She started struggling, kicking her legs, but she. was nothing more than a doll in the steely grip.

“Not a sound or we’re both dead!” growled a low voice, the tone deadly and ominous. A voice intimately familiar.

Fear flooded out of her. “Blake?” she asked, but her voice was smothered by his chest, barely audible.

“Quiet!” .

His chest was warm and solid against her face. For a fleeting moment she had an odd sense of déjà vu—as if once before she’d been carried off like this in the dark of night.

She heard the pumping of his heart against her cheek and her senses reeled with the familiar warm male scent of him, overwhelming for one delirious moment all other thought.

He pushed her almost roughly into the back seat ,of a car, slid in beside her, giving an order to the driver and before she could catch her breath they were tearing down the drive.

She was panting, her throat raw. “What the hell is this all about?” She struggled for the words, rubbing at a scratch on her arm where a branch had scraped the skin, her confusion greater than her fear now. They were in a taxi, she realized, and going at great speed.

“Be quiet,” he said on a low note, warning in his voice. “Later.” He glanced out the back window.

“Later what? Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “Are you insane, what is this all about?”

Steely eyes met hers. “I said be quiet.” His voice was ominously low. “You’ll be fine as long as you act normally.”

She suppressed a hysterical little laugh. Sure, no sweat. She was used to being carried off into cars against her will. Of course she would act normally. “Are you out of your mind?” she whispered fiercely.

His silence was eloquent.

She hated his superior manner. She hated him. This, of course, was nothing new. She had entertained about this man every emotion known to mankind, except one: physical fear. And she wasn’t afraid of him now, which, under the present circumstances, was something to be grateful for.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. Her whole body was trembling with shock and she felt the terrible urge to break down in tears or, alternatively, scream at Blake in fury. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to do either.

Who was Blake to kidnap her out of her father’s house? Why in the world would he want to? It didn’t make sense. She thought of the ransacked room and shivered. Nothing made sense. She thought of her father, seeing again the worry edged in his face and her stomach twisted with anxiety. Something was wrong.

Something indeed was very wrong.

Could this possibly have something to do with that business deal he’d been having trouble with? Unscrupulous, he had called the Hong Kong company. It was not a nice word. In fact, it was a frightening word. She thought of her ravaged room and shivered again, her mind in chaos. But why would Blake be involved? What could Blake possibly have to do with it? It was crazy; it made no sense at all.

Fear and anger fought for dominance in her mind. Why hadn’t her father told her what was going on? Why was he always treating her as if she were a child who should not be bothered by her parents’ problems? Well, she knew why. She was the baby of the family, and the only daughter. Her parents and three older brothers all had treated her like a princess, and although she wouldn’t dare complain about the love and nurture she had received as a child, she wouldn’t mind being respected as a mature adult now that she’d reached the ripe age of twenty-seven.

The car stopped and she opened her eyes. There were lights and people. More cars. People laughing. They were in front of what appeared to be a luxury hotel.

“Come along.” Blake helped her out of the car, putting an arm around her when she almost lost her balance. His face was close to hers. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said under his breath, apparently not wanting the driver to overhear him. “You’re safe as long as you do what I say.”

She stiffened. This was not the man she remembered. He had never ordered her around before, never told her what to do, never made any demands. He’d considered her an independent person who made her own choices and decisions. She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

She felt dazed and disoriented. With his hand on her shoulder Blake propelled her through the cool, sumptuous hotel lobby. Crystal chandeliers, soft piano music, people in beautiful clothes, mingling, laughing. It all seemed to come from a distance, unreal. Then she found herself in a mirrored elevator.

Her reflection shocked her. She looked like a madwoman, her hair wild, her clothes dirty and sweaty from the day’s exploration of the city’s hot, crowded markets and streets. The elevator zoomed up, stopped. They got off. She moved as if in a trance, down a carpeted corridor, past endless doors. Blake stopped in front of one of the rooms and slid a small plastic card into a slot in the lock. The door open, he nudged her ahead of him into the room. She took in the big bed, the desk, a cozy seating arrangement near the window. Soft carpeting under her feet. Everything clean and comfortable.

She turned to face him, clenching her hands into fists by her side and anchoring her feet to the floor to keep them from trembling. “I want to know what this is all about!” she demanded, hearing an unfamiliar, shrill tone in her voice. Anger heated her blood and she could no longer contain it—anger mixed with a terrible fear, and other feelings she couldn’t even begin to analyze. “What the hell is going on? Why did you bring me here?”

“Don’t yell at me,” he said coolly.

She almost stomped her foot. “I’ll damn well yell if I want to! I’ll scream!” She couldn’t believe her own behavior. What possessed her? It was as if someone else had taken over, some wild creature driven in a corner, terrified and helpless.

“Calm down and we’ll talk.” He turned his back on her and picked up a bottle of Scotch standing on a tray on the dresser.

“Calm down?” she raged. “Are you out of your mind? You expect me to calm down after my room has been turned upside down and I’ve been kidnapped?”

“I did not kidnap you. I rescued you.”

“Rescued me? From what? I want to know what’s going on!”

He poured Scotch in two glasses. “I’ll tell you what I know, but not until you get yourself under control.”

She nearly choked on her words. “How dare you treat me this way!” she said to his back. “How dare you just carry me off! What’s got into you? Are you the one who destroyed my room?” Even as she said it, she knew the idea was preposterous. Under no circumstances could she imagine Blake turning over drawers, going through closets. It didn’t fit his code of ethics.

He turned and gave her a dark look. “No, I did not,” he said sharply. “A couple of hired thugs from Hong Kong did. They were waiting in the bushes for you to come home and kidnap you. I thought I’d better beat them to it.”

Her heart skidded to a stop, rushed on again in a frantic rhythm. Her knees buckled and she sat down on the edge of the big bed. Fear overtook her anger. “This is insane,” she whispered. “Why?”

“After you left the party last night, I had another talk with your father. I gathered he unknowingly inherited a bad situation from his predecessor—an unfortunate business deal with a less than reputable firm in Hong Kong. They’re running a scam and he’s trying to back out of the contract. They’re not very happy about it.”

Her heart lurched. “I knew there was something wrong! He just didn’t want to tell me. He kept saying it wasn’t anything to worry about.”

“Well, it was. More so than he suspected, I imagine. They wanted him to change his mind about breaking the contract. Apparently they thought kidnapping you might give him the right incentive.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

He added ice to the glasses and handed her one. “Drink this. It will calm your nerves.”

“I don’t like whiskey,” she said shakily..

“I know, but it’s all I have.” He gave her a wry smile. “I had not counted on entertaining my ex-wife in my hotel room tonight.”

Certainly no signs of any such plans, she had to admit. No candles or flowers or champagne cooling in a bucket of ice. He hadn’t touched her for his own selfish, carnal reasons—like a hero in a novel. A hero, who, seeing his old love unexpectedly at a party, was overwhelmed by remorse over the past and, gripped by new passion, had kidnapped her. That’s only the way it went in stories. She was deranged even to have that fleeting thought.

He sat down in a chair and stretched out his legs. He was wearing gray slacks and a short-sleeved silk shirt, and did not look to be in the grip of passion. He looked exhausted, which was not surprising. Abduction was a tiring business, no doubt. Still, tired or not, he looked tough and masculine, and very sexy with his hair disheveled and his face full of dark shadows.

She sipped the whiskey, wincing, feeling the stuff burn down her throat.

“What kind of business deal was this?” she asked then.

He raked a weary hand through his hair. “An investment deal for the construction of an electronics plant in China. As I said, your father discovered that the Hong Kong firm was running a scam.”

“So what is your part in all this, then?” It didn’t make sense. Why should Blake be involved? He hadn’t worked with her father for years. It was only coincidence they were in Malaysia at the same time.

His mouth curved down, as if he mocked himself. “I was the unfortunate bystander propelled into a rescue mission,” he said dryly.,

“Unfortunate bystander?” What was that supposed to mean?

He quirked a dark brow. “You don’t think I went through this exercise just for the fun of it, do you?”

“No, of course not. Abducting your ex-wife to entertain her for the evening—what a nightmare of an idea.”

He gave her an impenetrable look, saying nothing.

“So why did you do it?” she asked harshly. “Why not let them take me? Why did you care?” It was a bitchy, bitter question and she was sorry the moment the words were out. She was not a bitchy, bitter person. Oh, God, she sure hoped not.

He stared at her, a sudden, hot flash of anger in his eyes. “Oh,” he answered coldly, “I always rescue maidens in distress. Besides, I found myself with nothing better to do for the evening.”

The flash of anger disturbed her. He was a man of superb control, but her nasty remark had hit him wrong. She took another sip of the whiskey. The only way to drink the stuff was to consider it medicine and she felt in need of some sort of potion to stabilize her wrecked equilibrium.

“How did you know about all of this? I mean, if you’re not involved.”

He grimaced. “By sheer coincidence. I happened to . overhear a conversation. I had trouble believing what I was hearing, but there was only one conclusion to be drawn.” He shrugged and took a long drink from his whiskey.

“What conversation? Who was talking?”

“I was in a restaurant at the Hilton, waiting to meet a friend for dinner. He was late and two men at the next table were talking. I heard your father’s name and consequently gave them my full attention, which was fortunate. They discussed their plans to have you escorted to Hong Kong tonight. Some hired help was going to do the honors. It seemed a good idea for me to abandon friend and dinner and to abort the gentlemen’s plans if I wasn’t too late already.” He tossed back the last of his drink. “Just a cosmic little joke for me to overhear this,” he finished derisively.

Characteristically, he’d told her the story in a few brief sentences. He’d never been a man of many words. He rubbed his neck. “We’d better call your father. He told me he’d be in Singapore tonight. Do you know which hotel he’s staying at?”

“The Mandarin,” she said, feeling numb. It was too much to grasp, this outrageous story. Not so outrageous. You read similar tales in the papers, heard them on TV It just seemed crazy because it was happening to her. There was no reason to think Blake was lying. She finished the whiskey and put down the glass.

Blake had asked information for her father’s hotel number and was dialing. He held out the receiver to her.

“You want to talk to him first?”

She shook her head. “You know what happened. You tell him.” She listened as he told her father what had happened, assuring her father she was safely with him at the hotel. There was silence for a while.

“Yes, of course. No problem,” Blake said. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know” He handed the receiver to Nicky. “He wants to talk to you.”

She took in a deep breath to steady herself.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Thank God you’re all right” His voice sounded rough with emotion. “I’ll get the police on this immediately. I had no idea they’d go to these lengths, but they’ll pay hell for this. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Who are these people doing this? What kind of people are they? Dad, I want you to tell me!”

“It’s complicated, princess. I misjudged the seriousness of it, and if something would have happened to you I would never have forgiven myself.”

Getting a clear answer was too much to hope for.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, either, Dad!” Again that shrill tone in her voice. “Please be careful!”

“Oh, I’ll be careful. Don’t you worry about me. But do me a favor. You’ve got to get out of town. Do what Blake tells you to do.”

Do what Blake tells you to do. She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so shaky. Her father would trust Blake, of course. They’d worked together for five years and they’d always liked and respected each other. The divorce had not had her father’s blessing.

“Nicky, promise me!”

“I can take care of myself, Dad!” It was an automatic response, and not a very smart one under the circumstances. She glanced over at Blake who’d poured himself another Scotch and was gazing out over the city, his back turned to her. Strong, straight shoulders, lean torso, long legs firmly planted on the floor. A man to reckon with. She closed her eyes briefly, hearing her father’s voice over the phone.