Alien Vengeance by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

examined his watch. ‘It is time you began your duties.’ He saw her flinch slightly and laughed out loud. ‘No, not that. My needs at this moment are a little more prosaic. You may cook me a meal.’
    She said steadily, ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’
    He lifted one shoulder negligently. ‘As you wish. But you should consider—if you do not cook, then you also do not eat.’ He glanced around him. ‘It is a pleasant room, ne , but I think you would soon grow tired of its four walls.’
    And he meant it, she recognised bitterly. She glared at him. ‘How do you know I can cook?’
    ‘I don’t require gourmet food. There is a leg of lamb to roast, and a salad to make. You should be capable of that at least.’
    She was capable of that, and more. She’d been well taught at home, but that was no reason why this—this bastard should benefit from her skill.
    She lifted an indifferent shoulder. ‘I’ll try, but I hope you won’t blame me if it’s ruined.’
    ‘I hope I shall not have to,’ he said quite gently, but there was a warning implicit in his words. He turned and walked away, and she heard him go down the stairs, leaving her alone.
    Gemma drew a deep breath and sank down on the edge of the bed. She was trembling violently inside, and her heart was pounding as if it threatened to break through her breastbone.
    She bent her head, staring at the tiled floor, and began to breathe deeply and rhythmically, deliberately calming herself. At the moment, she was vulnerable, totally on the run, but that could change, and she could change it.
    She began to think. The first sign she’d had that she was not alone had been the slamming of some vehicle’s door. Had he really brought that fantastic car all the way up those appalling mountain roads, she wondered incredulously. But if he had, then it was parked near at hand, and that meant that the keys weren’t far away either. He was probably carrying them on him, she decided judiciously, and once he was asleep, she could go through his pockets and find them. She tried not to contemplate what it would be like driving an unfamiliar vehicle in bare feet down that snake of a road. She also tried not to think about the events which might precede his falling asleep, because if she did so, then her courage might evaporate entirely.
    She sank her teeth into her soft lower lip until she tasted blood. Oh God! Why hadn’t she obeyed her first instinct and gone with James and Hilary? She would have been safe then—or would he still have pursued her?
    She got up and went into the bathroom. She washed her face and hands in cool water, then rewrapped her towel sarong, fastening it firmly with some safety pins from her toilet bag.
    If this was all the covering she was to be allowed, then she would make damned sure it was secure, she told herself, flicking her hair back from her face.
    The Cretan was lounging on the narrow sofa when she went downstairs, looking through a newspaper, a glass of ouzo at his elbow. He didn’t even glance up at her as she walked through the living room, and out into the kitchen.
    Presumably, Gemma thought bitterly, he was used to a woman’s presence about the place, both in the kitchen and the bedroom.
    She managed to light the oven, then found the joint of lamb from the fridge and put it in a roasting pan. After a brief struggle with herself, she added seasoning, and then inserted some slivers of garlic, alternating with sprigs of rosemary she had found growing in a pot on the windowsill, into slits she had cut in the skin. She dribbled olive oil from a jar over the meat and set it to roast.
    It was while she was slicing tomatoes for the salad, that she first noticed the knife she was using. An ordinary kitchen knife, but the blade was pointed and sharp, and it was a line of defence she hadn’t considered. If only she’d been wearing normal clothing, she could have hidden it somewhere, but a towel had very few hiding places, she thought ruefully.