Hostage of the Hawk by Sandra Marton Read Free Book Online Page B

escape him. He caught her face between his hands, holding it immobile, and bent his head to hers. She stiffened, holding her breath, preparing instinctively for the fury of his kiss, for whatever ugly show of strength and power lay ahead.
    But there was no way to prepare for the reality of what happened. His lips were soft, moving against hers with slow persuasion, seeking response.
    Not that it mattered. It was a useless effort. She would never, could never, respond to a man like him, a man who believed he could first terrorise a woman, then seduce her. His hands spread over her cheeks, his thumbs gliding slowly across the high arc of her cheekbones. His fingers threaded into her hair, slowly angling her head back so that his lips could descend upon hers again—and all at once, to Joanna’s horror, something dark and primitive stirred deep within her soul, an excitement that made her pulse leap.
    No. No, she didn’t want this! But her body was quickening, her mouth was softening beneath his. Was it the way he was holding her, so that she was arched towards him, as if in supplication? Was it the heat of his body against hers?
    The tip of his tongue skimmed across her mouth. She made a sound, a little moan that was barely perceptible, but he heard it. He whispered something incomprehensible against her mouth and his arms went around her and drew her close, so that her breasts were pressed against his chest.
    Joanna felt the sudden erratic gallop of her heart as his mouth opened over hers. His tongue slipped between her lips, stroking against the tender flesh. Heat rose like a flame under her skin as he cupped her breast in his hand. She shuddered in his arms as his thumb moved against the hardening nipple.
    â€˜Yes,’ he whispered, ‘yes...’
    How could this be happening? She hated him, for what he was and for the man he served—and yet, her hands were sliding up his chest, her palms were measuring the swift, sure beat of his heart as it leapt beneath her fingertips. Her head fell back; he kissed her throat and she made another soft sound that might have been surrender or despair...
    He let her go with such abruptness that she fell back against the seat. Her eyes flew open; her gaze met his and they stared at each other. For an instant they seemed suspended in time, and then two circles of crimson rose in Joanna’s cheeks.
    Khalil smiled tightly. ‘You see?’ he said, almost lazily. He reached for the key and the engine roared to life. ‘I never take what is not offered.’
    Humiliation rose in her throat like bile. ‘I get the message,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. ‘I’m female, you’re male, and I shouldn’t have said anything to insult you or the mighty Khalil.’
    â€˜I’m happy to see you’re not stupid.’
    â€˜Slow, maybe, but never stupid. Now, take me back to—’
    â€˜We are not returning to Casablanca, Joanna.’
    She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t possible think I’d still go anywhere with you after...’
    Her heart rose into her throat. He was turning the car, but not back the way they’d come. Instead, they were jouncing across hard-packed dirt towards a long, looming shadow ahead.
    â€˜What is that?’ she demanded, but the question was redundant, for in the headlights of the car she could now see what stood ahead of them.
    It was a plane. A small, twin-engine plane, the same kind, she thought dizzily, as Bennettco owned. But this was not a Bennettco plane, not with that spread-winged, rapier-beaked bird painted on its fuselage.
    Instinct made her cry out and swing towards him. She grabbed for the steering wheel but he caught her wrists easily with one hand and wrenched them down.
    â€˜Stop it,’ he said, his voice taut with command.
    The car slid to a stop. He yanked out the keys and threw the door open. Several robed figures approached, then